Are You My Mother? (45 page)

I didn’t mention the other possibility: Harlesden Ann. I was still too ashamed of myself for not following it through. ‘Well. I’d always told myself that if I didn’t find her straight away, I wasn’t going to spend years and years wondering and spending more money on searching. I don’t need to know
that
badly, but…. I don’t know, really. My friend Mack is making a documentary about the search for a BBC series, so maybe when it gets shown, there’s a chance that someone who knows the right Ann might see it. Or even Ann herself. Although that would be a bit of a shock for her - if she saw me on TV looking for her. And obviously, a very long shot for me.’

‘
So you’re going to be on TV. Perhaps I’ll have to start representing you. Is Mack your boyfriend?’ I felt a distinct tightening of Robert’s quadriceps muscle as I kneaded it, and the jealousy which slipped unmistakably into the flirtatious tone of his voice was a secret thrill which reverberated down my spine.

‘
No. He’s just a mate. He’s a freelance producer for the BBC, but this is his first full-length film.’

I momentarily forgot whether I’d done both his legs, or just the right one, even though the sequence usually came as second nature to me. Oh, this was impossible. I’d initiated the conversation because his flesh was distracting me, but now I wasn’t focussing on the job in hand at all.

‘
I’m sorry to be bossy, Robert, but please would you shut up? I can’t concentrate.’

I saw the side of Robert’s cheek curve upwards in a smile. ‘Yes, boss. Sorry, boss.’

I gently untucked the towel covering his back and bottom, deciding that I’d probably finished on both his legs. ‘If you’d like to turn over now, please,’ I said, holding my breath.

Robert rolled over, and I was horrified to realise that I was almost disappointed when the towel I replaced on his torso lay flat on him, as still as a becalmed sea. Perhaps it was all in my imagination, this attraction.

His chest was gorgeous, as I’d expected; taut and smooth, with just one patch of hair between his nipples – not enough to be a proper, gross, hairy chest, but just enough to make a macho sort of point. Gavin only had two hairs on
his
puny little chest. ‘Quick, tie a knot in them before they slip back in again,’ he used to joke.

Robert and I didn’t speak for the next fifteen minutes or so. He lay there with his eyes closed, which afforded me an ideal opportunity to study him surreptitiously, every inch of his exposed skin, the way his lashes lay spiky on his cheeks, the memory of curls at his slightly - but only very slightly – receding hairline. I really got into the massage, and almost succeeded in forgetting about how much I fancied him.

Until I came to his stomach. By now his whole torso was uncovered, exposing a soft brown belly, endearing in its very faint podginess. It was a relief, actually, that he wasn’t as completely godlike as he’d initially appeared - a six-pack would have been far too intimidating. I wanted to push my face in it, inhale its soft warmth, but instead I poured more oil into my hands and began to rub gentle circles, up to the bottom of his rib cage and down to where a line of dark hair was thickening as it headed south. His stomach rumbled musically, drowning out the CD, and he shifted a little on the couch.

‘
Sorry,’ he muttered, embarrassed.

‘
Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘It’s just a sign that you’re relaxing, that’s all.’

As I worked, my right elbow suddenly knocked against something which hadn’t been there before. Surprised, I glanced down – and there it was. He hadn’t been apologising for his stomach at all.

Talk about a tent pole. The entire towel was practically airborne and flapping. On an emotional and physical level, it was nearly too much for me, and I felt so turned on I thought I’d explode. On a practical level, I wasn’t sure what to do. We’d been taught at college, as part of ‘towel technique’, that the correct procedural way to deal with mens’ frequent and usually minor tumescences was to firmly tuck a thickly folded towel over the offending area and then ignore it. But ignoring this one would have been like trying to work around a massive Christmas tree, flashing lights and all, which had appeared from nowhere on my massage couch. It was so mighty-looking that I thought a breeze-block placed on top of it would have been ineffectual, let alone a folded towel. We both groaned involuntarily.

‘
I’m really sorry,’ said Robert again, flinging his arm over his eyes as if dazzled by the sun. ‘I can’t believe it. I’ve been willing this not to happen since you started, and I thought I’d cracked it. I feel like a sixteen year old.’

‘
Sorry to disappoint you,’ I said, beginning to rub his stomach again. ‘I’m actually thirty.’

But Robert didn’t laugh. He was so mortified that he had actually broken out in a sweat, and all the muscles I’d worked so hard to relax were visibly tensing up before me. His erection subsided of its own accord, but rigor mortis appeared to have set in the rest of his body. He fidgeted uncomfortably again on the couch, and then suddenly sat up, not meeting my eyes.

‘
I’m really sorry,’ he muttered. ‘I can’t do this. I’m too embarrassed. I think I should leave.’

‘
Oh
no
,’ I said frantically, clasping his shoulders, trying not to sound too desperate. ‘Please. It’s fine – I promise you; no big deal, it happens all the time.’ Just not with men I really, really fancy, I thought.

He shook his head and swung his legs over the side of the couch. ‘No. I can’t. It feels all wrong – like I came here to take advantage of you, or something.’

‘
Well,’ I said ruefully ‘Of course, it’s up to you. I’m not going to force you to let me continue the massage. But please don’t just go. It’s been so nice to see you.‘ We both laughed, sheepishly, at the inference. ‘Why don’t you stay for a cup of tea – herb tea would be best, after a massage - and then see how you feel?’

Robert hesitated.

‘
Oh, go on,’ I said, nudging him shyly. ‘It’s like falling off a horse. You really should get straight back on again otherwise you get a phobia about riding.’

I winced, thinking again how suggestive that sounded. ‘No seriously,’ I ploughed on. ‘I’ll leave you to get dressed while I put the kettle on. Then if you want me to finish the massage later, just give me the nod and I will. But please, please don’t be embarrassed. What sort of tea would you like?’

‘
Camomile, if you’ve got it, please,’ Robert said, reaching for his trousers. I left the room, torn between confusion and an empathic embarrassment at the turn of events, whilst simultaneously being deeply impressed at Robert’s preference in herb teas. You’d have had to put a gun to Gavin’s head to make him voluntarily request a cup of camomile tea.

By the time Robert marched into the kitchen, the kettle was already boiling, and his composure seemed to have returned, buttoned up around him like his pristine white shirt. I was glad that he hadn’t put his jacket and tie back on – perhaps there was a chance we might be able to carry on where we left off.

I admired the way he’d stopped apologising, too – if it was me, I knew I would have continued to do, ad nauseum – and managed to sprawl himself loosely into a chair at the kitchen table as if he had been there a thousand times before.

The tea did us good; restored a further sense of normality. We chatted as easily as we had a couple of nights earlier in Nottingham, and I felt that the massage had somehow increased our sense of intimacy. I would never normally feel that with a client – seeing them naked made absolutely no difference to how I felt, or didn’t feel, about them – but Robert was another matter. I felt a creepingly compelling sensation of ownership of him, and prayed silently that he’d change his mind about finishing the massage, so I could get my hands on that lovely body again. It felt like some kind of test – that I could massage him into belonging to me.

But eventually Robert stood up and emptied the rest of his mug down the sink.

‘
I’d better be off,’ he said. ‘How much do I owe you for the massage?’

He turned, saw my hurt face, and relented. ‘You know, you probably won’t believe this, but for a while there I almost forgot you had a boyfriend. ‘

The words splurged out of me. ‘If I didn’t have, would you be interested in the position?’

He came closer and crouched down by my chair, so I was staring into his amber eyes. They were so clear that I half-expected small insects to be suspended inside them.

‘
Emma. Any position. Any time. I think you’re absolutely gorgeous and I hate the thought that you’re with someone else.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘Are you
sure
it’s serious between you and him?’

I reached up and ran my fingers through his short hair. The gesture may have been tentative, but my reply was uttered with total conviction:

‘
Actually,’ I said. ‘I’ve done a lot of thinking since we met last week; about what – who – I want. I know it sounds, well, convenient, to say this now - but Gavin and I were a habit. He doesn’t want me, and hasn’t for ages. He said we were a habit when we finished, and I never really believed him.’ I hesitated. ‘Not until I met you. It was just bad timing that he and I had had one more fling, right before I came to Nottingham. And now I feel differently.’

‘
How differently?’ He bent forward and whispered the words in my ear, so softly that they felt like kisses.

‘
Enough to promise you, on my life, that if I ever hear from him again – which I haven’t, since Nottingham – I’ll tell him he’s history.’

‘
Excellent. Do you know what?’

‘
What?’

‘
That was without question the most fantastic massage I’ve ever had.’ Robert tucked a loose strand of my hair behind my right ear, and moved even closer.

‘
I hope you’re not just after me for my massage techniques,’ I replied, feeling bolder by the second, digging my thumbs into pressure points on his skull until he shivered with pleasure.

‘
No,’ he said. ‘Not at all. But I must say, it’s very nice that you’re so talented.’

I stood up, briskly. ‘Right then. Do I take it that you’re ready to continue?’

Robert smiled sheepishly. ‘Yes, but I can’t guarantee that I won’t have the same problem as before.’

‘
Good,’ I said, as seductively as I could, marvelling that I wasn’t being shy, nor blushing or blotchy, nor depressed or anxious. But in charge, aroused, comfortable.

Before I could think too much about it, I took my glasses off, leaned forward and kissed him, my ponytail falling around the side of my neck and tickling his nose and cheek. His arms shot out and wrapped themselves around me, and he kissed me back, deep and hungry and scented with camomile, like being kissed in the countryside. His skin smelled of lemongrass.

‘
I could probably get struck off for this,’ I said, after a few minutes. ‘We should stop. At least let me finish the massage. I’m being so unprofessional.’ I tried half-heartedly to pull away but he wouldn’t let me.

‘
Kiss me again.’

I obliged. I felt close to orgasm already, although at the back of my head my old, cautious-Emma voice was ranting at me, albeit with the volume turned down: OK, so you kissed him, but he could still be taking advantage because he knows you fancy him. He was aroused because of the massage, not because of you, despite what he’s just said.

But somehow I knew, I just knew that he wasn’t going to use me. That this wasn’t a roll in the hay. After all the months of moping, and then Stella’s revelation, I realised that without a doubt I didn’t want Gavin any more. Really, honestly, hand on heart.

Actually, hand on something else. The Christmas tree had reappeared, and I couldn’t help myself. I just wanted to touch it….

‘
Will you continue the massage?’ Robert was already peeling off his clothes again, dragging me down the hall to the massage room, where he climbed back onto the couch, on his back.

I tried to reclaim some semblance of professionalism, and did the old towel trick across his torso – which, as I’d predicted, had absolutely no effect. I poured a well of oil into my hands and began to move around towards his head to work on his chest, but he reached up and caught my slippery hands and pulled me back towards him.

‘
Lie on top of me,’ he whispered, not at all embarrassed anymore.

Without giving it a second thought, I did. I scrambled awkwardly up on to my massage couch and straddled him, whipping away his towel in a movement akin to the men from Buck’s Fizz ripping off Cheryl and Jay‘s skirts during “Making Your Mind Up” – which I, conclusively, was. Robert’s penis was poking out of his boxers, unveiled and looking as magnificent as I’d expected. I manoeuvred myself down on him so that I was rubbing it against me, and the pleasure was almost painful in its intensity as we kissed and kissed.

‘
This is awful, but – could we? Do you think we could? I really want you.’ The sound of my voice, hoarse with lust, almost surprised me.

Robert sat up a little, on his elbows, lifting me with him. ‘I’ve got a condom in my wallet,’ he said, and I’d vaulted off the couch and over to his jacket before he changed his mind. I couldn’t believe my wantonness.

‘
Do you want to go to into my bedroom?’ I said, handing him his wallet.

‘
No. I want to stay here.’ He stripped off his boxers and sat up to roll on the condom before sinking back onto the couch. As his wallet fell to the floor, I saw a photograph of a little coffee-skinned girl, hair in bunches, beaming gap-toothed from a clear plastic display next to his credit cards, and my heart constricted. He was a dad, as well as a divinely attractive man.