Slightly Foxed (34 page)

watched you all night, never laid a hand on you, because—do

you know what?" His face was very close to mine. I could

smell the smoke in his hair. I shook my head. "I wanted you

to want it too. And yesterday you wanted it. You screamed for

me, Alys, and don't try telling me you didn't." He touched my

face. "Y'see Alys, what it is."

Now he was almost whispering. I had to bend in closer to

hear him. "I don't think you know how love is meant to feel.

You don't know it because you never felt it. And now, what

you feel for me—sssshhh." He put a finger over my mouth as

I opened it to contradict. "It's kinda burning, just here." He

laid his other hand over my heart. "That's it. That's love. That

wanting,
so bad
, to be touched and kept safe and to lose

yourself.
That
is love, Alys, not just liking the way someone

is, but
knowing
who they are and not giving a shit." He took

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his finger away from my mouth. "And this is the part where

you kiss me."

"You reckon?"

"Yeah. I reckon."

"You're a cocky bastard, aren't you?"

"Uh huh."

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I sat silent next to Piers as he drove towards Thirsk, the

big engine making mincemeat of the miles. "You could have

told me
earlier
that Alasdair wanted to talk to me," I said,

peevishly. "What about? Is it Florrie's going modelling?"

"Dunno. We had a kinda big family-discussion thing. Ma

and Alasdair were asking me what my plans were. Was I still

looking to move into my own place. They both seem to think

it's time I moved on. Guess they're right. I can work

anywhere after all."

"Oh yeah. Your translation stuff." Piers had worked for the

last three years as a freelance English/Spanish translator. A

remarkably respectable job, considering that he looked as

though he spent all day wafting about the streets dressed like

a breakaway faction from an historical drama. It was a

complete waste of those immaculate cheekbones.

His hand brushed mine as he changed gear. "I know you're

confused," he said softly. "Trust me, I'm at least
twice
as

confused. I kinda thought, y'know, I'd grow out of it. Fantasy

older-woman thing, yeah? But it seemed the more I knew

you, the closer we got, that everything before was kinda like

practicing
. I talked to Jace a lot too. She reckons you got it

bad for me, you just don't see it yet. She thinks we're made

for each other. Now, me, I really
know
it."

"But you're too young to have any idea what you want."

"Hey, Alys? I've been having sex since I was fourteen. All

kinds of women, old, young, some I paid, some seduced me,

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some I thought I loved. And I can tell you this.
Not one
of

them made me feel the way you do. Yeah, I've had sex that

ripped my mind apart, had women I could relate to, feel for.

But I've never had both things with one person."

"And you do with me? Really? Sex that ripped your mind

apart? With
me
?"

Without taking his eyes off the road, Piers reached over

and ran his hand down the side of my face. "Yeah. With you.

It was real. Special. Couldn't you tell?"

"I don't know. You always seem pretty ripped to me."

"Ha."

"Ah, Alys. Nice of you to come over." Alasdair met us

outside the house in the tarmac-turning circle the size of a

tennis court. "Piers, your mother is upstairs resting. Would

you go and ask her if she'd like some tea?"

I hadn't seen him for about three years so, as soon as

Piers had galloped off up the lengthy flight of stairs, I gave

Alasdair a thorough, if covert, examination. If it was possible,

he looked even
more
professorial than he ever had. I'd take

bets that at least one of his wardrobes now contained a tweed

jacket with patched elbows. His thinning sandy hair had

thinned even further and was showing a few touches of grey,

his six-foot-plus frame was filling out around the middle and

he was
wearing slippers
. He looked scarily cliched, top

professor married to American wife. I half expected to see a

Stars and Stripes festooning the wall inside the front door,

but there was nothing more controversial than family

photographs.

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"Feel a bit guilty that we haven't had you over for a while,"

Alasdair was saying, being every inch the good host. "But,

you know how things are. Anyway. Thought we ought to have

a chat."

The only
possible
reason I could come up with for Alasdair

suddenly wanting a face-to-face talk was opposition to

Florrie's career decision, which instantly made me want to

back her to the hilt. Either that or—I was glad he was leading

the way as we walked through the monument to good taste

which was their beech-floored, hint-of-grey emulsioned hall,

because I flushed at the thought. Maybe he'd found out about

Piers and me. Although, how could he? Unless Piers had

talked, and I really couldn't envisage Piers saying anything

along the lines of "your ex-wife, shags like a stoat, doesn't

she?" After all, that really
was
all that had happened, wasn't

it? We'd had a damn good session of pure
sex
. I had another

one of my sudden visions. Piers naked. His slim body, hair

streaming over his shoulders, huge dark eyes nailing me to

the earth beneath.

"Are you all right? You look a bit flushed." Alasdair paused

in a doorway. "Touch of the sun?"

"Oh yes," I said emphatically, then muttered, "just don't

ask
whose
," passing him to enter a room lit by enormous

windows hung with floor-length velvet curtains, studded with

soft couches and chairs and carpeted a smooth beige. It

looked like a tasteful padded cell.

"Sit down. Tea? Coffee?"

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"Tea. Thank you." As Alasdair left the room, I wandered

around like Goldilocks until I found a chair to sit in. The place

was
immaculate
.

"I'm sorry to drag you all the way over here." Alasdair

entered by another door, at the far side of the room.

"Shouldn't think Piers minded bringing you, did he?"

"What are you getting at?" Defensive again. Guilt did that

to me.

"Oh, nothing. He's a good chap. At heart. Bit of a prick

sometimes but he's sensible. Mature. Turned out very well."

Absolutely nothing I could say to that. Agreement might

confirm suspicions, denial would have been wrong since it all

sounded true.

"Anyway." Alasdair poured tea, putting two sugars in mine

out of habit. I didn't tell him I hadn't taken sugar for five

years. "Thought this was best done face-to-face as it were. A

bit sensitive, you see."

Oh God. I felt myself blush again. He did know. He was

about to warn me off Piers. Having done the advert for his

stepson's charms he was going to tell me that they should be

used on someone nearer his own age.

"Thought if
I
told
you
then
you
could pass it on to

Florence
. Sound better coming from you."

"What?"

"Tamar. She—er—
we
, that is, we are expecting a baby.

Early days yet, of course, but things are going well, so about

February we're told."

My first thought was "you brought me all the way here to

tell me
that
?" closely followed by "but that's impossible".

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"So if you break it to Florrie. Not that it's going to affect

anything of course. Still be welcome here anytime, obviously.

But things might be a bit, well,
different
, what with Piers

moving out. You look stunned, Alys."

Piers had made it sound as though the results of Alasdair's

tests had made him marginally less fertile than Death Valley.

"I was thinking. We tried for so long with nothing happening."

Couldn't give away the fact that I knew about his infertility,

not without some awkward questions. Questions which, if she

ever came to international attention, were going to have to be

addressed. If Flick ever read anything these days other than

Art House Monthly
.

Alasdair had the grace to look a bit shamefaced. "Promise

me this won't go
any
further?" He dropped his voice and

raised his eyes as though Tamar might have suspended

herself above his head specifically to prevent any such

confidences. "
We
tried, Tamar and I, for several years.

Eventually, well, they couldn't find anything wrong."

Liar
, I thought, and gave an inward grin.

"But we tried a few cycles of IVF, nothing doing. Tamar

was getting so het up about it all. Then we had a shot at

AIDS, and bingo. So here we are."

"AIDS? That sounds a bit drastic."

"Er, no. It's A.I.D.S. actually. Um." Alasdair was looking

extremely uncomfortable, so I just looked at him over the top

of my teacup. We might have been apart for a lot of years but

I could still tell when he was trying to work up to something.

"Artificial Insemination by Donor Sperm," he said eventually,

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when it became clear that I wasn't going to help him out by

asking.

"So
technically
Tamar is carrying someone else's baby?" I

gave a cough. "Alasdair." It was no good. I was going to have

to tell him. My heart was thrumming like a turbine. There was

absolutely
never
going to be another opportunity like this. My

head went a bit swimmy as I tried to work out my approach.

"It doesn't matter, not a jot. Not to me, not to her. It's
our

baby, that's what counts, whoever else had input. Like with

Florence. I'll be there at the birth, changing nappies, all that

kind of thing. The genetic father doesn't count, he's just so

much DNA."

I stared at him. "You
knew
?" An enormous gulp of tea,

which I'd been unable to stop halfway down my throat,

sidelonged itself into my windpipe and I choked. Tea came

out of my nose and my eyes streamed, but it was a useful

diversion, stopped me having to look at Alasdair's face.

"Knew?" His face swam into focus gradually as my eyes

settled down. Very blue eyes Alasdair had, with such fair

lashes that they were almost indiscernible, giving him the

startled, bald look of a new baby. "About Florence? Oh yes,

Alys, of course I knew." Gently he patted me on the back until

I could take a gasp of air. "You weren't invisible, you know.

You and that arty chap." Reassured that I wasn't going to

cause a permanent stain on the noncommittal flooring, he

stopped patting and sat down again. "When Florrie was born,

well, then I
knew
. Didn't know if you did though, oddly

enough. You always seemed so certain that she was mine."

Miserably I looked down into my tea.

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"Time she got to be about oh, two or three I should think,

she looked so much like him. All that blonde hair. Sam used

to fancy him terribly, remember?"

Sam was Alasdair's best friend. I'd always liked him. "How

is
Sam these days?" I tried to change the subject.

"Fine. Looking forward to being a godfather."

"He
does
know that godfathers are supposed to be upright,

moral citizens?" Sam, who had about as many morals as the

average ten-men-in-a-bed participant.

"He's doing his best."

My hands were shaking.

"I know this wasn't a good time to spring it on you but...I

thought it would be best if we cleared things up between us.

Florrie might not be my natural daughter, but I was there,

wasn't I, when you were sick every morning for the first four

months, when you had those cramps, when you couldn't face

anything but raspberries for weeks? I was there when she

was born. Just as I'm going to be this time. So, what I

wanted to say was—I don't mind if you never tell her the

truth. As far as I'm concerned, I'm her father."

I had a sudden memory of Flick, standing at the doorway

to his van, holding it shut behind him so that I couldn't see

past, while I tried to tell him I was having his baby. What

would I have seen if I'd been able to? Another half-finished

canvas dripping paint in the weak March sun? Or another

woman, sprawled across his divan, awaiting his attentions?

He'd been irresistible, Flick, and I'd not been the only person

to find him so.

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