Alphabet Weekends - Elizabeth Noble [95]
They made love in the shower at the end, and afterwards he washed her hair and her body, so tenderly that she cried.
‘This is safe, isn’t it? You can trust this guy?’
‘I promise you this is safe, Lucy. Neither of us wants to hurt anybody, do we?’
‘No.’ It was true. Mine is the only heart I’m risking. She repeated it in her head. Only his and mine.
On the train home she felt fabulous. Like her lips must be swollen and red with kissing, and like the smell of sex must be coming off her in waves as she moved along the carriage, searching for a seat. Her legs felt wobbly, as though she had swum a couple of miles, and her hips ached. She could still feel his hands on her breasts, on her back, moving her to wherever he wanted her, and when she remembered, she felt weak.
As the train pulled in, she glanced at the time on the station clock, and, as you do when you take a transatlantic flight and adjust your watch, changed herself back.
She’d been into Bath the day before, and bought a couple of things, for the holiday, without thinking.
She was dreading the holiday. Patrick was really looking forward to it. Thank God they’d booked and paid for it before Christmas, he’d said. Patrick always booked their holidays at least six months ahead. He would collect brochures, and spend hours on the Internet, researching destinations. He had a plan that stretched years ahead; he’d worked out which year would be the best for a trip for Disneyworld in Florida, when the children would both be old enough to scuba-dive, when they might be able to afford a long trip to Australia, to see some distant cousins he’d never met. He talked about renting a camper van and driving around New Zealand when he retired in twenty years’ time. Sometimes Lucy would dawdle outside a travel agent’s window, perusing the last-minute deals. Seven nights self-catering in Antigua, fourteen half-board in South Africa. Leaving tomorrow. Hotel assigned on arrival. Sometimes that seemed exciting. But this holiday had been booked last September. Patrick always got an early-bird discount.
She’d bought a dress, some sandals. Shopping. Just as she’d said. It was when she opened the boot of the car, and checked quickly that there were no tell-tale receipts in the bags that what she had done hit her.
The house was quiet when she went in. It was tea-time, and she felt a twinge of irritation that Bella and Ed weren’t sitting at the table, eating and chatting. She supposed it was left to her to do. She would have smiled at her own hypo crisy, complaining at having to make the tea when she’d spent the day in bed with another man, if she hadn’t felt so sick.
She was about to call out, when Patrick appeared.
He’d changed his clothes, put on a clean shirt. He looked fresh, and she felt suddenly grubby. Did she smell of him?
‘Have you had a nice day?’
‘Great, thanks.’
‘Done a bit of shopping, I see.’
‘Of the window variety, largely, I promise.’ She raised the bags. ‘And this is mostly sale stuff.’
‘That’s okay. Whatever.’ He was smiling, and it jarred a little. He hadn’t done it much lately.
‘Where are the kids?’
‘At my mum’s. We went over there after school and she offered to keep them. It’s half-term now, so no need to rush about in the morning, and you know she loves to have them. I thought, Why not?’
Lucy shrugged. ‘Kind of her.’
‘Besides, we’ve got celebrating to do…’ He was coming towards her.
‘Have we? Why?’
‘I got a letter this morning. I got the job! The one in Bath. That I thought must have gone away. It hadn’t, after all!’
‘That’s fantastic!’ It was. Lucy exhaled – she hadn’t realised she’d been holding her breath. ‘That’s great. Well done. I’m so, so pleased for you.’ The platitudes came pouring out. She knew she should hug him, and she raised her arms to put them round his neck.
‘What a fucking relief, hey?’ He was too busy talking to notice that she was stiff in his arms. ‘It’s the same pay, more or less, as the old job, but that’s okay. Good pension scheme, benefits, all that. I think it’ll work out as being about the same as we had