Page 42 of Before You Say Goodbye

She raised her eyebrows at him from her spot on the floor in the corner of the porch.

“Actually, that might be a bit extreme.” He grinned stupidly, then knocked theatrically on the wooden floor in what Autumn knew was meant to be a superstitious physical retraction of his statement. “Why do women do this, though?”

“It’s not just women. Remember Adam? Your mate from the band. He treated Bluebell the exact same way. This isn’t a problem with women. It’s a problem with everybody. They’re obsessed with the notion of love.”

They talked long into the evening that night, safe in the knowledge that Bowie was distracted by mother-son time Emma had insisted they have. When she looked back on it, years later,she wondered if that was the night Marley became one of her best friends.

* * *

Bowie and Marley wrote and performed a new version of the finale for the cast, then spent hours working with them alongside a clearly irritated orchestra and an angry-looking choreographer. Autumn watched them perform together, enthralled. She could see what Bowie had meant about Marley and his showmanship. His voice was deep and powerful; he threw every fibre of his being into performing the song they had written. Bowie looked awkward and uncomfortable, as though he would rather be doing absolutely anything else, but Marley, in contrast, was truly captivating, an absolute natural, and she could tell he really didn’t know how good he was, he just loved it and it showed.

By the time the cast had confirmed they were happier with the piece, it was late and Bowie could barely keep his eyes open. He insisted they go home, but promised to return in the morning to fine-tune the dynamics. Marley opted to stay behind with the orchestra and help them write up the changes to the music. Marley’s ex-lover, Hannah, said she would stay too. They’d been looking anywhere but at each other all day, but Autumn saw them smile shyly at each other now.

Bowie climbed sulkily into a taxi. Autumn knew the extreme fatigue his lymphoma brought with it frustrated him more than any of his other symptoms because he so desperately wanted to be active. He wanted to stay with Marley and finish the job, but it was impossible, and she knew his mood would plummet as a result. Still, she thought she might know a way to cushion his disappointment.

“Don’t fall asleep.” She pinched his thigh flirtatiously. His whole body flinched and she knew he had been dozing. He groaned, rubbing his hand over his face.

“Am I on a promise?” he asked, shuffling closer to her. She laughed and kissed his hand, running her fingers up the inside of his thigh and nibbling playfully on his earlobe in an attempt to thwart his exhaustion.

“Yes, you are.” She kissed him deeply. The initial urgency they’d once felt to make love had worn off a little, though neither took much persuading if the mood took the other. Still, these days they were in agreement that an evening spent eating snacks and watching movies in bed was an equally intimate use of their time. But not tonight. Autumn had always been incredibly aroused by talent, and watching Bowie when he was so wanted, so needed for his unique abilities, had driven her to distraction all afternoon. She’d watched his loping frame bound around the room and desired him so deeply she’d had to talk herself out of following him into the toilet to beg him to take her in a cubicle.

They kissed the whole way home and were relieved to find everyone was either in bed or out of the house when they got back. Bowie pulled her straight into the bedroom and kicked the door shut, slamming her back against the nearest wall. She hitched her leg around his waist and he hoisted her up, holding her hands above her head and biting gently at her neck.

“You’re so sexy, Bowie,” she whispered. He groaned and carried her to the bed. They undressed each other frantically. She hadn’t wanted him this badly for a while.

“Autumn . . .” She gripped his back with one hand in anticipation, but nothing happened. He hovered above her, his face twisted and awkward. “I need a little more time,” he said softly.

She realised she was grappling with him and stopped, embarrassed. He opened his mouth as though to say something,but nothing came out. She didn’t know what to do. She’d never encountered this before. They watched each other for a moment. She willed herself to do something. Bowie was blushing and she didn’t like his unease.

“Should I . . . touch myself, or something?” he asked.

“Here.” She pushed him away from her, gesturing for him to lie on his back on the bed. Ignoring the concern in his eyes, she straddled him, hovering a few inches above him and leaning down to kiss him hard on the mouth. He moaned. His hands gripped her hips, driving her down into his groin. His skin was burning. He wanted her, she could feel it in every move he made, hear it in every sound that rose from his throat, but there was no response where they needed it. He muttered something. Autumn didn’t catch the words, but she did hear frustration and concern. Desperate, she took him in her hands.

“Autumn—”

She shushed him and kept trying. He fell silent and she could tell he was waiting for her to stop. After a few minutes, she sat up beside him, defeated.

“I’m sorry.” He reached out to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. She shook her head, then took up residence in her usual spot, wrapped in his arms with her head on the dip in his chest, her favourite part of him.

“It’s OK,” she said.

They lay still for a minute.

“It isn’t you,” he said.

“I know.” She kissed his bare skin.

They were silent again.

“We can still do . . . other things?” Bowie said. She looked up at his face in the moonlight, trying to ignore the burning desire his impotence had left between her legs. He was making himself a martyr to her needs. Any action he could not participate infully would torture him, she knew, so she lied to Bowie for the first time ever.

“I think the moment might have passed for me too,” she said.

* * *

Autumn slipped into the shower beside Bowie the next morning, hoping his body’s reaction had been due to tiredness and stress, but they kissed passionately for close to ten minutes and nothing happened. This time, Bowie forgot his graciousness, slamming his fist so hard into the tiles above Autumn’s head that Emma ran to the bathroom door to check on him.

“I’m fine,” he said.

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