Page 45 of Starting Over in Starshine Cove
“Do I seem sure?”
“Yes, you do…”
“So stop asking me that, and take me to bed.”
I can’t quite believe that I have been so brazen – so demanding. But this feels too good to be wrong, and even if it is wrong, I just don’t care. I deserve this. We both do. I’m not going to spoil this fragile magic by over-thinking it, I decide. I don’t want to think at all – I just want to feel.
I clamber off his lap, and hold out my hands. He takes them, and soon he is there, looming above me, eyes shining and lips quirked up in a grin. He looks flushed too, and that makes me want him even more – seeing how much this is affecting him is a massive turn-on. It doesn’t matter that I’m not his type. It doesn’t matter that his previous girlfriends were all young and skinny and gorgeous. None of it matters, because he is here, and he so very clearly wants me, and boy, is the feeling mutual.
We stand a few inches apart, holding hands, both catching our breath and gazing into each other’s eyes.
“You are so bloody sexy,” he says, a rough edge to his voice. “I’ve tried so hard not to notice, but you kind of make that impossible.”
I raise an eyebrow, and know that I am smiling the smile of a woman who alsofeelssexy. I pull him closer, and say: “You’re not so bad yourself.”
“Thank you. Should we go upstairs and discuss this in more depth?”
“We can go upstairs, for sure, but I’ll be extremely disappointed if all we do is have a discussion.”
“Don’t worry. I can think of plenty of ways to avoid that. This is one of those situations where actions speak much louder than words.”
I nod, and keep hold of his hand as I lead him towards the stairs. Bear looks confused, but thumps his tail a couple of times and goes back to sleep. I’m glad he approves.
I’m halfway up the stairs when I feel him suddenly freeze. He stops, without any warning, a couple of steps below me. He’s still holding my hand, so I’m forced to stop too. I am fizzing with anticipation here, and can’t quite believe that he’s delaying things any further. Haven’t we waited long enough, for goodness’ sake?
A few random and unwelcome thoughts slalom through my mind, taking advantage of the unexpected pause to ambush me: has he gone off the idea? Has he had a change of heart now he’s seen how big my bum is from behind? Was he just carried away, and now he’s having the grown-up version of that moment when the lights go on at the end of a disco and everyone suddenly looks sweaty and crap?
“I think… I think I heard a car,” he says, frowning. His hair is furrowed into messy rows where I’ve run my fingers through it, his T-shirt is creased, and he looks deliciously dishevelled. I want to go up these stairs and make him look even more messy, but I do exactly the same as he is doing – freeze on the spot, go silent, and strain my ears. Every parent is familiar with this routine, the stop-and-start rhythm that your love life takes on once you have children. They’re usually just a lot smaller than ours when this happens.
I think I can hear something in the distance, but I’m not quite sure – until Bear lets out a huge booming woof, and skitters across the hardwood floor heading towards the hallway. I look at Zack, and see that he is as frustrated as I am as we hear the now unmistakable sound of a car door slamming. I am the onlyperson who lives in this little cul-de-sac other than George, and I know he will be firmly asleep by now. Plus he doesn’t have a car anymore. It’s got to be one of our darling offspring, because this isn’t the kind of place that people drive to at random.
“One day,” I say, dropping his hand and dashing back down the stairs, “we will look back at this and laugh.”
“You’re probably right,” he says, as I reach up to straighten his hair and then do the same for myself. “But that day is not this day, and I feel more like punching a hole in the wall than laughing. Okay. Game faces on!”
I laugh, and we both wander through to the kitchen. Marcy and Sophie are standing there, shivering and soaking wet. The two of them look thoroughly bedraggled, and I instinctively go and warm up some milk for hot chocolate.
“What happened?” I ask as I work. “I didn’t expect to see you until the morning!”
I notice Marcy’s gaze flicking from her dad to me, and spot the slight raising of an eyebrow.
“I feel asleep on the couch,” Zack says quickly, obviously picking up on the same vibe. “We were watchingPaddington.”
As far as it goes, he is telling the truth – but my increased heart rate is still evidence of the fact that there was a lot more to our cosy night in than the innocent watching of a movie. I turn back to the milk pan to hide my grin, feeling like a naughty schoolgirl caught out by her parents and loving every minute of it. Being naughty is fun – I’d almost forgotten that.
“Something went wrong with the tent,” Sophie says, peeling off her socks and grimacing at her cold feet. “Or maybe something was wrong with us, I’m not sure. The gig was fine. Usual sort of stuff, but a couple of new acoustic acts as well. Loads of booze. Bit of line dancing. I don’t think Glastonbury’s got anything to worry about yet, but it was fun.”
“Until it started raining,” Marcy continues, gratefully accepting her hot chocolate from me and using the mug to warm her hands. “I mean, rain is fine – but it just kept getting worse and worse. We’d had a few drinks so we just danced our way through it, as you do. But then when we tried to get to sleep, the tent just kind of… blew off us!”
“Did you peg it down properly?” I ask, sounding as though I know what I’m talking about. Truth be told I’ve never been a huge fan of sleeping under canvas, and when we did do it when the kids were younger, I left most of the logistics to Simon. I do, however, remember that you have to knock in the little ropes with a big hammer. I kind of liked that bit; it was cathartic.
“Well,” Sophie replies, sipping her drink, “I’d like to be annoyed with you at this point and say ‘of course we did, Mum, we’re not idiots!’ But evidence suggests that possibly that’s exactly what we are.”
“Right. And did you put the tent up before or after you started drinking?”
They both giggle, and it seems I have my answer. Drunk in charge of camping equipment. They’re probably not the first young people that’s happened to, and I’m certainly not one to judge.
“What about the others?” I ask. “Are they okay?”
