Page 86 of Going Solo

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Ninety minutes later, we landed at some random airfield somewhere in the UK and transferred into a black SUV that had been waiting for us. Neither Cole nor Fiona would tell me where we were going. We drove through countryside and small villages for about fifteen minutes before the vehicle indicated and we turned into a gravel driveway with a sign that readDollops Wood Farm.

“No way!”

Cole grabbed my hand and held it. “Welcome home,” he said, smiling broadly.

I’d never been to Cole’s family farm before. It felt intimate, somehow. The SUV pulled up in front of a new-build mansion. Fiona and Mitch opened their doors and got out. I grabbed the door handle, but Cole squeezed my hand.

“This isn’t us,” he said. The back of the car opened, and Mitch removed Fiona’s luggage. Fiona appeared at Cole’s window, and he wound it down.

“You coming in to say hi to Dad?”

“No, don’t wake them all up. I’ll see them in the morning.Aftermilking, to be clear. Tell the kids Uncle Cole can’t wait to give them great big smooshy hugs.”

Fiona said goodnight, and Mitch, having deposited Fiona’s case on the doorstep, jumped back in the car. We drove off along another gravel track.

“Does Fiona have kids?” I asked, confused.

“No, my brother Tully does. Twin girls. I built this house for Mum and Dad, but after Mum died it felt a bit small, so Tully and his wife, June, moved in. Then the girls came along.”

“So, where do you live, then?”

“You’ll see.”

We drove around a hill and down a gully, then through a patch of trees, before pulling up in front of a small, ramshackle, single-storey flint stone cottage.

“This is where you grew up, isn’t it?”

“It’s a bit cosy,” Cole said. “But it’s filled with good memories.”

The house had been opened up for Cole’s arrival, and while he went around closing windows against the cool night air, I had a shower to freshen up. While Cole took his turn in the bathroom, I padded around the house in my underpants, snooping. Children’s paintings covered the fridge door. In the living room, Orla stared back at me from inside a photo frame, and I wondered how she would feel about me being here. In the corner, I spotted Cole’s old guitar, the one he’d been carrying the day I met him, the one that made him look so effortlessly cool, the one he’d serenaded me with. I strummed my thumb across the strings, and Cole appeared in the doorway, as if the sound had summoned him. He looked breathtakingly beautiful, wearing only his pants, his olive skin glowing in the warm honeyed light of the lamp’s flickering bulb. His muscles were lean and defined, his legs and arms dark with hair and tattoos. Stray drips of water caught in the neatly clipped hair of his chest and glistened in the light. I was staring.

“Play something for me?” I said.

“Nah, people think things like that are romantic, but it makes the person playing the guitar look like a divvie, and it’s dead uncomfortable for the person forced to listen to it.”

I laughed. “Whoever told you that is an arsehole without a romantic bone in their body.”

“True,” Cole said. “But he’s going to have a romantic bone in his body any minute now, so?—”

“Oh, you did not!” I picked a cushion off the armchair and whacked him with it. Cole batted it away.

“I have a better idea,” he said, giggling. “Amuse yourself for a second. You’ll know when to come through.”

“What are you up to?”

Cole waggled his finger. “Curiosity killed the cat.” He turned and walked away, the round muscles of his bum stretching the limits of Calvin Klein’s seam construction.

“Fine!” I called after him. “But if I walk in there to find you wearing whiskers and squatting over a litter tray or something, I am out of here!”

Cole’s laugh echoed up the hallway. “Who told you about the litter tray?”

A moment later, I heard a piano strike C. As it struck two D-sharps and two more C’s, recognition dawned. It was “Firework.” As the A-sharps and G-sharps followed, I headed up the hall towards the sound. When I reached the room, Cole’s bedroom, he was sitting at a small upright piano, lit only by the moonlight streaming in through the open window. The net curtains flapped gently in the cool night breeze. Under the window, there was a large bed covered in an old patchwork quilt. As Cole continued to play the song I had once been so passionate about but had long since come to dread hearing, I stood behind him and put my arms around his shoulders. His body was warm and damp from the shower. His hair was wet against my stomach. I wound my arms down around his chest, playing with the graze of hair, feeling his nipples harden under my fingertips. Cole stopped playing, one hand reaching up, his fingers weaving through mine. Our eyes met, and he pulled me down onto the stool beside him, budging over so we each had one bum cheek on the seat. Cole started playing again, his eyes never leaving mine. He got as far as the bit about the Fourth of July before I couldn’t take it anymore. My lips found his. Fireworks seemed to explode around us. I kissed him hungrily. Cole was all heat and lust and minty freshness. I traced my hand from his chest and down the firm central line of his stomach to his waist, and teased the elastic of his pants. He groaned into my mouth. His hand found my hip, urging me onto him. I twisted around to straddle him, but we were too close to the piano, and I overbalanced the stool, sending us both crashing onto the rug. We didn’t even stop to check the other was OK. We kept kissing. Urgently. Passionately. Our hands scrambling, exploring each other’s bodies, clawing away the tiny garments that were all that stood between us and pure, glorious, skin-on-skin nakedness. We kissed breathlessly, sighing into each other’s mouths, our chests rising and falling with furious exertion. Every cell in my body ached for Cole, yearned to feel the weight of his body bearing down on mine. I was desperate to feel the warmth of his flesh, his skin, his muscles, pressed against my body. The funky smell of arousal thickened the air. Sweat beaded on Cole’s lip, and I licked at the saltiness. As the amber of his chestnut eyes sparkled in the moonlight, as I held his silky firmness in my hands and drew him into me, it felt like coming home. This was what belonging felt like. I had missed this. I had missedhim. We had missed so much.

Out from under Cole’s shadow

The Go Tos start anew with fresh “Californian” sound

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