The Torn Up Marriage (15 page)

“Graeme,” she held a hand to his cheek, held his gaze. “I’m in my thirties not thirteen. I know what I’m doing.”

“Okay, then, if you’re sure.” He took a slow breath, seemed to be bolstering his courage, “Well then, please let me accompany you to my place.” He angled his arm for her to loop her own through and they stepped back down to the path. “Sure?” he added.

“Absolutely.” She put her key back into her purse and took his arm in hers. She had a feeling he might not have had sex for an even longer time than her.

He was tender and kind, an experienced lover. It had just felt rather strange, to be in his bedroom, on his bed with its plain-blue sheets and navy cover. He had seemed nervous when she’d declined coffee – holding his hand tight in the hallway, willing him towards the stairs. She didn’t want any time to consider her actions, not wanting to think any more, just do.

They stood shyly as they reached his bedroom. Then he kissed her, telling her she was beautiful, which had made her want to cry. She hadn’t felt beautiful for a long, long time, wasn’t sure if she ever would feel that about herself again. And he had held her for a long while before undressing her slowly, once again checking that she was fine, making it clear that she could stop at any time. Then he was removing her top, tenderly kissing her shoulders, tracing her body with his fingertips, cupping her small breasts. The sensations were caring and erotic all at once, yet all the while she had the feeling that she was about to have sex with a friend. There was a slight distance there, as if they were play-acting it all.

But maybe that was just her and just how it would always be for the first time with someone else, after you’d been with the same man for years. She kissed him back, as she undid the buttons on his shirt. Let him manage the belt and buckle on his jeans, watched as he peeled them off. She then lay on the bed naked, having taken her own jeans off, rather self-conscious of her too-slim body. He joined her, still in his boxer shorts. His body was leaner than Michael’s, paler-skinned with less hair on his chest.

Stop! There was no room for Michael here. She pulled herself back to the here and now. In the half-light of the bedside lamp, she took in the curve of Graeme’s lips, which moved towards her, the graze of his stubble against her cheek, his fresh aftershave smell. Jesus, was she really doing this?

But it was okay. She was still okay. And somehow she needed this.

He touched her breasts, teased the nipples, traced his hand down her tummy, dipping at the belly button, touching her between her thighs. But even though it was all fine, pleasant, she still felt detached and a little giddy with alcohol. He was being gentle and loving, whispering in her ear, “Is this alright? Are you okay?”

“Uh-huh,” was all she could manage.

He began to reach across to the bedside drawer, for a condom, she guessed. Well this was it. Then she realised she’d been selfish, not taking the time to pleasure him, not giving anything of herself, so she pulled him back gently towards her, reached down, touched his erection. God, it seemed strange, another man, so intimate. She held him there silkily at first, then gripped firmer, rhythmically till he was groaning. He touched her hand to stop her.

“Alright?” he sighed.

“Yes… yes.” She smiled bravely.

He fumbled in the drawer. He moved above her, ready, and then he was in her, and he was still being lovely and yet it felt all wrong. She felt his thrusts and all she wanted to do was to cry. This wasn’t Michael. She bit the inside of her mouth, to keep back the tears. Tried to get back into the mood of it all. It wasn’t Graeme’s fault. Some sex queen she was! Lying there like a sack of bloody potatoes. She moved with him then, forced herself to join in. Gripped tight to his back, nestled her face into his shoulder and willed herself to relax, but it wasn’t working.

He ground into her, groaned deeply and lay for a few heavy seconds above her. Her right boob was hurting, crushed a little. Then he rolled off and smiled at her, brushed a hand through her hair and kissed her tenderly on the mouth.

She sensed that somehow for him, this had been a “moving on”. Yet for her, she was still stuck in time, too soon, too soon. Nice man, wrong time, the passion just wasn’t there. And it was her own bloody fault for not listening to him in the first place, for not being more cautious. Stupid woman! What had she been thinking? And the bedclothes felt strange and the room was spinning a little now. She shouldn’t be here. The tears welled in her eyes and she knew she was going to sob. She bit at the inside of her mouth again, fighting her emotions.

That was the last thing Graeme needed – some hysterical woman blubbing after she’d had sex with him. Now that would really restore his confidence in womankind and his self esteem in the bedroom. She couldn’t do that to him. She kissed his neck softly, not daring to look at him, and rolled over, seemingly tired, hoping he wouldn’t mind too much. Then she buried her face in the pillow to let loose those silent tears. There was no way of stopping them now, struggling to breathe slowly through her nose, a lump tight in her throat, so the sobs wouldn’t break out loud.

She was relieved when he turned off the light. His arm came around her tenderly and he spooned up behind her. She was glad to find that she didn’t mind this. In fact, it was a comfort to have a man hold her again. Perhaps that was all she had been ready for, just to be held. She just hoped she wasn’t going to hurt him; that he wasn’t expecting more from her. Because she knew she had nothing more to give.

She’d love to be able to sneak off now. She’d been lying awake since six a.m. listening to the birdsong, the light hum of the morning traffic, Graeme’s breathing. God, she hoped he wasn’t a “morning person”. He might be ready for round two at any moment. In fact, was that a stirring of an erection creeping up behind her buttocks right now? Good Lord, what had she got herself into? She couldn’t possibly do it all again. Not now, not in the cold light of a hangover day.

It had been fine, but it had also been a mistake. She just wasn’t ready for sex with someone else and she certainly wasn’t ready for any kind of relationship. How was she going to break that to him? Would she need to? Perhaps it was just a one-night thing for him too.

He sighed, turned in his sleep, and placed a warm arm across her. Then seemed to surprise himself as it made contact with her body. That someone was actually there in his bed. He came to and looked across at her, then smiled.

“Hey there… morning,” his voice was drowsy.

“Hi.” She didn’t know what else to say. This was
so
awkward.

He still seemed sleepy and nestled against her for a while, his breathing slowing. She felt trapped, too awake, scared to move, yet scared not to. Would he read more into this if she stayed? But as a friend she couldn’t just sneak off without a word. She tried to lie there calmly, yet her heartbeat was going ten to the dozen – surely he could feel it under his forearm. She was relieved when he finally rolled back to his own side. Slowly she pushed off the duvet, found her knickers and bra, slipped them on, and went off to find the bathroom. She desperately needed the loo.

The bathroom was just across the landing. There was a dull ache across her brow as she walked. She caught sight of herself in the chrome-framed mirror; she looked pretty crap, dark shadows under her eyes, last night’s make-up half smudged. His razor and foam were lined up neatly on the shelf along with aftershaves and deodorant. She found some toothpaste and squeezed a little onto her index finger, rubbing it around her teeth and gums. Her head wasn’t good at all. She could just nip home, take a couple of paracetamol and then curl up in her own bed before having to go and fetch the girls. But she felt she ought to stay for a chat – a cup of tea at least.

Should she go back to bed with him now, or would he get the wrong message? There she was, standing in just a skimpy pair of pants. She spotted his grey bathrobe hung on the back of the bathroom door and slipped it on. Quietly she made her way down to the kitchen and popped the kettle on. Maybe she’d take a cup up to him. That’d be a nice thing to do. But then, she didn’t know if he’d rather coffee or tea on the morning, and thought that was kind of strange. How you could have sex with someone and not even know that. She’d never done this kind of thing before, never had a one-night stand, had had a couple of steady boyfriends before Michael and that was it. She made two teas, guessed at milk no sugar for him, and carried them upstairs.

The bed was empty, he’d been to the bathroom, and was wandering back through. Thank God! He was in boxer shorts. She took in his bare torso, it was pale but fairly well toned, not bad really.

“Tea,” she lifted the two mugs.

“Thanks, I think I should be doing that,” he smiled.

“Well, I was up. Been awake a while, to be honest.”

“Ah, right. You okay?”

“Ye-ah,” she smiled hesitantly. She thought about it. Yes, she was okay, somehow, within the midst of all these mixed emotions going on.

“Good.”

She sat on top of the covers on his bed, propped up against the pillows. He got back in his side and took his mug from her.

“I’ll have to go fetch the girls soon.” It was a bit of a get-out clause. She needed him to know that she wouldn’t be staying, that there probably wouldn’t be more to this.

“That’s okay.” His voice seemed light, steady. He looked at her, sitting there on his bed in his bathrobe, the robe gaping a little at the chest. He smiled as he admired the golden tan of her skin, the curve of her breast just peeping through, held back from reaching beneath the material.

“Nice tea. I like it strong.” He put the mug down on the bedside table, seemed sleepy again, and nestled down in the bed, snuggling against her form. He under the covers; she on top. She sat a while, watched him, looked out of the window, thought a bit. She enjoyed the warmth of being close to another human being, that reassurance of touch, yet knew she couldn’t give more. She wasn’t ready for a relationship. Her heart was still in pieces. There was no way she was in a position to give it away. She closed her eyes for a while, her head still pounding, tired of the world.

She must have dozed, came to slumped awkwardly against the pillows, saw him watching her. He sighed as he smiled, as though he knew he’d have to let her go.

She glanced at her watch, ten to nine. “I’d really better be going. The girls,” she added lamely.

“Can I get you anything? Toast, another cup of tea?”

“Thanks, but no, I need a shower, and the clothes I need are back home.” She was going to look silly enough tottering back on high heels, in her evening top and skinny jeans as it was. The walk of shame. She hoped desperately no one she knew would spot her crossing the road. “I’ll just get back.” She stood, self-conscious now, facing away from the bed as she gathered her clothes, slipped off the robe and dressed.

He got up to see her out, put on the robe she had discarded and followed her downstairs, to the front door. She turned to him. It somehow seemed wrong to kiss him now, when she knew there would be no more kisses from here on. So she gave him a tight hug instead. She couldn’t begin to explain all the things she felt inside.

“You okay?” He pulled back gently, with a look of concern.

“Yep, fine.” She tried her best to sound bright and breezy. “Bye, Graeme, thanks.”

“Thank
you
.” He smiled, “And I’ll see you around.”

“Yes, see you around… Sometime soon.” She wanted to leave things open, friendly.

She hoped they still could be friends.

“Morning, George.” Wide smiles all round, though the hangover was still tight in her head.

“Had a nice time last night?” her father-in-law asked.

Kate felt her face flush. Dorothy appeared then in the farmhouse hallway, the girls running out now too.

“Oh fine. Good thanks.” Guilt tightened inside her, stood there, faced with Michael’s parents and his children, with the burn of knowledge that she’d spent last night with another man. Though she knew their son, their father, had cruelly betrayed her, her unease remained.

“Mumm-ee,” Charlotte’s face lit up, “We’ve fed the pet lamb next door, he’s
so
big now. And then we got chased by the geese.”

“Nasty geese. Honk, honk,” Emily chipped in, spreading her arms in a flap.

“At the farm next door. They’re better than any guard dogs,” George explained, “No harm done, though, was there.”

“And then we went out for tea, to the pub… And Daddy came to see us.”

So Michael had come round. She’d wondered if he might.

“Wow, you’ve certainly been busy. Sounds like you’ve had a great time.”

They were all in the kitchen now. Dorothy offered tea, coffee?

“Oh, a coffee would be nice, thank you.” Might wake her up a bit. Kate started chatting with Dorothy, asking after Michael’s brother and his family. She noticed her mother-in-law suddenly grip the kitchen side, steadying herself.

“You okay, Dorothy? Here, let me help you make the coffees?”

“Oh it’s alright dear, just felt a bit dizzy then for a second. I’m fine now.”

George looked across at his wife with concern, “Now Dot, you go and sit down with the girls a minute. I’ll get the drinks… Been doing too much again,” he added as an aside to Kate.

“Oh, I am sorry.” Kate said to George, “Maybe I shouldn’t have asked you to have the girls.”

Dorothy half-turned as she made her way to the table. “No, it’s fine. I’m just a little tired that’s all, but the girls are no bother at all. In fact, we love having them, don’t we George?”

“We do. We do.” His face softened, he smiled across at his granddaughters, who were busy colouring in at the table.

“Granny, come and sit here,” Charlotte patted the seat next to her.

“It’s all the other stuff she takes on.” George continued, “Her day at the charity shop, baking cakes for goodness knows how many fetes and coffee mornings, governor meetings for the village school,” he muttered, spooning out Nescafé for Kate and Dorothy and making tea for himself.

“Ah, I see. Well, make sure she takes it easy, and if I can help at all…?”

“Oh, I’ll look after her, don’t you worry.” And Kate was certain he would; his steady love would support them both. And for a second she felt envious of that constancy – the breakdown of her own marriage stark in her mind.