Torn (6 page)

They'd arrived well over an hour ago. She'd been introduced to more people than she could possibly remember, had chatted happily enough and, because of the guaranteed lift home, had not counted the glasses of wine she'd drunk. Gradually the groupings had sifted into cliques of friends. Jess now found herself on her own.

‘How're you doing? Get you one?' Sheila asked, nodding to Jessica's glass as she swished by, en-route for the kitchen. ‘You must come and have a dance in a minute.' She seemed unusually skittish and excited. Jessica could not help noticing that what she was wearing didn't suit her and was too exposing of her large frame and pale freckled flesh. The disco was playing a varied selection of hits from the last decade – nothing had so far inspired her to dance. And she still didn't feel sufficiently well-oiled to dance on her own or with other women.

The music was emanating from a very large conservatory, which ran the width of the house. It was still a while to wait until midnight and a group of musicians who'd recently arrived were setting up, due to take over from the disco at some point. Given this was a band of just five, the number of cables, leads, amplifiers, and other less identifiable gizmos being carried through were mind-boggling. What style of music were they planning to play? They all looked well beyond forty. The one thing she was grateful for, judging by the instruments, it wasn't going to be hootenanny.

From where Jess stood, by a sideboard laden with party snacks, there was a view through a serving hatch to the large brightly lit kitchen. Amid the huddle, Sheila was standing by a granite topped peninsula set up as the bar, her henna red curls bobbing as she laughed at something Rosemary had said. The kitchen looked new, although any house with a serving hatch had to have been built more than fifty years ago, Jess thought. It offered the perfect vantage point to watch unobserved. Why did people always gather in kitchens at parties?

A small shock – like a pulse of electricity – zipped through her nervous system provoking an in-drawn breath. A man had walked into the kitchen. Only after that first, undeniably physical response came the thought. Had there been a close friend standing near she might have spoken it aloud: He's nice! The moment was eerie, for at that instant the man's head turned and he looked towards the open hatch, seeming to catch her eye. This was ridiculous. He surely couldn't see her in the dimly lit room, let alone read her mind. She looked away. Men, however attractive, were not on her agenda – not yet, not for the foreseeable future. Even so …

It had been a long time since she'd experienced so strong and instant an attraction. In the old days she wouldn't have waited, she'd have walked through to the kitchen and introduced herself. And then what? Jess reminded herself she'd turned over a new leaf. She'd painful evidence of the treachery of physical attraction. It was meaningless. Body and mind were independent entities, neither listening to the other. He probably had bad breath, was a supporter of the BNP, or had an obsessive interest in Games Workshop. After a moment, Jess sneaked another look.

Sheila was still engaged in animated conversation; the new man had stretched past her, smiling, to accept a long glass of something amber from the barman. He was slim and tall, wearing dark coloured combats and a voluminous striped shirt hanging loose over something black. His light hair was short and slightly tousled and, from where Jess stood, it looked as though he were either in urgent need of a shave, or was growing a beard. So, nothing remarkable about his appearance, she told herself. It's an aberration, a reaction to Sean and all that upheaval. The man in the kitchen looked towards the hatch again, head tilted slightly back, eyes narrowed.

Above the strains of the latest Lady Gaga song, the: ‘One two, one two,' of the sound check going on could be heard, and stray notes from the guitars and keyboard, even a sudden riff from a sax. If she wasn't going to chat anyone up she might as well go and watch the band. Jess walked over to the opened double doors leading into the conservatory.

‘Hello.' A shiver shot up her spine. It couldn't be. It would be too bizarre for words. The stripy shirted man was behind her. He smiled. It wasn't a leer, nor an ‘Aren't I gorgeous?' baring of the teeth – just a friendly smile.

‘How are you?' he went on.

‘Hello,' Jess managed. ‘Um, I'm fine. How are you?' What she should have said was ‘Who are you?' In the middle of the party, an exchange of polite pleasantries as if they were old acquaintances, was beyond her. Close to, he was just as attractive as he'd looked from a distance, with that slightly raffish edge she always found appealing. Around his throat he wore a double-stranded necklet of dark beads. Hard to gauge his age, but he was certainly not in the older category of the night's partygoers. Did it matter? They were still standing, gazing at one another. Just then the live band started to play. It was very loud. ‘Mustang Sally', sang the gravelly voiced vocalist.

Tipping his head towards the music, ‘Do you want to dance?' the man asked, in a raised voice. A better idea than to stand here, bug eyed. She put down her glass and allowed herself to be led into the maelstrom.

As each song finished she expected the man to release her, thank her, and depart to find another, younger partner. He didn't. They'd hardly exchanged a word yet he continued to hold her lightly but firmly, to smile at her and to wait for the next song to start. ‘Knock on Wood' was succeeded by ‘Smokestack Lightning', then ‘Stormy Monday'. Though he'd made no attempt to kiss or grope her, it seemed she was the person he wanted to be with. And for her, too, the longer they stayed together the more she knew she wanted to be with him.

As twelve approached the band played a spirited version of ‘Midnight Hour', then the vocalist announced the big moment was only minutes away. The French doors were opened to the garden where flickering storm lights illuminated the patio. Someone was already down at the end of the garden with a torch. Sheila, a smile on her face, was pushing her way through the throng with a bottle of champagne and two glasses. Had she wanted to share the moment? The smile shut down a couple of notches when she spotted them. Though glad enough to see Sheila, Jess had her arm around the waist of her new companion, his was around her shoulders and she knew she was not about to abandon her present partner without an overpowering reason.

‘Sheila, can I introduce you to …?' She looked up at him and they both burst out laughing. ‘I don't know! I don't know who you are!'

‘Danny,' he said, and extended his hand. But Sheila couldn't shake it; hers were full of the champagne bottle and glasses. She shrugged regretfully and poured an inch of champagne into the pint glass he grabbed from the windowsill. She then filled one of the clean glasses for Jessica; the champagne bubbled up, flowing liberally over her hand. With a brief nod, Sheila moved away.

Aware though she was of her friend's disappointment, this was not the time to question why or feel guilty. Sheila was an adult and not her responsibility. Someone had turned on a radio. The countdown had begun.

Jessica looked up at her partner again. ‘Hello Danny,' she said, as Big Ben chimed.

Chapter Four

As the final chime reverberated, the cheers from the radio station mixed with the cheers, claps, and hoots of the assembled throng. A rocket shot up from the end of the garden to yet more cheers, New Year greetings, and kisses. Everyone was kissing the one they were with, but then most moved on to kiss everyone else within reach. What could be more natural?

Jess raised her face to Danny's. He bent his to hers. The kiss went on, through ‘Auld Lang Syne', and after. Around them party poppers were released, klaxons sounded, balloons burst. More fireworks exploded. If the electric pulse that jolted through her when she first saw him had been a warning, then this time it felt like the full-blown charge. Every organ lurched, her heart went into overdrive, and her genitals contracted in a sharp, hungry spasm. There was no way she was going to stop doing this just to share a spurious and unfelt bonhomie with a roomful of strangers. There was only one stranger here who interested her – her arms were twined around his neck – that she knew nothing about him beyond his Christian name was incidental. Time enough for details. After a while they drew apart and smiled dazedly at each other. Then Danny bent and kissed her once more.

‘Let's go and watch the fireworks, Jess,' he said.

The air was moisture laden and already smelt of smoke and gunpowder. It was not as cold as it might have been, but Jessica shivered. He took off his shirt and draped it over her shoulders; then, with his arm around her, they watched the sky. Since the millennium, fireworks at New Year had become more common. They plumed up from every direction, the dark was punctured with the dazzling explosions. Fountains of stars fanned out then feathered down in a fading, falling rain. Every time it was a surprise; every time she gasped as the night sky blossomed with radiating dandelion clocks of vivid colour. The sky pricked even blacker where they vanished. But soon a heavy pall of mist mixed with smoke began to drift and gather. Occasionally a whizz, shriek, and rat-a-tat report could still be clearly heard, but the brilliant, jewel sharp patterns grew fuzzy and diffuse.

‘Oh …!' she cried out in disappointment, almost embarrassed by the emotion which clogged her throat. ‘They're fading!'

Danny gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze. ‘Look. Wish lanterns.' A few people had gathered at the bottom of the garden to light and release the paper lanterns. As they rose into the sky the bright spots of orange quickly grew small and faint. ‘Not very envir'mentally friendly, but … What are you going to wish for? What's your New Year resolution?'

‘That's easy.' Jess recalled her recent conversation with Sheila. ‘Tonight marks a fresh start. A new life. And I'm determined to get it right this time.' With the words – and all the underlying unspoken implications – she felt the up-swell of elation, the utter conviction that re-making her life would be easy.

‘You'll do it. Whatever crap you've got in your past, you can't let it weigh you down. You've got to move on.' He spoke reflectively, as if from experience. ‘I was worried about you, y'know?'

Dreamily, Jess leant her head back against his shoulder, her eyes still scanning the smoky sky. It was a long time since anyone had been concerned about her wellbeing. Hang on …?

‘What? Worried, why? When?'

‘I was worried about you getting home safely. Seemed like you were in shock.'

She stared at him, still puzzled. Earlier he'd called her ‘Jess', but now she realised she'd not told him her name. He began to frown.

‘You don't know who the hell I am, do you? You haven't a clue?'

‘Yes I do! You're … You're my knight in shining armour!'

‘Yeah, right …' He seemed put out, as if suddenly realising she was playing a different game by different rules.

‘No honestly! I'm not poking fun. You rescued me from a very frightening situation. I'm sorry. You're right. I didn't recognise you. But, you've had your hair cut!'

‘You too, but I recognised you.'

‘Be fair! Your mother would've had trouble recognising you after getting rid of the locks
and
the beard!'

‘My mother's always had that trouble.' But he raised his hand to his chin as if it were still a surprise to find no straggly beard there. He began to smile again. ‘OK! Just as well you didn't shave yours off, then!' They were face to face again now, Jess leaning slightly against him.

‘I hardly looked at you that night.' She lifted her hands to his cheeks and ran them caressingly over his jaw. His remaining beard, if that's what the overgrown blonde stubble could be called, was soft; much more appealing than the harsh sandpaper of so many men's chins. ‘I wish now I had.' She stood on tiptoe to kiss his sweet tasting mouth again. ‘What about your resolutions?'

He shook his head with a half laugh. ‘None.'

‘OK, maybe not resolutions, but there must be something you dream of, like winning the lottery, or becoming a famous rock star? Come on. Fair's fair.'

He smiled ruefully. ‘No point me wishing for anything … making plans.'

‘Why not?'

‘Cos it's pie in the sky. I'll never get it.'

‘But …?' Though he continued to smile there was something in his expression, his tone, which stopped Jess from pursuing the subject. Instead she said, ‘It's cold. You must be freezing. Let's go back inside and you can put your shirt back on.'

Watching people dance, particularly those well past the uninhibited ebullience of youth, had always been one of Jessica's secret pleasures. Tonight, though there was plenty of scope amongst this crowd to find amusement or to be touched, Jess wasn't interested in people watching. After such a short time in his company her attention was too thoroughly taken up by the man she was with. It was not that he was a brilliant conversationalist; they'd talked only little. It was not that he was a spectacularly good dancing partner; all they were doing, as song succeeded song, was to circle round in time to the beat, rocking gently, ever more closely pressed together. But there was something utterly right about the way their bodies fitted; she liked the feel of him, the smell of him, where her face rested against his neck. And every time she lifted her head to look up at him and he smiled down at her and kissed her, she could hardly believe her luck. This could go on and on and she would be content.

Time passed in a blur. They soon fetched a bottle of wine from the kitchen and then another, no longer bothering with glasses but glugging from the neck whenever they felt like it. Song followed song. Jessica was giddy, intoxicated by the situation as much as the alcohol. Like a young teenager, she swelled with the triumph of having pulled the best-looking bloke at the party. Yet, so concentrated was she on extracting every last heady drop from this moment, the other revellers might not have existed. The fact that she was actually over thirty and a mother, and attempting to live a responsible, grown-up life was temporarily smothered.