This Could Have Been Our Song!: A coulda woulda shoulda ballad (31 page)

“Was that a compliment?”
she  laughs, “He woke up in the lounge around five or six this morning. Axelle tucked him up.”

“He had a good time then! How many other people passed out there?” I ask, laughing.

She gets up and goes to the kitchen. She’s purposely wearing her hair with two, low, long pigtails and is waiting for a reaction from me. I’m not going to give her the satisfaction. She comes back with two pieces of pie with fresh, whipped cream.

“Did I mention how much I love your kitchen?
So functional.” She gives me my piece, “I baked this one in twenty minutes and my chicken is ready.”

“I’m glad you like. I don’t use it much,” I tell her. I’m taking her back in my arms and successfully gain control of the r
emote, “Mostly Patrick when he’s in town.” There it is: round two of the Guinness Premiership, London Irish versus Gloucester and Newcastle Falcons versus Sale Sharks. “Do you mind?” I ask her. “Not everyone wants to watch the –”

“English Premiership?
Be my guest,” she says with a sincere smile.

“Really?
You like rugby?” I ask her. “If you’re not faking this, that’s the sexiest thing you’ve done to me today and you, my dear, have done a lot of sexy things to me,” I wink.

“Guinness Premiership, right? It’s the end of the second round. I’ve been watching the games with Granddaddy,” she says and puts our empty plates on the tables. “We’re the thi
rteenth so…” She completely sits on my lap. “Gloucester won last week against Bath so they’re playing ” – she puts her arms around my neck – “London Irish, who last week lost against Saracens. And those good old Newcastle Falcons are playing too –”

I shut her up with a kiss. “Please show me some mercy,” I tell her, completely aroused. I kiss her one more time before releasing her. She gets up and takes all the plates away. “You don’t have to do that,” I say, holding her hand. Mary would never clear plates up; she would wait for someone, anyone, else to do it. I can’t remember the last thing she ever cooked for me either. Can she even cook? I bet she hired a nice cook to do it for her great writer boyfriend in their Spanish villa.

“I don’t mind. You have a dishwasher, Marcus.” She leaves for the kitchen again. I follow her; I know that I just fuck things up. “What do you think about potato terrine with apple and goat’s cheese to eat with the chicken for supper?”

“That sounds delicious but you don’t have to go to all that trouble.” I stop talking when I catch her face’s expression.

“I love cooking and I haven’t had the occasion to really do it since I’ve been in London. I’ve missed my kitchen…so I’ll go to ‘all that trouble’ if you don’t mind,” she says very seriously. “Besides, we can’t just live on water and sex,” she adds before going back to the living room.

Splendid, you idiot; now you’ve done it. I find her on the loveseat, not the sofa, on the phone. Is she leaving me again? Now I sound like a very unsecure schoolboy.

“What do you mean, Gloucester lost against the London Irish? Are you bloody joking, Granddaddy?” she says on the phone. She completely concentrates on the games and her conversation. “So how much did I lose…? That’s not too bad. Tell Magdalena that I’m still on. Gloucester could still make it to the semi-finals,” she tells him. He must have said something funny because she laughs. “I miss you guys too…I should be home sometime tomorrow.” Our eyes lock and she smiles. “Stop being so dense, Marcus. It’s exhausting,” she whispers to me, covering her phone. “I need to pick up my laptop and a few changes of clothes. Apparently, I look like a famous, nineties, female rapper… Yes, that one!” she tells her granddaddy.

“I’m sorry,” I mime to her before turning my attention back to the telly. I’ll try my best not to be too much of a dense idiot for the next ten days.

I lasted three!

Monday was relatively quiet; we didn’t leave my place. Lucia helped me restore my main floor to its former glory, before Hurricane Patrick. We even moved my instruments back into the music room and I convinced her to leave Belinda there. It was like separating a mother from her offspring.

“It will be fine, Luce,” I reassured for the fourth time.

“Why can’t she stay in your room?” she asked me for the fifth time.

“Because you humanized
it
; at least in Toronto it stayed in your walking-in closet with the other female-named guitars and violins,” I said more abruptly than I wanted to. “Luce, what I wanted to say –”

“I’m not used to having her sleeping that far from me.” She’s still holding the case.

But I just couldn’t let it go. “You never brought her with you when you were staying at John’s,” I said.

“Wow! That didn’t take long!” she’s putting her guitar in the corner. “I also never let anyone play
her
.
Ever
,” she added before leaving the music room.

Bugger! Why did I keep doing this? I followed her outside. “Are you mad? It’s bloody raining!” I shouted then took my sweater off to protect her. “Come back inside. Belinda can stay with us.”

“Thanks. Fucking London!” she said with a small laugh. “How about Alfie?” she asked as we’re walking back into the house.

“Your giant teddy bear?
This is a no. I don’t want to share you with
it
, any of your
it
,” I told her, caressing her sweet face.

“Alright then.”
She’s quickly taking my hand and leading me toward the stairs.

“Where are we going?” I asked. We were supposed to go pick up a few things for her in Hampstead, but not Alfie.

“I’m going to take a nap. You said I couldn’t have Alfie with me so…” she teased, walking up the stairs.

“Lead the way, temptress.” I’m taking her in my arms and carrying her into the bedroom. “No sharing,” I raspingly said and dropped softly on the bed. I took her wet dress off. “God, you’re gorgeous, Luce.” I’m sealing it with a kiss. This week she would be all mine, I kept thinking.

“No more sharing,” she groaned against my mouth before responding to my kiss.

We finally went to Hampstead on Tuesday. But not before stopping at a travel agency to change Lucia’s gateway ticket to Greece. She decided to give them to Axelle and Paul. I couldn’t believe she had such an elaborate plan in case Noor turned out to be a runaway bride. She was the one sobbing during the ceremony, the one who gave her away to Andrew, the one who prepared several routines for the reception and the one who cooked those amazing party favors.

“So you would have been in Greece now if –” I asked her la
ter that day at one of my favorite restaurant in London. I wanted to give her small break from my kitchen and show that I could be a gentleman.

“If she’d had cold feet,” she said, drinking her wine. She looked simply beautiful in her cream dress. It showed off her
smooth, long neck, her soft cleavage and her legs. “And she did,” she said, just like that.

“Noor?”
I saw her this afternoon. She and Andrew would be leaving for Bangui in a couple of days and they looked happy and in love.

“She did.” She’s looking straight to my eyes. “But she wan
ted to marry him anyway. Despite the doubts and fears, she said she loved him enough to try,” she confessed. Her hands were shaking and I took one in mine and didn’t let it go. “She has the right to make her own mistakes,” she said with a small smile.

“Right.
I let Patrick make his,” I told her. “He wouldn’t have had his girls today and for that I know he’s grateful.”

“Did he have cold feet? That doesn’t sound like Patrick,” she said as she started to eat her main course.

“Not really; just a bit of fears. He was so young. But like you said, you just have to tough it up and go thought with it,” I told her. Patrick was a bit odd on his wedding day but after a couple of drinks he was ready to go.

She looked at our hands together. This was supposed to be a romantic supper; we both got all dressed up. Lucia chose my outfit and I chose hers. She traded her overnight bag for a m
edium carry-on and Alfie. I caved and the teddy is adorable in one of the guestroom.

“No, Marcus, that’s not what I meant. No one should
go through
anything they’re not ready to completely commit to. It’s just the rest of their damn life! Noor was ready to get married, no matter what the future may hold for her. I believe Patrick felt the same way.” She was still looking at our hands then bent over the table and gave me a quick kiss. “But I feel for his daughters; little girls searching for their daddy… Don’t I know this feeling.”

“I know,” I told her. “Let’s talk about something more u
pbeat, like how you convinced me to bring Alfie back to my home,” I laughed.

“You did look like a fool carrying it out of Granddaddy’s home this afternoon… Thank you,” she said.

“Anytime.”

That night I watched her sleeping in my arms. No-one should go through anything they’re not ready to completely commit to, she said. “I’m trying, love,” I whispered and move her hair away from her cheek. “And each second with you just makes it easier,” I added with a small kiss on her cheek.

“Tell me about Mary Gillis,” Lucia says out of the blue while she was sponging my back, in the tub with me. “Or are you still trying to process this?” she adds and kisses the back of my neck.

Three days…and today was such a good one. Tommy and Nigel came by to watch an old game rerun. We discussed it at the pub a couple of weeks ago. I wanted to cancel but Lucia didn’t let me. Instead, she prepared some snacks and shared some jokes with my mates. They were so infatuated with her, I had to kick them out of my home; Tommy back to Arlene, and Nigel to wherever he came from. I really didn’t care; that prick gave her his number!

“Is this really the best place to talk about this?” I answer. She hugs me and rests my head in her breast.
“Really? That just not fair. My head is on your…and my hands are on your.” I grab her inner thigh to further make my point.

“Stop it,” she giggles. “There will never be a perfect place or time for this conversation, Marcus. Not in this house.”

She’s right; there will never be a right time unless I make it. She’s playfully sponging my chest and lightly kisses my neck for encouragement. “What do you want to know? Ask me anything,” I finally let out.

“Tell me about her; she must be quite a woman,” she says.

“From the first day John and I met her, she has been the most controlling person I’ve ever encountered. Back then I really thought that she was just passionate. She knew – sorry,
knows
– how to get what she wants out of anyone and just goes for it,” I tell her. I stay quiet a bit and wait for a reaction – nothing, just more scrubbing. “I found that
passion
inspiring. So I took a ride on it and pretty much lived carelessly through her for years,” I continue.

“What happened?” she asks me. There’s no animosity in her voice, just simple inquiry. She gently pulls my head back and starts to wash my hair.

“That feels nice…we can talk about that later,” I say and my eyes close, but she gently pulls my hair.

“What happened, Marcus?” she repeats.

“I don’t know and I have been trying to figure it out for the past five years. She just gave me the ring back and told me that she will see me in the recording studio,” I tell her, still not opening my eyes. Talk about the naked truth.

She combs my washed hair. “I’m sorry. I really am, Marcus. Why was this not…anywhere?”

“Mary valued her private life, at least that’s what she’d been telling me all these years. But she wasn’t so keen on it when it was the other ones,” I tell her. It’s her turn to be quiet. I think I put my foot in my mouth again.

“Do you still love her?” she asks, almost as a whisper.

I turn around to face her. No more hiding now. “No. I do not her love her anymore, Luce. I’m not a masochist,” I tell her before kissing her. She has been putting her feelings out there for the past three days and I’ve been selfishly taken them from granted. I’m no better than Mary right now.

“You pretty much did this whole house for her. You have a music room for Christ sake! After this pool that you call a bat
htub and your amazing kitchen, that’s the coolest thing in the house,” she says, getting out of the tub. She puts on her robe and hands me mine then leaves the room.

“I did,” I tell her. I find her still in her robe, putting lotion on, her hair still in a bun. “I bought this rundown townhouse and remodeled it for us.” I put some pants on. “She hated it – not her style. We never lived here.”

“What?” she say when I give her the green and grey boxer shorts and camisole. “You want me to wear this?”

“Please. I’ve been living in St John’s Wood by all myself, Luce. Mary doesn’t like it here, not even the music room,” I tell her now that she is fully dressed. I put an undershirt on.

“You never jammed?” she asks me.

“Mary is not the jamming type,” I admit.

She comes over and hugs and kisses me. “Baby…let’s go jam then.” She takes my arm and leads me downstairs. “So what do you want to play?” She looks completely serious.