Dare to Love (23 page)

‘She’s only doing it for the money,’ she’d sneered.

‘You don’t think she could be in love?’ I’d asked.

‘Whenever you see those young women marry those old men is only one thing they after. I don’t blame them though, cause all men want to do is use women. I don’t trust them.’

Grant didn’t question or contradict her, didn’t defend himself or mankind. If he’s got money there’s little evidence of it. The conversation moved on to someone else on the TV.

‘What do you think of him?’ I realise Grant’s been talking to me.

‘Who?’

‘Darron.’

‘I think you have a fine son.’ I feel like I’m giving a report to a client. ‘He seems well balanced, knows what he wants and now wants to work for it.’

‘You think so?’

‘He’s missing you though. He desperately wants that closeness back. He thinks you’ve been too harsh on him.’

‘I just want him to do well, and I was so disappointed when…’

‘Then let him back in,’ I interrupt. ‘You’re the adult here. He shouldn’t have to prove himself to get your love.’

He looks surprised at the sharpness in my voice. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say a little more softly. ‘You’ve raised an ambitious, caring and sensitive young man, and I applaud you for it. Don’t make the mistake so many parents make and desert him in his hour of greatest need.’

‘What do you mean “greatest need”? Darron have everything he need.’

‘Now you’re just being stubborn. He’s at an age where he’s having to work out who he is – and it’s not always going to be who or what you want him to be. He needs to be able to work that through with you; and it’s now you cut him off. Grant, you’ve raised a fine son so far but the job’s not done.’

We pull up on a quiet street from where I can see the sea. Lights shimmer and tremble on the vast mirror. The turquoise blue of this morning has shifted and changed to indigo then inky black; the brightly clothed people have become dark punctuation marks in the water.

‘I just want him to do well. I know how hard I have to work to get my degree. I don’t want him to have to do the same. Can’t he see that?’

‘Yes. I’m sure he sees it, but he’s fourteen. You can’t control everything he does. He just…’

‘I’m not trying to control him. Just showing him how hard…’

‘Yes Grant, you are.
You
might not see it that way but
he
does.’

‘So you think I’m too hard on him. What you suggest I do, just let him do what he like, don’t go to school and end up with nothing?’

I touch his arm lightly, as I would any parent who feels I’m challenging their desire to do the right thing for their child.

‘No Grant, of course you have to do something, and I admire you for caring so much about Darron, but listen to me. You can’t just ground him without telling him when it’s going to end. Till his exams are over is a long time. He’s been grounded for months already. If you don’t ease up soon he’ll stop respecting you and start resenting you. Is that what you want?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Then start giving him some of his privileges back, and start giving him your time, play sport with him again, take him to the beach, let him…’

‘You think that will work?’

‘Better than what you’re doing now.’

He’s quiet. I watch his profile in the dark. He’s tense, as if working out what I’ve just said. I understand this look. I’ve seen it a lot on the faces of parents who’ve had their style of discipline questioned. Parents working out how to retract and still maintain control. The ones who succeed are those able to let go of control and focus instead on maintaining authority through negotiations. Those able to reconnect with the child or adolescent in themselves , those willing to let go of the reins a little, those prepared to act more out of love and less out of fear. Which one will he be? I put my hand on his arm again.

‘Grant?’

‘OK.’ He faces me. ‘I’ll try it your way. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.’

I breathe out, realising only then I’ve been holding my breath. He takes my hand in both of his, brings it to his lips and kisses my palm.

‘Thank you,’ he says quietly. ‘I appreciate it.’ He kisses my hand again, my arm, shoulder neck and finally my lips. He senses my hesitation.

‘What’s up babes?’

‘Nothing. Just…’

‘Just what?’

‘I don’t know. It just doesn’t feel right. You know.’

‘No I don’t know. I wanted to be with you so much tonight. The only way I could see to do that was to invite you home. Babes it feels right to me. I feel so comfortable with you.’

He tries to nuzzle my neck. I freeze. He pulls back into his seat.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say putting my hand on his thigh. I don’t know how to tell him that it feels wrong because I’ve just worked with him as a client and my professional discipline won’t allow me to cross the threshold into sex with the father, having left the mother and son at home.

‘It’s not every day I have dinner with someone’s girlfriend then minutes later make love to them.’

He doesn’t answer.

‘Grant. I just need some space to process what just happened. Do you understand?’

We sit in silence for a while before he asks flatly, ‘Do you want to go home?’

‘Yes.’ I move my hand from his thigh. There’s no point prolonging this. We drive back in silence. He makes no attempt to kiss me when we get to Celia’s.

‘Thanks for an interesting night,’ I say as I close the door and think – he sulks, just like Richard.

Grant

The house in darkness, Mel and Darron gone to bed. Darron’s on a school trip
tomorrow but it’s barely eleven o’clock and Mel in bed already. After I drop Josi off I drive round a bit to calm myself down, trying to clear my head and get some relief for my cock. I don’t understand the woman. She say she going to give it to me so what the hell she waiting for. Is she just a fucking cock tease? I was sure we would do it tonight, so sure I bring her home. I never do that before. I was taking a big risk. Mel might have worked out what was going on between us, which could have blown everything, but I trusted Josi could handle herself. She so much more mature than Mel, so sure of herself.

I love the way she talk about the places she’s been to; Canada, Egypt, Italy and a whole lot of other places in Europe, some I can’t even pronounce. She so sexy compared to Mel, so experienced. She know what to do to me, how to hold my cock in her mouth and squeeze it like a boa constrictor.

On the beach when she massage my back all my muscles loose but my cock stiff. When she kiss my back, my neck, the back of my head her lips barely touch my skin like a hot tickle. I wanted to take her right there. Now all of that filling my head and I can’t sleep. Every muscle in my body tight, I have to do something or I’m going to explode.

I lay down beside Mel, curl myself round her back, my cock pressing in the space between her butt cheeks.

‘Hey babes, you want to give me some?’ I whisper.

She don’t answer. I put my hand over her arm and cup her small breast. She try to shrug me off.

‘Come on Babes. Just a quickie.’

‘I’m tired,’ she mumble.

‘Just a quickie. Just a quick one. Pleeease.’

‘I’m tired,’ she mumble again and pull her knees up to her chest. ‘I have work tomorrow.’

I try a little longer but I know when she in this mood she don’t budge.

I go and get some water from the kitchen and turn on the TV. Just one chat show after the other. God I want her. How could she just leave me like that? I check my phone. Maybe she change her mind, maybe she want me too. No message, no missed calls. I check my email and Facebook. Maybe one of my old girlfriends send me a message. It won’t make my hard on go away but it would cheer me up. Nothing. I find a blue movie site. I don’t even want to watch the story, just want them to get to the fucking. I try doing with my hand what she did with her mouth. I can’t focus on the screen. Keep seeing her head moving up and down over my crotch, feel her wet mouth slithering over my cock, feel her tongue making circles, but instead of coming I get harder. Fuck her. She messing with my head. If I’m going to get any sleep tonight I have to take a cold shower. I’m angry as hell. Two women and I can’t a get a fuck out of any of them.

Josi promise to have sex with me. What she waiting for? I know what she waiting for but I’m not in a position to hire a hotel and I don’t want her to know how broke I am. She don’t do car sex, say she did it once and got injured, say she don’t want people passing to hear her. She didn’t seem too fussy the other day.

The shower bring a little relief. I lay in bed thinking about where I can take her that have a bed. Maybe one of my friend’s place. No, I would have too much explaining to do. I feel myself getting hard again. If I want to fuck her on a bed I have to do it here. I look at Mel. It’s a risk, but I have to take it.

Josi

Celia’s asleep when I get in. She has a heavy day tomorrow, a lot of viewings and
two new properties to sign up. She may be getting back late tomorrow. It’s not fair to try and talk to her about this in the morning before she goes. She’ll have enough on her plate. I turn on the TV with the volume down. There are only chat shows.

I’ve seen a different side to Grant tonight. He’s no fly-by-night-find-a-tourist-for-a-quick-screw type. He’s raised a son, has a good home, cares about family. Now I’ve met Melissa I’m prepared to believe theirs isn’t a deep, meaningful relationship. I won’t feel like I’m breaking up a marriage if I sleep with him. He wants me with a passion I’ve not experienced since Curtis – and who knows when, if ever, I’ll experience that again. The next time the situation’s right I’ll give in to him. I want to experience him – even if it’s just once. I’m not expecting any long term commitment on either side but I’ll at least satisfy this ache. Maybe we can go to a hotel. I don’t feel right bringing him here.

Richard’s name flashes on my phone. It’s on silent so I let it flash a few times before answering.

‘Hello.’

He’s thinking about me, can’t sleep, hopes he didn’t wake me up. He knows it’s nearly midnight but figured I’d still be awake or have my phone on silent. He’s missing me. Am I having a good time? What did I do today? I must be getting a good rest spending all that time on the beach. Things are ticking over OK, no major incidents. He’s missing me, and not just the distance. Can I see a way back for us?

I feel his betrayal all over again. How can there be a way back? I trusted him, would have trusted him with my life. No, I don’t know if there’s a way back.

What can he do to change my mind?

I suddenly realise there’s nothing he can do. It’s something I have to do myself and, although it feels crazy, I have to even the score, betray him too. I’m sure Freud would have something to say about it. Yes, I’ll sleep with Grant, maybe then there will be a way back.

I sleep soundly and wake to the smell of Celia’s coffee and toast.

‘Late night?’ she enquires, eyebrows raised.

‘Not the kind you’re thinking of.’ I rub my eyes, trying to bring them to life. ‘Any more coffee in that pot?’

‘Help yourself. I’d love to hear about it but I have to dash. Save it till tonight. Oh shoot! It’s a late one tonight too. Will it keep?’

‘Will have to, but there’s not much to tell.’

She raises her eyebrows and drops her eyes, as though looking over an imaginary pair of glasses.

‘He’s a nice lad. Dad’s the main problem.’

‘For him or you?’

‘Both.’

‘Intriguing,’ she says, slinging her bag over her shoulder and gathering her folders. ‘Don’t forget Barry’s coming to take you to the pottery this morning.’

‘Yeah, I know. That’s why I’m giving the beach a miss today.’

Barry arrives at eight o’clock. He’s Kenny’s friend and his office is near Celia’s; we’ve had drinks with him a few times after work. He offered to show me the pottery when I mentioned I like ceramics. He reminds me a little of Richard, maybe an inch shorter and a few pounds heavier. His skin the colour of cappuccino, stretched tightly across his face. He looks like he’s always on the verge of a smile, which must be a disadvantage at funerals or other sombre occasions.

He’s one of a few of Celia’s friends with hair, cut close to his head in a style reminiscent of the afro but with a slight flat top. Although he’s fifty two there’s no grey showing. He’s either got really good genes or a good supply of hair dye. He’s semi-retired from stock broking, did very well out of it and now goes into the office just to keep his hands in.

He has the air of a perfect gent, holds the door of his BMW open for me as I slide into the leather seat. As we glide through the morning sunshine, Barry regales me with tales of the changes he’s seen on the island. He’s never left, loves his home too much. I struggle to understand his broad accent but his laugh is infectious. We arrive at the pottery as it is opening. He’s a friend of the owner and after introducing me he disappears to talk while I wander through the shelves of brightly coloured wares. Each handmade piece is a joy, filled with energy, light and the heartbeat of its creator. Later, when I watch a display of some of the staff at work, it’s clear that a piece of Barbados goes into everything they make. Each piece has soul.