Wedding Night (20 page)

Circus skills?
I wasn’t expecting that one. I’m about to ask what else he’s done, when his phone bleeps with a text and he pulls it out of his pocket. As he reads it, his brow creases angrily and I look at him in concern.

“Everything OK?”

“It’s from Lorcan. He can fuck off.”

Lorcan again. I’m dying to meet this Lorcan. I’m actually feeling quite grateful to him. If he hadn’t said whatever he did to Ben, Ben would never have rushed to my office and I would never have had the most romantic experience of my life.

I rub Ben’s arm sympathetically. “Isn’t he, like, your oldest friend? Shouldn’t you make up?”

“Maybe he was once.” Ben scowls.

I glance over his shoulder at the screen and catch a bit of the text.

You can’t run away from these decisions, Ben.

You know how hard everyone has worked, and to go AWOL now is simply

Ben moves the phone out of sight and I don’t like to ask if I can read the rest.

“What decisions?” I venture.

“It’s just some tedious, boring piece of crap.” Ben glowers at the phone. “And I’m not
running away
. Jesus. The thing with Lorcan is, he wants me to do everything his way. He got used to running the show with my dad. Well, things have changed.”

He types something short, his thumbs stabbing at the
phone. Almost at once a reply arrives, and he curses under his breath.

“Priorities. He’s talking to me about
priorities
. I’m having a
life
. I’m doing what I should have done fifteen years ago. I should have married you then. We’d have ten kids.”

I feel a swell of love for him. He wants a big family! We’ve never talked about it before, but I was really hoping he wanted lots of kids too. Maybe four. Maybe six!

“We can make up for that now.” I lean in and nuzzle his neck. After a few seconds, Ben lets his phone drop onto the seat.

“You know what?” he says. “Nothing matters except us.”

“Exactly,” I breathe.

“I remember the moment I fell for you. It was that day you did cartwheels on the beach. You were sunbathing on that rock in the middle of the sea. You dived off the rock and swam to the beach, and then, instead of walking back, you did cartwheels all the way along. I don’t think you knew anyone was watching you.”

I remember that too. I remember the feel of the flat sand beneath my palms. My hair swinging. I was lithe and athletic. I had abs like a washboard.

And of
course
I knew he was watching me.

“You drive me wild, Lottie.” His hands are edging up my skirt again. “You always did.”

“Ben, we
can’t
.” I glance over at the elderly gentleman, who catches my eye over the top of his newspaper. “Not here.”

“I can’t wait.”

“Neither can I.” My body is pulsating all over again. “But we have to.” I check my watch yet again. Barely ten minutes have passed now. How are we going to last?

“Hey.” Ben meets my eyes, lowering his voice. “Have you
been to the loos here? They’re big.” He pauses. “And unisex.”

I stifle a giggle. “You don’t mean—”

“Why not?” His eyes glint. “You up for it?”

“Now?”

“Why not? Still twenty minutes till boarding.”

“I … I don’t know.” I hesitate, feeling torn. It’s not exactly the way I pictured my honeymoon night—a quick encounter in a Heathrow loo. On the other hand, I didn’t realize I’d be so desperate. “What about our wedding night?” I can’t help clinging to my plan. “What about making it special and romantic?”

“Still will be.” His fingers are gently playing with my earlobe, sending starbursts of sensation down my neck. “This isn’t the main event. This is the preview.” His fingers have found my bra strap. “And, quite frankly, if we don’t soon, I’ll burst.”

“I’ll burst too.” I quell a gasp. “OK, you go first. Find us somewhere.”

“I’ll text.”

He gets up and walks swiftly toward the unisex washrooms. I lean back on my seat and try not to giggle. This place is so quiet and stuffy, I don’t know how we’ll pull it off.

I get out my phone to wait for his text and, on impulse, pull up Fliss’s number. She and I have always joked about the Mile-High Club. I can’t resist telling her. I send a quick text:

Have u ever wondered what it’s like doing it in an airport lounge loo? I’ll let you know.

I’m not really expecting her to reply. It’s only a silly, jokey text. So I’m gobsmacked when a moment later my phone pings with a reply:

Stop STOP!!!!!!!! Don’t! Stupid idea. Wait till hotel!!!!!!!!

I peer at the phone, baffled. What is her problem? I fire off another text:

Don’t worry, we’re married.

I take a sip of water, then hear another ping. This time it’s a text from Ben.

3rd cubicle on left. Knock twice.

I feel a delicious shiver and text back:

Coming.

As I pick up my bag, I see that Fliss has texted again:

Really, really think you should wait!!!! Save till hotel!!!!

This is getting annoying. I only texted her for fun, not to get some stupid lecture. What’s she worried about, that we’ll get caught and somehow people will link her to me and her precious magazine will be brought into disrepute? I send a cross reply:

None of your business.

As I cross the lounge toward the washrooms, I’m actually trembling with anticipation. I knock twice on the third
cubicle door, and as Ben sweeps me in, he’s already half undressed.

“Oh God. Oh God …”

His mouth is immediately on mine, his hand is in my hair, now he’s unhooking my bra and I’m wriggling out of my knickers. I’ve never moved so fast. I’ve never wanted it so fast. I’ve never needed it so badly in my life.

“Shh!” we keep whispering to each other as we bump against the cubicle walls. Thank God they’re sturdy. We’re maneuvering into position as quickly as we can, Ben’s braced against the wall, we’re both breathing like steam engines, I can tell this is going to take about ten seconds.…

“Condom?” I whisper.

“No.” He meets my eye. “Right?”

“Right.” I feel an extra spurt of excitement. We might make a baby!

“Hey.” He suddenly pauses. “Have you got into any kinky stuff since we last did it? Anything I should know?”

“A bit,” I say breathlessly, hoicking my skirt up farther. “Tell you later. Come
on
.”

“OK! Give me a chance—”

Rap-rap-rap-rap!

The knocking at the cubicle door nearly gives me a heart attack, and I bash my knee on the cistern. What?
What?

“Excuse me?” a female voice is calling from the other side of the door. “This is the lounge manager speaking. Is there someone in there?”

Fuck
.

I can’t answer. I can’t move. Ben and I eye each other in panic.

“Could you please open the door?”

My leg is still wrapped round Ben’s back. The other foot is
on the loo seat. I have no idea where my underwear is. Worst of all, my entire body is still throbbing with need.

Could we just ignore this lounge manager? Keep going? I mean, what can they do?

“Carry on?” I mouth at Ben. “Really quietly?” I gesture to make myself clear, and the loo seat creaks. Shit.

“If you don’t come out, I’m afraid I will have to use a passkey to gain access,” the voice is saying.

They have a passkey to the loos? What is this, a fascist state?

I’m still breathing as hard as ever. But now it’s with miserable frustration. I can’t do this. I can’t consummate my marriage with a lounge manager listening six inches away, the other side of the door, poised with a passkey.

There’s more knocking at the door. In fact, it’s becoming more like a pounding.

“Can you hear me?” the woman is demanding. “Can anyone hear me in there?”

I meet Ben’s eyes ruefully. We’re going to have to answer, before she bursts in with a SWAT team.

“Oh, hi there!” I call back, hastily hooking my bra up. “Sorry! I was just … fixing my … head.”

My
head
? Where did that come from?

“My husband was helping me,” I add, searching around for my knickers. Ben is pulling up his trousers. It’s over.

Dammit. I can’t find my knickers. I’ll have to leave them. I quickly brush back my hair, glance at Ben, pick up my handbag, then unlock the door and smile at the gray-haired woman standing outside the door, together with a younger brunette sidekick.

“So sorry,” I say smoothly. “I have a medical complaint.
My husband has to help me administer a serum. We prefer privacy for the application.”

The woman’s eyes run over me suspiciously. “Do you need me to call a doctor?”

“No, thank you. I’m fine now. Thank you, darling,” I add to Ben, for good measure.

Her eyes drop to the floor. “Are those yours?” I follow her gaze and curse inwardly. My knickers. That’s where they were.

“Of
course
they’re not mine,” I say with cutting dignity.

“I see.” She turns to the sidekick. “Lesley, please tell a cleaner to come and refresh this cubicle.”

Oh God. Those knickers are by Aubade. They cost forty pounds. And they match the bra I’m wearing. I can’t bear for them to disappear into the bin.

“Actually …” I peer at the knickers as though suddenly noticing something about them. “On second thought … perhaps they
are
mine.” I scoop them up as nonchalantly as I can and examine a small rosebud. “Ah yes.” I stuff them in my pocket, avoiding the lounge manager’s steely gaze. “Thank you so much for your help. Keep up the good work. Lovely lounge.”

“May we compliment you on the buffet,” adds Ben. He holds out an arm and escorts me away before I can explode. I don’t know if I want to laugh or scream. How did that happen? How the fuck did they
know
?

“We were silent,” I mutter to Ben as we walk. “We were totally silent.”

“I bet it was the old man,” he mutters back. “He must have shopped us. He guessed what we were doing.”

“Bastard.”

I slump into one of the plushy chairs and look around disconsolately. Why don’t they provide facilities for sex, anyway? Why is it all about surfing the Net and eating grapes?

“Let’s have some champagne,” says Ben, and squeezes my shoulder. “Never mind. Bring on tonight.”

“Bring on tonight,” I agree fervently.

I check my watch again. Five hours, thirty minutes to go until we can put up that DO NOT DISTURB sign. I’ll be counting down every millisecond. As Ben heads to the bar, I pull out my phone and text Fliss.

We were found out. Someone shopped us. Bastards.

There’s quite a long pause—then her reply arrives.

Poor you! Safe flight. Xxx

9
FLISS

Educational. It’s an
educational
trip. Yes.

I haven’t asked permission. I haven’t given warning. I haven’t sat in the headmistress’s study and been lectured. I feel that in this instance the element of surprise is crucial.

“Mrs. Phipps?” Mrs. Hocking puts her head round the door of the classroom. “You wanted to see me?”

“Ah, hello.” I smile as confidently as I can. “Yes. Just a small matter. I’m going to have to take Noah out of school for a few days. To a Greek island. It will be very educational.”

“Ah.” She frowns off-puttingly. “I’m afraid you’ll have to ask permission from the headmistress—”

“I understand.” I nod. “Unfortunately, I don’t have time to ask the headmistress, as I understand she’s away today.”

“Really? When were you planning to go?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”
Mrs. Hocking looks aghast. “But we only started term two days ago!”

“Ah yes.” I act surprised, as though this hadn’t occurred to me. “Well, I’m afraid it’s an emergency.”

“What sort of emergency?”

A honeymoon-connected, sex-related emergency. You know the kind
.

“A … family crisis,” I improvise. “But, as I say, it’ll be a very educational trip. Incredibly educational.” I spread my arms, as though to indicate just how educational this trip will be. “Highly, highly educational.”

“Hmm.” Mrs. Hocking clearly doesn’t want to give way. “Is this the fourth time Noah’s been taken out of school this year?”

“Is it?” I act dumb. “I’m not sure.”

“I know things have been”—she clears her throat—“difficult for you. What with your job and … everything.”

“Yes.”

We’re both staring at the ceiling, as though to expunge the memory of that time Daniel had just brought in his new set of big-gun lawyers and I burst into tears at pickup time and practically sobbed on her shoulder.

“Well.” She sighs. “Very well. I’ll tell the head.”

“Thank you,” I say humbly.

“Noah’s having his extra lesson at the moment, but if you come in, I’ll give you his bag.”

I follow her into the empty classroom, which smells of wood and paint and Play-Doh. The assistant teacher, Ellen, is tidying away some plastic counters and she beams up at me. Ellen has a high-salaried husband in banking and is a great fan of five-star hotels. She reads the magazine every month and is always questioning me about the latest spa treatments and whether Dubai is over.