What She Wants (49 page)

was a bored housewife looking for cheap sex! Oh God, no. But it’s only lunch, said the little voice in her head, the voice that yearned for excitement. Matt’s away having fun in Bath and not bothering to phone you, and all you’re doing is going out with a handsome man, a colleague, in fact. Nothing wrong with that. Anyway, Matt and Christy would like each other and they could have dinner parties and invite Christy. But then, Hope reminded herself honestly, there wasn’t a chance in hell of having Christy and Matt in the same room. She was kidding herself with this dream of intellectual dinner parties. She felt herself quiver with excitement just being near Christy and it was a bit unlikely that Matt wouldn’t notice this. A person with no perception whatsoever would notice it. ‘Sorry about that.’ Christy slid into his seat. ‘I wanted to have a chat with Liam about something. That’s why I was coming here today. I hope you didn’t mind me asking you along.’ His dark eyes were innocent. ‘I thought it would be nice to have the company. I hate eating alone and Liam never has more than a moment to sit and talk to his guest.’ Hope felt some of the tension and guilt leave her - he made it sound so reasonable … They examined the menu, and, after a bit of chat with Liam about his recommendations, ordered. Christy also ordered a bottle of red wine. ‘I can’t, I’m driving,’ Hope said. ‘Just a teeny glass,’ Christy wheedled. ‘It’ll do you good after all your hard work this morning. Now, tell me what the situation is with the fishmonger crisis?’ Hope relaxed a bit more. He just wanted to talk about work. What was the harm in that? This was a business lunch, actually, now that she thought about it. She could tell Matt that she’d had a business lunch, if he asked. Not that he’d ask, but if he did, she’d be able to tell him it had all been above board. Utterly respectable. What could you get up to in a public place, for goodness sake?

She talked about the trail of fish receipts and Christy listened, filling her glass with wine occasionally. The starters were a long time coming and with nothing but bread rolls to fill her up, Hope began to get drunk. In Christy’s skilled hands, the bottle was soon empty, most of it having gone into Hope’s glass. Nerves always made her drink more. He really was the sweetest man, she thought tipsily. He didn’t want to talk about himself at all, he just wanted to hear about her. ‘Your husband’s writing a novel, I believe,’ Christy said as they began their starters. A second bottle of wine appeared magically on the table. ‘Tell me all about it. I’d love to meet him. I think I’ve got fantasies about writing a novel - don’t we all, I suppose!’ Wine had removed ninety-nine per cent of the tension in Hope and this guileless statement removed the rest. Dear sweet Christy, he was interested in her family - he’d love to meet Matt. How nice. He was a friend, nothing more. A handsome, utterly sexy friend and it was so nice to be able to go out to lunch with him in a platonic way. That’s what she needed: lots of sexy platonic friends with kind eyes. Staring over at Christy with glazed eyes, admiring the way the chunky jumper clung to his broad shoulders, she thought he was very sexy indeed. Sam would like him too. If anyone asked, she could say she was finding a nice man for Sam. They talked about life in Kerry and Hope was thrilled that she was clearly being so entertaining about adjusting to a totally new life. It was amazing that the stories of the rat invasion and her attempts to rear six chicks could sound amusing, but they did. Christy laughed uproariously and didn’t interrupt at all. At half three, the sound of a vacuum cleaner could be heard starting up in the distance. Hope, who was leaning on her hand and smiling at Christy as she mistily told him how she’d spent ages looking for something nice to wear that day in case she’d bumped into him, sat up at the sound.

Through a drunken haze, she looked at her watch and gasped. ‘The children! I’ve got to pick them up!’ she said. ‘Not yet, surely,’ said Christy, looking a bit put out. ‘Yes! I’m late!’ wailed Hope getting clumsily to her feet. She knocked over her wine glass, mercifully empty, in her attempts to get out of the seat. ‘You can’t drive, darling,’ Christy said. ‘You’re plastered. I’ll drive you.’ ‘You’re drunk too. I can’t let you drive my children,’ Hope said. ‘I haven’t had as much as you,’ he replied truthfully, having poured much more wine into Hope’s glass than into his. ‘No,’ insisted Hope. She was drunk, she was ashamed to admit, but she wouldn’t let anyone else in that state drive her precious children. ‘You can drive me to Hunnybunnikins and I’ll phone Teddy Taxi to take us home.’ She passed a mirror in the hall on their way out and was shocked to see that she no longer looked as lovely as she felt she had an hour ago, when she’d admired herself in a happy drunken haze in the ladies’ room mirror. Her face was flushed, her eyeliner was all gone and she’d rubbed her lipstick off with her wineglass. Christy’s car felt very low as she swung herself inelegantly into it. The interior was also very small and when Christy’s hand settled on the gear stick, it was only inches away from her knee. ‘Settled?’ he asked. ‘Yes,’ she said, feeling trollopy and like a bad mother. She began to feel slightly queasy as they raced along. Christy certainly didn’t slow down in deference to the wine he’d drunk. Hope stared guiltily out the window and worried about being late for the children and about Christy driving after drinking. She was worrying so much, she didn’t notice that between gear changes, Christy rested his hand on her knee. It was only when they reached Hunnybunnikins that

she realized why her knee felt warmer than the rest of her. Christy stopped the car on the other side of a big tree that shielded the playgroup from the road. It also shielded the car from anyone inside the building. The next house was a few hundred yards away. Nobody was looking. ‘Bye darling,’ said Christy softly. He moved like a big cat until his arms were around Hope and his dark, saturnine face was inches away from hers. He closed the distance between them and then his lips touched hers in a deep, open kiss. Hope felt her body melt automatically against his hard chest and she arched herself instinctively upwards, as if waiting for his hands to slip into the valley between her breasts and discover that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Every nerve in her body tingled, waiting for his next move. Her nipples quivered with excitement, hard as bullets. Then, before she had a chance to say anything, he pulled away and brushed her lips with his thumb tenderly. ‘I’ve wanted to do that from the moment I met you,’ he said, staring at her with his deep, unfathomable eyes. Hope breathed heavily. ‘I’ll see you soon,’ he said and put both hands back on the steering wheel. ‘T… thanks for lunch,’ she stammered and clambered out of the car, catching her tights on the door and snagging them. Christy drove off with a crunching of tyres and Hope was left standing beside the playgroup, feeling juddery from too much drink and too much excitement. How was she ever going to explain this to Giselle? Giselle took one look at her, said nothing, and then led Hope into the adults’ quarters where she made her a cup of coffee so strong a duck could trot across it. ‘I had a couple of glasses of wine after work and I got a lift here and I knew I couldn’t drive the children home Hope rattled on. ‘And you got a lift?’ Giselle inquired, her kind face concerned.

‘From someone at work,’ said Hope with a hiccup. ‘Mary Kate’s always telling me to loosen up. I suppose this must be what she means! Can I use your phone to call Teddy Taxi?’ she added. At home and still tipsy, Hope skipped around the cottage, happily playing with the children and feeling wildly energetic. ‘You smell funny,’ Millie said, confused by this unusually giggly version of her mother who hadn’t changed into her normal old clothes. Hope picked her up and they danced around the room together. Toby wanted to join in, so Hope put on some music and the three of them twirled and danced for a while. Both children had been making things with glitter and gold stars in the playgroup, so as they danced, flecks of glitter fell. ‘I’m shiny like a star!’ sang Millie, twirling on her toes like a ballerina with glittery fragments dancing around her in shafts of pale sunlight. ‘Lovely stars,’ sang Hope happily as she twirled too. But by half five, both Hope’s hangover and a terminal dose of guilt began to kick in. What had she been doing having lunch with Christy? She must have been out of her mind. And that kiss outside the playgroup … Just thinking about it made her quiver somewhere deep in her solar plexus, but it had been wrong, absolutely wrong. It must never happen again. What if somebody had seen them and told Matt? Hope paled at the very thought. No, it must never happen again.

She woke up in the middle of the night in a panic, having just had a fevered dream where Matt had walked in on her and Christy making love in the hotel Jacuzzi. Dreams were so weird: she didn’t know if the hotel had a Jacuzzi. Hope’s pulse raced with shock as she remembered the look of devastation on Matt’s dear face when he’d realized that his naked wife was straddling a total stranger, clinging to him

like a sex-starved limpet. Devastation was the only word for it.

The guilt overwhelmed Hope. Why had nobody ever told her that cheating on your husband would be so awful? All those films and books had made it plain that the only risk was getting caught, nothing about the agony of guilt over hurting someone you loved. And this wasn’t even proper cheating; it had only been a stolen kiss. She tried to convince herself that it wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t full-blown sex in the Jacuzzi. It wasn’t sexual at all, really.

Oh hell. Hope felt like crying. It was no use trying to convince herself that her afternoon with Christy had been innocent: it hadn’t. If his sports car had been any more like a double bed, she’d have been stripped down to her underwear in seconds, so great had been the electricity between the two of them. Flattery and excitement meant she’d almost shoved her boobs in his face and if he’d touched her any more, she’d have swooned in her eagerness to be made love to.

Tearfully, she got out of bed, wrapped herself in Matt’s old dressing gown for comfort, and went downstairs. Sleep would be impossible now: she might as well turn on the TV and watch some mindless middle of the night television.

With a reviving cup of tea in her hand, Hope switched on the television and started to watch a repeat of an ‘80s American soap. She was just remembering a time when she’d worn jackets and jumpers with huge shoulder pads like the women on the show, when she realized that the heavily shoulder-padded actress screaming at her downcast husband was upset because he’d admitted to having an affair.

‘Why did you have to betray me?’ screamed the woman, doing her best to look devastated without ruining her inch thick eye makeup.

Hope couldn’t change the channel fast enough as another wave of shame surged in her soul. Would she ever forgive herself for almost cheating on Matt? Would she have to live with this guilt forever? She knew that magazine agony aunts

urged people having affairs not to tell purely to purge themselves of guilt. Doing so only salved the guilty person’s conscience and did nothing to help the relationship. But Hope longed to be able to admit all to Matt and be absolved. If only she could turn the clock back and do things differently.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Virginia and Dinky were gardening when the phone rang. Virginia pulled off her gardening gloves as she ran into the house, Dinky running ahead helpfully.

It was Laurence and he sounded upset.

‘I don’t know how to tell you this, Mum,’ he said, ‘but Barbara’s not happy with the wedding plans.’

‘What do you mean “not happy”?’ asked Virginia.

Laurence sighed. ‘She says she’s always wanted a beach wedding, you know, with everyone barefoot on the sand and the waves in the background.’

Virginia counted to ten. It was a mistake to bitch to your son about your future daughter-in-law, she knew.

‘Why didn’t she say this in the beginning?’ Virginia said mildly. ‘You booked the church and the hotel last month. Perhaps it would have been easier to say what she wanted before everything was organized.’

The wedding was due to take place in four months and the reception was to be in one of Dublin’s poshest hotels. So far, the only trauma had been the fact that the pretty church that Barbara had set her heart on had been booked already for another wedding. However, since Barbara and Laurence - or, should that be Laurence, Virginia thought were paying for the wedding, Virginia had no intention of putting her oar in. ‘I’m sure you’ll lose your deposit from the hotel for cancelling,’ she added gently, knowing damn well who’d be out of pocket due to Barbara’s newest fantasy.

‘I know,’ Laurence groaned. ‘She says she didn’t want to make a fuss.’

There was no point in saying that changing her mind four months before the actual wedding would create far more fuss than being upfront about what she wanted in the first place.

‘What do Barbara’s parents say?’

‘They just want her to be happy. And so do I. Mum, I know you were looking forward to it so much. Would you hate it if we went to the Caribbean instead?’

‘Of course not, Laurence, love. It’s your wedding, not mine. But lots of people probably won’t be able to travel that far. It’s a big expense,’ she added delicately. ‘Have you checked out dates and places yet?’

‘I’m going to,’ he promised. ‘I’ve just been so busy at work, I haven’t had a chance to make any phone calls yet.’

Virginia couldn’t resist it: ‘Why can’t Barbara check it out?’

‘She hates doing things like that,’ Laurence said. ‘She’s very shy, you know, Mum. She’s not organized, like you.’

Virginia privately thought that Barbara’s problem was nothing to do with shyness. Over-indulged was more like it. Her poor parents would probably agree to a wedding on Mars if it pleased her. And now she had Laurence singing off the same hymn sheet. Pleasing Barbara was the name of the game.

‘Well Laurence, when you’ve checked it out, phone me back. There’s no point making a drama out of it.’

Jamie was much less reserved when he rang.

‘That bloody bitch Barbara is doing my head in, Mum. She treats Laurence like dirt. Have you heard the latest about the wedding? Stupid cow wants to get married on a beach. If she’s not careful, when she gets to the beach, I’ll shove her into the water and hold her head down and she can glug “I do” with a mouthful of seawater.’