Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
It didn’t take me long to regret my outburst. Before I’d even stopped sobbing with hurt and anger, I was flooded with remorse – and that made me start crying all over again. I’d been horrible. I’d hurt Sam, let myself down, done damage I feared might be irreparable to the relationship I treasured.
Worst of all, I could see that I was playing out a scene that was all too familiar to me: the accusations, the rage, the storm of tears.
It was what I’d witnessed growing up, as my parents’ marriage exploded at regular intervals from cold war to outright nuclear, before ultimately disintegrating.
It was a pattern I’d always vowed I would never repeat in my own life, and yet here I was doing just that.
When eventually I picked myself up off the bed, all the tears wrung out of me, I made a beeline for my phone. But there was no text from Sam.
I couldn’t blame him. I wouldn’t have texted me either.
But it meant I was going to have to text him.
It took me a while to compose my message. I typed several drafts and deleted them because I sounded too self-justifying, too desperate or too self-pitying.
In the end, I settled for:
I’m sorry. Are you okay?
The blue ticks popped up almost immediately, and I could see Sam typing a reply.
Okay-ish. You?
Sad. That was my fault.
Not just your fault. I’m sorry too.
I felt the beginnings of relief. He was sorry. He didn’t hate me. Or maybe he did, and that was what he was sorry about.
Are you coming home?
Not tonight. I think we could do with a bit of breathing space. I’ll see you tomorrow.
I looked at my screen, helpless. I love you, I typed – but I deleted that without sending it.
If I did, Sam would either reply that he loved me too, in which case I’d feel as if I’d manipulated him into saying something that in that moment wasn’t true – or he wouldn’t, in which case I’d feel even worse.
Okay. I miss you.
I miss you too.
That might also not be true – if I was him, I wouldn’t miss me. But it was something – the beginning of a bridge back to normality.
I didn’t do any of my normal Friday night things.
I didn’t open a bottle of wine, run a bubble bath or cook nice food.
I just went and sat on the balcony with Milton perched on the wall next to me, watching as the blue sky darkened to black, lights came on in the buildings opposite and the street below me filled with people on their nights out, takeaway drivers zooming up and down, the occasional commuter making their way home, weary after a long week.
It was almost midnight before I forced myself to get up and go to bed, where to my surprise I slept deeply and dreamlessly.
I was still asleep when Sam came home. I heard his key turn in the lock and half-woke, thinking he might have got up early to go to the gym, and then turned over to go back to sleep. But before I did, I remembered what had happened the previous night.
The shadow of our awful row rushed in on me, and I squeezed my eyes closed, trying unsuccessfully to banish it.
I could hear Sam’s footsteps on the floor, and the sound flooded me with dread. Had he returned to pack a bag and leave properly, for longer or even forever? Or to tell me things he hadn’t told me last night, castigating me for my horrible behaviour before finishing with me once and for all?
I heard him enter the bedroom, then felt the mattress sink beneath me as he sat down next to me.
‘Georgia? Are you awake?’ His voice was gentle, like an extra-soft blanket settling over me.
I turned over onto my back and opened my eyes, looking at him like he was the morning – like he was Christmas morning. ‘I am now.’
‘Sorry.’ He smiled. ‘I just wanted… I couldn’t stay away any longer.’
There was none of what I’d dreaded seeing in his face – no anger or blame. Relief flooded me in a huge rush. Maybe – just maybe – it was going to be okay. I felt myself smiling back and reached for his hands.
‘I’m so glad to see you,’ I said.
‘Same.’ I heard the thump of his trainers landing on the floor as he kicked them off, then he lay down next to me, wrapping his arms around me.
We were still there for a moment. I felt my heartbeat settle, even though I hadn’t realised it was racing before.
I felt the duvet and Sam’s arms around me, warm and comforting.
I felt the even rise and fall of his chest. I felt safe.
I snuggled my face into his neck, inhaling the familiar smell of his T-shirt and the unfamiliar smell of his skin.
He must have showered that morning, at Jared’s place – or wherever he’d been.
‘I stayed over at Jared’s,’ he reminded me, as if he’d sensed my moment of doubt.
‘But you came back.’
‘Like I said, I missed you.’
‘Same.’
I lay still for a moment, relishing the steadiness and security I felt with him there next to me, the steady rise and fall of his breathing in synch with my own. Then I felt something else too – first a flicker and then a flame, beginning somewhere deep inside of me and spreading.
I looked into Sam’s eyes, then drew closer to him until they were too near to focus on properly.
Then I kissed him. His lips were soft against mine, and he tasted of toothpaste. I knew I didn’t, but I didn’t care. His tongue gently parted my own lips, and the heat inside me increased, melting me the way his kiss always had.
My hand slipped underneath his T-shirt, and I stroked the familiar curves and planes of his skin – soft but also hard, smooth in some places and ridged with muscle in others. His fingers smoothed my hair back from my face then tangled into it as he pulled me closer still.
Desire was pulsing strongly in me now, waves of it overcoming any remaining sleepiness, washing away my uncertainty. I broke away from our kiss for just long enough to pull my T-shirt off over my head, then kissed him again as my fingers fumbled with the button of his jeans.
As my hand found his cock, I felt him harden and heard him gasp. His hands moved to my breasts, and I knew he’d find my nipples were hard too. He lifted his hips, and between us we scrunched his jeans down over his thighs.
I straddled him, guiding him inside me, knowing I was ready without even being touched. I needed him now – I didn’t want to wait. I needed him to know how much I wanted him, how fierce and urgent my desire was.
His finger found my clit, gently circling and stroking it just the way he knew I liked as he moved inside me, softly at first and then more urgently. My hands pressed into his shoulders as I moved my body, angling him to pull him deeper and deeper with each thrust.
As our bodies moved faster, I looked down at him, waiting to see on his face when he was close to orgasm – the moment when his eyes would close, his lips would part, his breathing would become ragged.
Seeing that was enough to push me over the edge, and our bodies pulsed together, our breath coming in gasps, the sweat on our skin mingling as we gradually returned to stillness.
I felt his chest move under mine as he laughed breathlessly. ‘I wasn’t expecting that.’
‘Me neither.’ I could taste his sweat as my lips moved against his skin. ‘I just – I saw you and I was…’
‘I know. Guess that’s one way to make up after a row, right?’
‘The best way.’ He slid out of me, and I flopped down next to him, my head on his shoulder.
‘Let’s not ever do that again,’ he said.
‘What? Shag? Not sure I’m down with that.’
He laughed. ‘You know what I mean.’
‘Yeah. Let’s not.’
‘Georgia?’ I felt his chest rise as he inhaled, but he didn’t let the breath out.
‘What?’
‘About Ava. Please, just – please know. There’s nothing to worry about. Nothing going on between us. If there had been, I wouldn’t have done this.’
‘I know,’ I said.
And I did know. I knew I’d behaved horribly, knew I should trust Sam, knew that what had just happened between us was right and true and loving.
But also – I knew that even then, in that moment when we were together as intimately as two people can be, Ava had been there. As soon as we’d finished, his thoughts had turned to her.
I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been thinking of her the whole time and not just afterwards.