Dare to Love (29 page)

Kenny visit home a few times. He travel a lot, all of them do. Europe, Africa, America. They live the kind of life I want but they not proud, they not looking down their nose at me. He’s like Mel, laid-back, easy-going with a strong Bajan accent. He suggest a place to take Josi, a beach bar, but I’d be happy spending more time with them. When Josi sit beside me on the sofa and take my hand I feel like we’re a couple, like it’s a double date. This is a different life to the one I’m living, to the one I’ve lived with my other women. It feel more like Roxy’s life, but with Josi instead of Sophia and without the cold in New York.

I would like to stay longer especially as we agreed not to have sex tonight because she going home to her husband tomorrow, but she want to dance and it’s getting late. The beach bar not saying much – shutting before we even finish a drink – so we end up at the Gap in Reggae Lounge. The usual extroverts hold the floor and move to the Bob Marley tribute band. I’m happy to just hold a corner with Josi, don’t want any drama tonight. I’m feeling everything about her but my mind’s all over the place.

How can I fit into her world? I wish she’d let me spend more time with her and her friends, move in her circles. I feel unsure of myself. All our meetings was on the beach, in my car or in my house. I thought I was showing her style at the Crane but to hear them talk, they used to that kind of life. I can’t afford to stay at the Crane. Celia and Kenny did. I have to step my game up to be with her.

I want this to be a good night. Tonight I’m going to stop thinking about Marcie and her pain, about Mel and the question marks in her eyes, about Sammy and black parcels and focus it on her. The first time I dance with her she fire me up. I didn’t know anything about her, thought it could be a nice little holiday thing. Now I’m wondering how I’m going to manage without her. It’s not just the sex thing, though God knows that’s out of this world. It’s how at ease I feel with her, like I don’t even have to talk and she know what I’m thinking. It’s the way it is when we silent, when we don’t need words. I like her ambition, the way she talk about her children, the easy relationship she describe. I wish one day I can have the same with mine. I like the way she know what she want. I like her honesty. I try to tell her all that in the dance with every dip, every slide.

I want her badly but I have to keep my promise. I don’t want to be with all these people any more. At least I can have her to myself in the car, can kiss her and play with her. As if she read my mind, she ask, ‘Do you want me?’

I don’t need asking twice.

‘Let’s get out of here.’

I hold myself together while we walk back to the car. I want to rip her clothes off, to feel her skin against mine. Feel her nipples in my mouth but most of all I want to feel her warm wetness round my cock one last time.

When we get to the car she offer herself to me.

‘I want to make love to you.’

I don’t know how we get in the car so fast or how our clothes come off so quick. But before I know it I’m licking her hot, salty juice. I cover my lips in it, suck her clit to encourage more to come out. Then I’m inside her and I never want to leave. Moving with her, rising and falling, touching the top of her channel. I need to know she love me.

‘You love me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Tell me you love me.’

‘I love you Grant.’

She making a lot of noise, we sweating bad and the window open. We can’t stay here. We need to go somewhere quiet. I pull out slowly and jump in the driver’s seat. I just want to get to Dover Beach as quick as possible so I can get back inside her.

She touching me and asking me what will happen if the police stop us.

‘Tell them you kidnapping me,’ I joke but part of me wish she would take me back with her. I’ve never felt so insecure with anybody. I feel I’m running out of time to convince her I’m the man for her. If she was only here a little longer and not going back to a husband. I don’t even want to think about him, about her with him, about her with anybody but me. I need her to leave me with something to hold on to.

‘Tell me you love me.’

‘I love you.’

‘Do you love it?’

‘I love it, I love you. Fuck me Grant!’

My head spinning, I love it when she talk dirty. I want to talk dirty too but the only thing that come out of my mouth is ‘I love you.’ I have a repeat button that just keep going.

‘I love you Josi.’

I need to know I’m the best she ever have. I need to hear her say it so I can play it back when she gone.

She wash over me three or maybe four times. Then I can’t hold it any longer.

‘Stay with me, come with me.’ I’m talking rubbish. Then I let go. Let go of Marcie, of Jeanette, of Roxy, of Sophia, of Darron, of Sammy, let them wash right into her. I feel her let go of whatever she’s carrying. Our worries meet in one big swirling whirlpool that pull us closer together, take us deep, spinning and blending and merging; and I know this is worth fighting for.

Josi

‘Ladies and gentlemen, we’re about to begin our descent into Gatwick
Airport,’ the captain begins. My seat belt is already fastened and I’m wide awake, despite local time being five-thirty in the morning. Adrenaline and anxiety put paid to any ambitions I had of catching up on sleep during the flight. My mind kept flicking from Grant to Richard, like a movie over reliant on flashbacks.

I ring to let Richard know I’ve landed and will be home in about four hours. The happiness in his voice hangs like a lead weight round my neck, like shackles around my feet making my case feel heavy. What am I going to tell him?

‘Don’t meet me off the coach. I’ll get a taxi.’ It’ll buy me a little more time. Time to take in the grey cold blanket of Britain’s winter. Gatwick’s a greyscale village; buildings, bus stops, roads. Tentacles of bare branches reach out their accusing fingers. Already I’m missing the smiles of hibiscus and crotons, the red lips, purples blushes, magenta lids. Missing the endless blue of sky and sea. Already I’m missing Grant. I try to picture him in this grey, in his white pedal pushers and orange T-shirt. He’s a misplaced cartoon character; Barney Flintstone in Thunderbirds. I sleep fitfully between stops, still wondering what I’m going to tell Richard.

He bounds across the drive to the taxi as it pulls up outside our house, lifts my bag out of the boot while I pay the driver and, as I turn to face him, drops the case and lifts me off my feet, swinging me around as the driver looks on. He winds his window down. ‘Looks like somebody’s glad to see you.’ He chuckles to himself and drives back to the airport and the next stranger into whose story he’ll intrude for a few minutes.

I’m so far off the ground my breasts are level with his head. He buries his face in my chest and draws a deep breath.

‘You smell so good. I’ve missed you so much. Welcome home Josi.’

I’m stunned by his welcome. Open demonstration of affection is not Richard’s style, and certainly not in full view of the neighbours. He lets me slide down slowly till my face is level with his and his tongue explodes in my mouth, his lips hot and hard against mine. I catch my breath and, against my will, feel stirrings of desire. I kiss him back and feel the smile spread across his lips, feel his penis flex in his pants.

‘Let’s go in.’ He picks up my case in one hand. Hand in hand we walk to the door, where he drops the case, sweeps his hand under the back of my thighs and carries me across the threshold.

‘Welcome home Mrs Meyers. I love you Mrs Meyers. I never want to be without you Mrs Meyers.’ He declares as he puts me down. He holds me at arms length, scrutinises me from head to toe.

‘You look fantastic. Radiant. Beautiful. I’ve missed you so much.’

I gawk at him too, wondering where the beige and grey Richard’s gone, when did he change to red? Where did he get this exuberance? He’s always been complementary but usually with quiet reserve. He’s not a man of words, not prone to animation.

‘Are you going to leave my bag out there?’ I chuckle.

Keeping hold of one of my hands, he drags the bag in with the other, like I might disappear if he let me go.

‘Drink?’ he invites.

‘Coffee.’

He leads me to the kitchen and watches my face intently as I take in the blaze of colour. Pink, red and white carnations, orange lilies, roses in my favourite yellow, bouquets with brightly coloured ribbons, arrangements with broad green leaves and gracefully thin grasses arched like ballerinas and gymnasts. Not just in the kitchen but through the hatch into the dining room the garden extends onto the table where a huge arrangement sits with a small card.

As my eyes swivel from one vase to the next, he flicks the switch on the kettle.

‘Instant OK or do you want me to make fresh?’

‘Richard, this is…’ I can’t find the word. He waits. ‘Why?’ I ask eventually.

‘Because I know how much you hate the grey, I knew how you’d be missing the colour. Because I want you to stay.’

Something in me shifts, like a train changing tracks. I feel myself going down a different path. The speed of this train shatters the glacier that’s stood between us, tiny tinkling pieces lie melting on the kitchen tiles. My heart reaches out to him, no words are needed. I stretch up, put my arms around his neck, he bends to reach me. ‘Thank you.’

His kiss is gentle. His ardour tamed by the familiarity, the domesticity of the kitchen, but his desire’s real and pressing hard against me.

‘I’d do anything for you Josi, you know that,’ he gushes.

He’s excited, eager. The flame Grant ignited is still glowing. My blood’s still hot. It doesn’t take much for the coals to burst into flames.

‘I know.’

I want to make everything right, feel safe in his arms again.

‘Missed me?’ I taunt.

‘You know I missed you.’

‘Want me?’

‘More than anything.’

‘Then take me to your bed.’ I nibble his ear. Feel him shiver.

‘Our bed. What about your coffee?’

‘It can wait.’

He holds my hand and we mount the stairs like Hansel and Gretel, him in front, me following. When we reach the bedroom door he lifts me over the threshold.

‘Welcome back,’ he affirms as he lays me on the bed.

It feels odd being back in our bed after so many months in the spare room. Like rediscovering a dress after losing weight. It feels new and exciting, while being strangely familiar. He closes the blinds, shutting out the grey, and begins unbuttoning his shirt. I watch as he uncovers his lean white chest. There’s something reassuringly well-known about this scene. He’ll throw his shirt on the chair in the corner, followed by his jeans. He’ll leave his boxers on, I take those off. He’ll undress me, not with the urgency and impatience of a small boy unwrapping a new toy, more like a gentleman unwrapping a Havana cigar. When my wrapper is fully removed, he looks at me with a mixture of wonder and pride.

‘You’re beautiful.’

‘Don’t keep a girl waiting too long.’

I push his boxers over his slim hips, he adjusts his knees so I can roll them off. He straddles me, kisses me. I grip his pulsating pole with both hands and slide down to take it into my mouth. He pulls back.

‘No Josi. I’m not ready for that yet.’

‘OK darling, in your own time.’

He falters a little. I massage him back to rigidity. I feel my desire slipping like a wave that’s broken too soon, it retreats before it’s reached its crescendo. I do the thing I never thought I would. I think of Grant. Close my eyes and imagine it’s his hands cupping my breasts, his tongue sucking and licking my nipples, and I’m hot and ready again. When I moan, I moan for him. ‘Oh my love I want you so much,’ I cry to him. I spread my legs wide for him, pull him eagerly to me and guide him to my waiting wetness. When he slides in smooth and effortlessly, he does not question his ease of admission. He only needs to relish the swelling tide beneath him, only needs to be the rock against which my water flows. We have the rhythm of the tide, the whispered endearments of the winds to the waves. When our waters meet it’s with the certainty of two people who know the course, who’ve sailed it countless times and understand its intricate twists and turns.

He hands me tissues from the bedside table, no need for condoms. ‘Do you want that coffee now?’ he asks as I clean up.

‘Make that a hot chocolate. I’m feeling a little sleepy.’

‘I’m not surprised. Did you sleep on the plane?’

‘Not much.’

‘Didn’t sleep much myself either. Couldn’t wait for you to get back. I’d hoped for this but… Darling you’re amazing.’ He traces a heart on my face, forehead to chin and back again. He looks happy, happier than I’ve seen him since our wedding.

‘You’re pretty special too, Mr Meyers.’ I take his hand and kiss his palm. ‘Now go get me that drink while I finish cleaning up.’

‘Don’t move, I’ll be right back.’

‘I’m not going anywhere.’

‘Glad to hear it.’

By the time he returns, I’m asleep, and I don’t wake for fourteen hours.

Josi

Richard’s snoring gently beside me, one arm resting on my chest. I ease myself out
without waking him and pad to the bathroom. My mouth’s parched and there are a small school of Garra Rufas gnawing at my stomach. Street light filters in through the open blinds on the landing, enough for me to find my way to the kitchen. Wrapping my gown around me, I flick the switch on the kettle and open the fridge. I half expect to find paw paws and watermelons but Richard’s stocked it with my favourites – yoghurts, cheeses and cold meats. Chorizo sausage, stilton, mature cheddar, parma ham, honey roast turkey. There’s a small corn fed chicken from the farm store and a bottle of champagne. He was planning a celebration and I fell asleep. I check the clock on the wall. Half past midnight.