Page 57 of Waiting for a Bright New Future

Mike laughed and clapped him on the back affectionately. “Thank you. You’ve made me feel normal for the first time since Mavis died.”

Stuart grinned. He was still feeling warm inside when he got home and the house didn’t seem quite so forlorn. Later, Jayne phoned. Lillian was better today and it was aVeranight — she could come round, if he liked. Yes, he definitely liked.

“It’s different here,” Jayne said, as soon as she was in the lounge. “Something’s changed.”

“Perhaps I’ve moved a cushion or straightened a picture.”

“No, it’s something in the atmosphere. Is Florence in?”

“No.”

“Those fluffy slippers with the dogs’ heads weren’t by the door. Are you sure she isn’t upstairs?”

“She’s not here.” He looked at his feet. It was no big deal that a lodger had decided to move out.

“She’s gone, hasn’t she? Moved out.” Jayne’s smile filled the whole of her face and then she wiped it away. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Didn’t have chance. She only told me this morning and then went.”

Jayne clasped both his hands. “So from now on we have the place to ourselves?”

“Unless I advertise for someone else.”

“Don’t.” Jayne’s grin returned, the tiny laughter lines around her eyes crinkling. “It feels like we’re teenagers again with one set of parents away. It’s awkward at mine because of Mum and it was awkward here because of Florence. But now it’s just you and me. Wine and romance for the next . . .” Jayne looked at her watch. “Almost two hours. You have got wine in the fridge, haven’t you?”

She was looking at him expectantly, her eyes playful and a coy smile on her lips. Suddenly the message got through. Jayne hadn’t lost any of her forwardness. The loss of his lodger flew from his mind and nerves rushed in. His hand trembled as he poured the wine and there was a clink as the bottle nudged the glass. He breathed and raised the bottle a little higher. His heart was pounding. Something in the way Jayne looked at him had taken him back nearly forty years to the night they’d both lost their virginity.

He placed two glasses of chilled white wine on the coffee table. He’d have liked them to be in a posh hotel with coasters and little bowls of nuts. Instead, this shabby piece of wood, which bore the marks of hundreds of coaster-less coffee mugs from down the years, would have to do.

Jayne took a sip of wine. “I’m assuming you feel the same as me.” Her eyes were teasing and questioning.

What was the right answer? Was it a trick? Could he phone a friend? Did he have a friend? “Yes. Probably.”

“I don’t want to risk things on ‘probably’.”

“Definitely.” He hoped he was gauging her correctly. She was wearing jeans and a floppy blouse but he remembered the smooth shape of her body in the leggings as she showed him the yoga moves by the quarry. Definitely, the answer was definitely.

She looked at him and smiled. If this was an old film, Stuart would move both their glasses out of the way. Then he’d lean over and kiss her on the lips. A long, slow kiss, building with urgency. Their bodies would press closer and their hands begin to explore. Then the camera would pan out and away. If this was a recent film, they’d tear each other’s clothes off and be at it like rabbits on the sofa. Stuart preferred the old-fashioned way.

Jayne looked at him over the rim of her glass. “I feel we’re still those naive teenagers, wondering how, when, what it will be like. Desperate for the opportunity but scared to death as well.”

He took her hand, grateful for her honesty. Her expression was the same as four decades earlier when they’d finally got the space and privacy. Vulnerable.

“I . . .” He wanted to tell her that he felt worse now than back then. Back then he’d known he’d been the first and she’d had no comparison. Now she had the experience and he had nothing. “It’s a long time since I . . .”

“I thought it probably was.” She smiled and looked as though he’d just bolstered her confidence by making himself more vulnerable. “It’s a while for me too but it’s supposed to be like riding a bike.”

“I’m good at that — shall I get the Lycra out?” It was a feeble joke but they both laughed and the atmosphere eased. He finished his wine in two gulps.

“Do you need another? Dutch courage?” she asked.

“No. I need to remember the moves in case I ever need to do it again.” These pathetic attempts at humour were coming without conscious thought.

Jayne led the way upstairs. Stuart wished he’d changed the bed and tidied up. That hotel of his imagination would’ve had a four-poster and a roaring fire and a deluxe ensuite. Instead they were in a tired brown room with a heap of clothes on the only chair and dust on top of the chest of drawers.

They kissed for a long time standing up before he felt Jayne’s hands on his shirt buttons. He reciprocated until they were both in their underwear. Her black bra and pants were trimmed with scarlet ribbon. He remembered Florence’s large pants hanging on the shower screen. Did Jayne always dress like this or was it for his benefit, in case the opportunity should arise? Despite her slim build she had more curves than the skinny teenager who’d captured his heart before. Curves were good.

Hardly able to breathe and with great desire, he started to touch her. She gave a little moan as his fingers found their way inside her bra. She was right. It was like riding a bike. It was like the exhilarating downhill freewheel when the senses were open to input from all sides. And, like cycling, the sex left him satisfied. Very satisfied indeed.

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