Page 112 of Short Stack 3

I curl up next to him, and we lie in companionable silence, with him stroking my hair. I can hear his mother’s voice raised in the next room, and an idea occurs to me. Sitting up, I grab the headboard and rattle it against the wall, giving a few loud moans.

“What are you doing?” Mags enquires. There’s no alarm in his eyes, just an unholy glee.

“We were a bit too quiet during the actual sex, so I’m pretending and giving you a wild-man image to prove your mother and Carl wrong.”

“You do not need to bother with that.” He grins. “I am not bothered by their opinion of me. I resigned myself long ago to being the stick in the soil.”

“Mud.”

He blinks. “Pardon?”

“The saying is stick in the mud.”

“Pah! That is still just wet soil, yes?”

“It’s very difficult to argue with you.”

“And yet you are to be commended for doing your very best.”

“Everyone loves a trier.”

“So why the headboard rattling and shouting?”

I bounce on the bed, which makes a satisfying rhythmic creaking. “I don’t want her to have that boring image of you anymore. It’s not true, and it offends me.”

“And?”

I shrug apologetically. “Also, because I do noteverwant to watch your mother strip again. If she’s convinced you’re throwing society’s mores away like a wanton little strumpet, she’ll leave you alone and, by extension, me too.”

“What if she tries to persuade me to join one of her parties? They had many orgies here when I was a teenager.”

I blink. “I hadn’t thought of that.” I cock my head. “It’s hard to imagine your father in his sweater vest having an orgy.”

“Ah, Laurie, a vest is no cure for morals shakier than a building in an earthquake. It was rather disconcerting to leave my room, looking for a late-night snack, to find my mother riding the local publican on the sofa while wearing only a sunhat and my father naked amongst a group of women proclaimingpoetry.” He pauses. “As I remember, it wasn’t even his best work.”

I snort. “I can’t even begin to imagine your upbringing.”

“At least it wasn’t shared with five siblings whose names all sound confusingly similar.”

“True, but at least they were company.” I smile at him. “Now you’ve got me.”

He gives a mock, dramatic sigh. “Is that supposed to cheer me up?”

“You should be turning cartwheels.”

He grabs me close, entwining our legs and kissing my hand. “Inside, I am, Laurie. Inside, I am turning many cartwheels.”

Chapter 3

Saint-Paul de Vence

I throw open the window, letting in the scent of the lavender growing in the big earthenware pots in our garden. A wind is sighing through the cypress tree, and the sky is a tapestry of stars.

I lean on the window, enjoying the peace and feeling my body and mind unwind the way they always do here in our home.

The shower switches off, and a few minutes later, Mags appears. He’s naked, apart from a towel around his hips, and water glistens in his chest hair. His ash-brown hair is wet and slicked back from his distinctive face. It makes his cheekbones look as sharp as a model’s.

I eye him, enjoying the fact that this man is mine, and I can stare as much as I want.

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