Straight to You

FRIDAY 26 SEPTEMBER

FRIDAY 26 SEPTEMBER

She watched him across the crowded garden. He looked more relaxed than she’d seen him in weeks, but maybe that was the booze. Did it matter? Probably not, she decided.

The lingering heat of this post-summer-summer was bizarre. Sam couldn’t remember the last time it had rained, nor could she remember the last time she’d been able to have a conversation with anyone which hadn’t revolved around the weather. It pissed her off: when it was wet they wanted sun, now they’d got what they’d asked for and all she heard them say was how everything was too hot or too dry. People were running out of superlatives, and the media had run out of clichés just as fast. All the usual favourites had been exhausted within the first week or two; the pictures of crowds of people on packed beaches, the stupid statistics about ice cream consumption and suntan lotion sales figures, the endless stories about the effect of the heat and lack of moisture on this crop or that crop or these animals or the other. To be honest, she was bored of it all. She wanted the weather to break just so she could talk about something else.

But, on the plus-side, at least talking about the weather gave people an excuse not to talk to her about that. The elephant in the room. The fact she should have been a mother by now but wasn’t.

‘You’ve gone quiet on me,’ Yvonne said, nudging Sam with her elbow, almost spilling her drink.

‘Sorry. Daydreaming.’

‘What about?’

‘This and that.’

They were joined on the fringes of the party by another woman. Sam thought she’d met her before. Her face was familiar but she couldn’t remember her name. A friend of Yvonne’s mom, she thought, or maybe an aunt? Whoever she was, it didn’t matter. She caught Yvonne’s eye and muscled in on the conversation uninvited. ‘We’re due another week of this heat at least,’ she said.

‘That’s what I heard too,’ said Yvonne.

‘I’m loving it,’ the woman said, grinning, and it was clear that she was. Her naturally light skin was dark brown, too dark, if anything. Over-exposed. It didn’t fit with her bleached blonde hair and blue eyes.

‘It’s all right for you, Marg,’ another woman said. It was Sheila, Yvonne’s mother. ‘You’ve got time to enjoy it. It’s not summer anymore, that’s what annoys me.’ Sam hid a smirk behind her drink. Sheila sounded like she thought someone was responsible for this, like the Met Office had got their scheduling all wrong.

‘You should write a letter, mother,’ Yvonne said, sarcastically. ‘Take it up with your MP.’

‘Don’t be facetious, Yvonne, it doesn’t suit you. I wouldn’t mind, but I spent a week in a tent in Wales in July with your brother and your father and it peed down with rain the whole time we were there. Didn’t have a single dry day. Now Liam’s back at school, your dad’s back at work, and the weather’s beautiful.’

‘Look on the bright side though,’ Sam said. ‘At least you get peace and quiet to enjoy it.’

‘Ah, but I can’t enjoy it,’ Sheila answered immediately, a reason for everything ready on tap. ‘It’s too much, this is. Relentless.’

‘Give it a rest, Mom, you’re never happy.’

‘It’s the nights that get to me most,’ Sheila continued, unabated. ‘I wouldn’t mind so much if it cooled down even a little at night, but it’s just as hot. Your father’s taken to sleeping in the nude, and I can well do without that.’

Judging from the expression on her face, so could Yvonne.

‘What about you, love?’ the other woman, Marg, asked Sam.

‘Oh, I’m making the most of it.’

‘Do you not work?’

‘Not at the moment. I’m on maternity leave.’

She regretted the words the moment she’d spoken them. Yvonne looked anxiously from face to face, trying to head off the inevitable but knowing she didn’t stand a chance.

‘Having a night off?’ Marg asked, taking a step back and looking Sam up and down, checking for a bump. ‘Someone got the baby for you? I know what it’s like. I remember when our eldest was born and we . . .’ Her words trailed away when she realised both Yvonne and Sheila were glaring at her. ‘What?’

Hard as it was – and it was still bloody hard – Sam smiled and put her straight. ‘We lost the baby.’

‘Oh . . . oh, I’m sorry, love, I didn’t mean to . . .’

‘It’s okay,’ she said quickly, keen to minimise any awkwardness. ‘Seriously. It’s my fault. I should have been clearer.’

More apologies. Sam wished Marg would just shut up. She was relieved when Sheila ushered her friend away to talk to someone else. Yvonne touched her arm. ‘Sorry about that.’

‘Like I said, my fault. Anyway, I have to deal with stuff like this. Everyone knew I was pregnant . . . I’m going to get questions, it’s inevitable.’

‘Must be hard, though.’

‘Course it is, but what else can I do? I can’t pretend.’

‘You sure you’re okay?’

Sam finished her drink, wishing she wasn’t driving so she could have had a shot of vodka in her Coke. ‘Yep, I’m fine. It’s all right, you know. I’m okay. It helps to talk about him.’

‘That’s cool. I mean, that’s healthy.’

Sam looked over at Steven again, crowding around the remains of the barbecue with a group of other alpha males. ‘What is it about men and fire?’

‘Keep’s ’em quiet, love. Don’t knock it.’

Sam laughed. ‘I’m not knocking it, I just don’t get it.’

‘How’s he doing?’ Yvonne asked.

‘You tell me.’

‘He looks all right.’

‘He’s half-pissed.’

‘But is he okay?’

‘He’s a typical bloke. He won’t talk about how he’s feeling. Doesn’t tell me anything. I keep trying to get him to go out with his mates and get pissed but he won’t. I think he thinks I need mollycoddling.’

‘Molly-what?’

‘You not heard that word before? Mom always used to use it.’

‘Weird.’

‘I just wish he’d open up more. I worry about him.’

A huge roar of laughter rose up around the barbecue. Steven was at the centre of it, showing off. He and another man were wrestling on the ground, egged on by others. Sam and Yvonne wandered over. ‘What’s going on, Roy?’ Yvonne asked a balding, middle-aged spectator who was swigging from a can of lager.

‘Boys will be boys,’ Roy said, jumping out of the way when Steven rolled his opponent over onto his back and almost onto his feet. Steven held the other man down until he submitted. Roy pulled him up, victorious.

‘Cheers, mate.’

‘Having a good time?’ Yvonne asked, brushing dust from his shoulder.

‘Excellent.’ He grabbed more food from a nearby table. ‘Wicked burgers, Von.’

‘You’ve got half of it down your shirt,’ Sam said, wiping at a ketchup stain. ‘That shirt cost a fortune.’

‘I never liked it much.’

‘That’s not the point. You finished dicking about now?’

‘I guess. Could do with another drink though.’

‘Steve, mate . . . here,’ another voice shouted from the other side of the barbecue. He spun around and caught a can of beer which hissed everywhere when he opened it.

‘He looks happy,’ Yvonne said.

Sam watched her husband stagger away again. ‘This is the best he’s been. A few drinks and a bit of red meat and he’s almost back to his old self again.’

‘It’s good to see the two of you getting out and getting on with it. I’m glad things are okay.’

‘They will be.’

#

Sam drove them back home to Madingly, on the outskirts of Cambridge. She stopped the engine and Steven was all over her. He was drunk but he could still read the signs. She’d been teasing him constantly since they’d left the barbecue. ‘I want to f**k you,’ he said, all tact and decorum stripped away by the booze.

‘I know you do. And if you’re lucky I might just let you.’

He was at the door, fishing in his pockets for his house keys, before she’d even got out of the car. ‘Lost my keys,’ he said, on the verge of panic.

‘Christ, Steve, how much have you had tonight? You didn’t take your keys, remember?’

Door unlocked. Inside. Alarm de-activated. He was ready and waiting for her before she’d even got her shoes off; shirt undone, tanned torso showing. She ran her hands over his chest then wrapped her arms around him and squeezed.

‘Hate to spoil the moment,’ she said, knowing she already had, ‘but I need to pee. Give me a couple of minutes then you can have your wicked way with me.’

He grinned, a child-like expression, and pulled her closer instead of letting her go. She didn’t resist. His hands explored her, over her clothes at first, then hitching up her dress, then inside her underwear. ‘I want you.’

‘I know you do. I want you too, but if I don’t go to the bathroom I’ll piss myself. Be a love, make us both a coffee and I’ll see you upstairs, okay?’

‘Okay,’ he said, and he reluctantly let go. He watched her disappear then went into the kitchen and made the drinks.

It was dark on the landing when he got upstairs. A little light spilled out from the bedroom, trickling across the floor, illuminating the door opposite. That door. Steven glanced at it, then looked away. He didn’t care if it never opened again. It wasn’t a spare room, it was surplus. Ready and waiting but unused.

The coffee cups were burning his hands. He quickly went into the bedroom, put them down, then just stared at her lying on the bed looking up at him, waiting. Christ, she was beautiful. The single sheet they’d been using in the heat had been discarded and she lay there in the middle of the empty mattress, wearing a lace and mesh nightie which barely reached the top of her legs. ‘How long has it been?’ he asked, thinking out loud.

‘Too long. Come here.’

He dropped his shorts. ‘Have you got any idea what I want to do to you?’ he asked, crawling onto the bed and sitting astride her.

‘I can imagine. You still horny then?’

‘What do you think?’

She stared into his eyes and let her hand slide down, heading between his legs. She gently stroked him, running her fingertips lightly along his full erect length, all the way to the tip then back down again. ‘Yep,’ she said. ‘I think you’re still horny.’

‘You have that effect on me.’

‘Good. I was beginning to wonder.’

She sat up and kissed him quick, her tongue pressing against his, exploring his mouth. He reciprocated instinctively, lost in the moment. ‘You’re gorgeous,’ he said in a breathless gap between kisses.

‘Why thank you very much,’ she replied, grinning at him. ‘Now shut up. Less talk, more action. On your back, boy.’

He did as he was told. Sam nibbled his skin, tenderly kissing and licking the area around his groin, then she shifted position and lowered herself down onto his hard-on. She gasped at the size of him tonight, and he shuddered with excitement as he disappeared inside her.

Steven turned his head to one side, eyes screwed shut with pleasure. When he opened them again, all he could see was the door across the landing.

Concentrate. Don’t do this . . . not now . . .

She was grinding against him now, flexing her muscles and lifting herself up to the point when she thought she’d almost lost him, just the tip of him still inside, then coming down again fast, riding a wave of almost electric pleasure. She was watching him, but she knew he wasn’t watching her. She took his chin in her hand, turned him to face her and kissed him again. ‘Love you.’

‘Love you too,’ he said, and when she let go of him he turned his head back. Sam continued to move, running her nails down his chest now. She picked up one of his hands and held it to her right breast, cupping it. He was staring into the dark now. She knew she was losing him.

‘What’s wrong?’

He hesitated. Froze. ‘Sorry, I can’t . . .’

‘Come on, love. Please . . .’

Steven was as confused as Sam. He didn’t know what was happening. Couldn’t understand it at first. He thought he wanted her, no, he knew it, but he couldn’t do it. He felt his erection beginning to droop inside her. He looked at Sam, eyes locked on hers, and he wanted to explain what he was feeling but he couldn’t. He tried to talk but no words came out. It was like they were stuck in his throat, like he was being strangled.

‘You feeling okay? Was it the food?’ Sam asked, sounding strangely hopeful. Better that a bellyful of grease and beer was swashing around and making him feel nauseous than the alternative.

‘It’s not that,’ he said, trying to explain but failing hopelessly. ‘It’s just . . . It’s not you, it’s me. I should . . .’

Nothing was making sense. The harder he tried to stop thinking about it, the more confused he became. ‘It’s all right,’ she told him, though she wasn’t sure if it was, sliding off and sitting down next to him. ‘We don’t have to make love. We can just snuggle up together and go to sleep. We’ve got all weekend. I had a really nice night, Steve. It felt like it used to. We could just . . .’

‘I’m sorry, Sam . . .’ he said, standing up and scooping up his shorts and shirt. He left the room, his heart sinking as rapidly as hers.

#

Steven sat out on the patio with another can of beer. Hours later, he was still there. It had been late when they’d got home and he had no idea what time it was now. He kept thinking, I’ll go inside in a minute, I’ll go and apologise . . . but the right minute never came. He didn’t know how he was going to face her. She’d inevitably want to talk about it, but that was the very last thing he wanted. Maybe tomorrow, but not tonight. He’d wait until she was asleep before getting into bed.

Christ, the irony of it all. A year ago all he’d wanted to do was f**k when she wanted to talk. And now here they were, positions reversed, neither of them happy.

He’d taken a four-pack of beer from the kitchen on his way through and he was already two-thirds of the way through the third can. Maybe if I get completely pissed, he thought, totally bloody annihilated, then maybe what just happened – what didn’t happen – might make sense. If nothing else, it’d give him something of an excuse. But they both knew this had nothing to do with bad food or too much alcohol. There’d been no drink involved earlier in the week when she’d come onto him and he’d made those f*****g pathetic excuses about being tired from work and not being in the right frame of mind. He was still managing to wank every few days, and that made him feel even worse. Jesus, he even thought about her when he did it. So how come he could toss himself off alone in the bathroom, but when his wife – his beautiful, gorgeous, sexy wife – came onto him, he froze.

He’d almost fallen asleep when something startled him and he sat up fast. Too fast. He grabbed at his beer but only succeeded in knocking it over. It fizzed and bubbled as the can rolled away, spilling across the patio, disappearing down the cracks between the slabs. He picked up the can and held it to his lips to knock back the last gulp but it was all gone, just froth remaining.

Need more beer. Where did I put that other can . . .?

Wait. What was that?

It had to be past three, maybe as late as four, and the world was quiet save for a few occasional bursts of distant traffic noise, and yet everything seemed to have suddenly become quieter still. But it wasn’t the volume that had changed, he realised, it was the pressure. He felt a strange gust of wind, directionless and heavy, come over him as if it had just been dropped from a height, blowing down from above, not across. And then the temperature, already far higher than it should have been at this time of day and at this time of year, seemed to increase slightly. It was barely noticeable, but the change was definitely there. Was this the booze? He didn’t think so. It felt too real.

Steven looked up, and just for a second he swore the sky overhead changed colour. The entire atmosphere seemed to shift in tone from star-speckled blue-black to deep red then shades of ochre, as if the filtering layers of gas and air were being stripped away one by one. As quickly as they’d changed, the colours melted back, the layers returning in the order they’d been removed. It reminded him of something that had happened once before: a fleeting memory of standing in the rain in a hospital car park, heartbroken.

Ten seconds later and everything was back to normal, leaving him wondering if anything had happened at all. All that remained was the oppressive heat and the emptiness he felt inside. He continued to stare upwards. If that was down to the drink, then I still haven’t had enough.