Читать книгу The Last Year Of Being Married - Sarah Tucker - Страница 10

Leaning on the wrong shoulder

Café Nero. Liverpool Street Station. Three p.m. Watching all the bankers go by with their secretaries, or maybe their work colleagues. Wonder if one of them will be Paul. And her.

Waiting for Jane, thirty-six, buzzy, brilliant, beautiful, and ex-wife of Pierce. Always has a mobile in her hand. Pierce told Paul she even took calls while he was going down on her. Chief accountant at Malvern & Duff, merchant bank. Not a conventional banker’s wife, either. Hence divorce a year before. She lost two stone, if I remember rightly. Pierce had to take a month’s leave with a suspected nervous breakdown. She’s met someone else. Getting married next year. Pierce was always meeting someone else, but probably won’t ever again—get married, that is.

Paul and I got Pierce’s side of the story. Never knew hers. But, knowing Pierce, hers is probably a more honest version. Perhaps will find out now. She’s agreed to meet me between meetings. I’ve got fifteen minutes. I’ve briefed her already about Paul. About the affair. About the history. And about the divorce.

I’m early again. Sit and order a black coffee, waiting until Jane arrives.

She’s on time, smiling, striding towards me, turning heads in her tight white cotton Paul Smith blouse, just—above-the-knee skirt and kitten heels. Legs up to armpits. Mobile in one hand. Purse in the other.

She hugs me, and looks me up and down a few times.

Jane—‘Hello, Sarah. See you’re feeling it, then? Can’t eat anything?’

Sarah—‘No. Bit like you were.’

Jane—‘It will pass. You’ll look back on this in two years’time and think, Hey, wish I could lose weight like that when I want to. You will put it back on; don’t worry. But I think you should look healthier and be healthier for Ben. You’ve got to look after him, and to do that well you’ve got to look after yourself well. And, more importantly, be seen to be looking after yourself well.’

Sarah—‘What do you mean—be seen to be looking after myself?’

Jane—‘If it goes to court, you will need to show you’re responsible enough to look after Ben. Fit mentally, financially and physically. Looking like someone who’s just come out of a concentration camp is not a good look. The mother usually gets custody, but I know Paul, and he sees everything as a possession. It’s not just his house and his money, but it’s also his son. So he may fight for custody at some stage.’

Sarah—‘Well, Ben is his son. But Ben is my son too.’

Jane—‘Quite. But he doesn’t see it like that, Sarah. And it’s not his house or his money. It’s your money and your house as well. Remember that. Because the court will remind him of that. The fact he suggested you leave the house makes me think he’s done his research, but you need to see a solicitor to give you all the details, Sarah. Try my solicitor. She’s good.’

Sarah—‘I don’t want to divorce him, Jane. I love him.’

Jane—‘Do you think you can salvage the marriage?’

Sarah—‘Don’t know. I’ve been strong for Ben.’

Jane—‘Well, you have to make your own decision about that, Sarah. And you’re going to hear this from a lot of people, but let me be the first to tell you. You’ve got to move on. For your sake. For Ben’s sake. And for your own sanity.

‘The only role of importance Paul has in your life now is to be a good father to Ben. He’s not been a good husband. Well, he has in some ways. Not in others. And you’re not faultless. But that’s past. You must deal with the present and future. You can do something about those two.

‘Bottom line—he’s admitted he wants out. And, again, I know Paul. He’s stubborn, and once on track he won’t sway from his course. He must provide for you as carer of Ben, and for Ben’s future. That simple. And by suggesting you leave the house it seems to me he wants to short-change you. You know what you’re dealing with. It’s understandable, but ruthless. I need a coffee. I’ll get you a chocolate brownie.’

Jane goes to order coffee and calories while I sit, stunned by the thought Paul might try to take Ben away from me. It makes me feel physically sick.

Jane returns with coffee and no cake.

Jane—‘Ran out of cakes. You would probably throw it up anyway.’

Sarah—‘Do you think he will take Ben away from me?’

Jane—‘He will think about it. But he won’t succeed unless he can prove you’re emotionally unstable and therefore unfit to care for Ben yourself. Of course, he could try to make you emotionally unstable. Or lower your confidence to such a level you feel you can’t look after Ben. Wouldn’t put that past him, Sarah.’

I think I’m going to throw up. Jane continues.

‘I’ll be frank. I like Paul. I like both of you. But it made me very angry when you told me he suggested you move out of the house with Ben. That’s underhanded. That’s mean. That’s a shitty thing to do. I don’t like that. Expect a call from Felicity Shindley-Hinde. She’s my solicitor. Dreadful name, wonderful lady. She did good for me, and may have a recommendation for you. She’s an ace divorce lawyer and you’ll need one. Because Paul’s attitude to money is the same as Pierce’s. He will ruthlessly protect every last penny of his salary. Paul considers the money in the bank to be his money.

‘Felicity managed to squeeze £300,000 out of a marriage that lasted less than a year. Something unheard of in the industry. Pierce was happy as he had over three million in the bank, so a mere £300k was peanuts to him. But he didn’t think of it that way at the time. And, from what I hear, crashed a few cars and a few parties for a few months. I didn’t get my hands on the offshore funds, non-listed American stocks and miscellaneous works of art he bought for cash. I knew about them, of course, because I managed his books while we were married. But I didn’t care. I wanted to keep on good terms with Pierce post-divorce.

‘You see, Sarah, Pierce has a lovely, gentle side to him, and if I’d gone for everything—well, he would have hated me till the day he died. Anyway, I have enough. Money doesn’t make you happy. Too much and it ultimately makes you greedy for more.’

Jane drinks her coffee in one. And stands to leave.

Jane—‘I’ll get Pierce to call you. He’s always had a soft spot for you and he may be able to reach Paul on an emotional level. He might be able to reason with Paul. It might not be too late.’

Sarah—‘Thank you. Everything will be all right, won’t it?’

Jane—‘Yes, everything will be all right. But not immediately. You will go through denial, regret, anger, sadness, joy—the lot. It takes time. Sometimes years, sometimes decades. Some people—both men and women—never get over it.’

Jane’s mobile rings.

Jane—‘Sorry, Sarah—got to take this one. It’s important. Buying a house.’

To phone…

Jane—Hi, there. Yes. Yes. No. Tell them no. Don’t care what they say. Tell them no. Tell them that’s the offer or we walk away. Tell them for every week they refuse the offer we will drop by £5k. We’ll do that for four weeks and then walk away. Tell them to fuck off, then.’

Click.

Sarah—‘You don’t want the house, then?’

Jane—‘’Course I do. But don’t want them to know that. All a game, Sarah, all a game. Bit like divorce, really. If you can’t convince the opposition of your motives, confuse them. Got to go now, Sarah. Text Pierce. That’s the best way to reach him these days. And expect a call from Felicity. She’s good.’

Interesting character, Pierce. Equity salesman in the city. Earning, according to Paul, ‘a fucking fortune’. I met him through Paul. When he was still married to Jane. Paul invited them both for Sunday lunch. They came one Sunday in August. We ate outside. One of those rare hot summer days.

Paul cooked trout on the barbecue. I’d done the stuffed peppers dish from Delia Smith’s book that looks wonderful and is impossible to mess up. Paul had retrieved his guitar from the guest bedroom and had started to play his edgy rendition of ‘Stairway to Heaven.’

Pierce said he played a bit, and then proceeded to play Led Zeppelin. John Williams. Elton John. Brilliantly. Then he started to sing. Beautifully. He was amazingly multitalented. There was nothing that Pierce could not do with ease. With grace. Style. Flair. Tall, dark, handsome, brooding, he looked at me when I first met him at our front door as though he wanted to devour me. Paul reassured me he looked at all women that way. Disconcerting for Jane, I thought at the time.

But if anyone could handle Pierce it was Jane. She was amazing in her own right. She was incredibly talented, well-travelled, English degree at Oxford, and spoke five languages fluently—but unfortunately not even she could understand Pierce sometimes. Jane had boundless energy and enthusiasm for life, and she was still only thirty-four when I met her.

Only problem was, Jane was wife number three. And Pierce was then just thirty-six. Paul said Pierce had a dark side. Which I’d never seen. Pierce had seen counsellors, psychotherapists, spiritual healers, and none had worked. He talked in consultant-speak when he talked about relationships. He knew all the theory, but somehow couldn’t put it into practice.

He also had a reputation in the Square Mile for being rather sexually kinky and masochistic. Exploring the little shops in Soho for that must-have latest dildo or nipple clamp. Hey, whatever turns him on, I thought. He’s not harming anyone—except himself, of course. I ignored all this. It was all irrelevant. Jane said he would be a good contact, so I made contact. And anyway, he could keep me informed on how Paul was in the office, or if he had turned up in the office at all.

I sent a text message.

Message sent: Hi Pierce. It’s Sarah, Paul’s wife. Jane suggested Ishould call you. Can you talk?

Message received:

Yep.

Message sent:

Can you call me?

Phone rings.

‘Hi, Sarah, it’s Pierce.’

Sarah—‘Hi, Pierce. Thanks for calling. Jane suggested I contact you. Has Jane told you?’

Pierce—‘Yes. Not all of it, just the gist. I couldn’t believe it. Paul having an affair. Thought he would be the last person to ever have an affair. He dotes on you and Ben.’

Sarah—‘Well, I’ve had an affair, and we haven’t been happily married for some time. But I love him and don’t want to end the marriage. But he seems determined, and now—well, now he’s suggested Ben and I move out of the house.’

Pierce—‘Sarah, Paul is my friend, but I’m your friend, too. My advice is not to do that. Go and see a solicitor.’

Sarah—‘Yes, Jane has already said I should do that. And I will. But I want to save the marriage.’

Pierce—‘Moving out won’t save the marriage. I think this has gone too far. Can I ask, why did you have the affair?’

Sarah—‘It’s been a sexless marriage. And we didn’t have sex for most of the time we were going out.’

Pierce—‘It’s a personal question, but why?’

Sarah—‘Because I had an abortion early in our relationship, and Paul couldn’t cope with that. Then he couldn’t cope with an affair I had before we got married, and then—well, he couldn’t cope with an affair I had while we were married, and then he just couldn’t cope.’

Pierce—‘Sounds as though you both couldn’t cope.

But if you didn’t have sex, how come you had Ben?’

Sarah—‘A one-off. A wonderful one-off on holiday.’

Pierce—‘How did he find out about the affair? Did you tell him?’

Sarah—‘Told him on our honeymoon.’

Pierce—‘Not the best way to start a marriage.’

Sarah—‘I know. I know. I know. And then I had an-other affair with a journalist, two years ago, when I was away travelling.’

Pierce—‘And you told him about that, too?’

Sarah—‘No, he found that one out. Reading my e-mail.’

Pierce—‘So that broke him?’

Sarah—‘Yes, I suppose it did.’

Pierce—‘Very sad, then, isn’t it? For Ben?’

Sarah—‘Yes. But I’ve said sorry, and Paul said at the time he forgave me, and that was years back and now this. Now a new woman and he wants out.’

Pierce—‘Well, I understand why he wants out. But I also understand why you had the affairs. No one can live in a completely sexless relationship. Not as far as I’m concerned. I couldn’t. But you need to protect yourself, Sarah. And Ben. Get a solicitor and listen to what she says. Paul’s a nice guy, but he shouldn’t have suggested you leave the house. Especially not with Ben. He’s got to be fair. I gave Jane £300,000 as part of the settlement, and we were married for only a year. Plus, we don’t have children. You have Ben, and he needs to be looked after, and then there is your future. You won’t be able to work as much when he’s at school. Won’t be able to travel as much. So you’ll have to change or give up your career. There’s lots to think about.’

Sarah—‘I know. I know. I wake up in cold sweats a lot these days. And my feelings for Paul change by the minute. Sometimes I wake up in the morning and think I love him. Then I hate him. Then I love him. Then I hate him. Then I love him. It’s freaky. But Jane tells me this is natural, and will get better as time goes on.’

Pierce—‘Yes, it will. Jane told me she used to play one particular song at full blast in her car when we were breaking up. You know the one about hating someone so much? It worked for her. You’ll get your own theme tune.’

Sarah—‘Yeah, I have loads of songs. But the ones I’m playing at the moment are mostly by David Gray and Dido.’

Pierce—‘Real wrist-slitters, then. Try to listen to something more upbeat.’

Sarah—‘Such as?’

Pierce—‘ “I Will Survive”—Gloria Gaynor. “Stronger”—Sugababes. “My Way”—Frank Sinatra. “I’m Not in Love”—10CC. That sort of thing. Nothing about heartache. Or one-night stands.’

Sarah—‘Thanks.’

Pierce—‘Have you given yourself a break recently?’

Sarah—‘No—been looking after Ben. He’s not been well. And there’s plenty of work, which is good. Because it’s something else to focus on.’

Pierce—‘Jane says you’re thin and need fattening up.’

Sarah—‘So I’m told.’

Pierce—‘Fancy dinner? Have you been taken to dinner lately?’

Sarah—‘Paul took Ben and me to Pizza Express two weeks ago.’

Pierce—‘And you haven’t been out since then?’

Sarah—‘No. I’ve been looking after Ben. I think right now he needs to see one of his parents, if not both. And I need friends right now.’

Pierce—‘I could do this Friday night. Can you get a babysitter?’

Sarah—‘Yes. Tina can do it.’

Pierce—‘The Waterhole Restaurant, round your way. Is that okay?’

Sarah—‘Fine. Upstairs is posh; downstairs bistro.’

Pierce—‘Think you deserve posh. Book upstairs. Say about seven?’

Sarah—‘Fine—and thank you, Pierce. I’m not a bad person. I’ve just made bad decisions.’

Pierce—‘We all have. It’s part of life. But you can’t change the way someone feels, and Paul feels very angry at the moment. You’ve just got to let him chill. He may see reason eventually. But it will take some time.’

Sarah—‘I can’t change the way I feel either, Pierce. And I still love him.’

Pierce—‘Perhaps. Perhaps you only want what you haven’t got. You sound as though you need a hug.’

Sarah—‘I do.’

Pierce—‘See you Friday, then.’

Sarah—‘Okay. Bye.’

Click.

Paul isn’t coming home before midnight each weekday. And he never returns home on a Friday, usually arriving about three in the afternoon on Saturday to take Ben to the park for an hour or two. I don’t know if he’s with the girl or with the boys. I’m finding more receipts in his pockets. He is completely useless at hiding his trail. But perhaps he wants me to find them. Anyway, I am finding them. Lots of restaurant receipts. An eclectic mix. Thai, Indian, French, a few Italian, lots of sushi bars and Tuffnells once a week. Must be their favourite. I’m trying to work out if she’s a vegetarian. Think so. She likes chardonnay. Feel a bit like Miss Marple. Don’t think she’s a drinker. Well, not when she’s with him any-way. No champagne on the list ever, so perhaps she’s not that special. Or perhaps he pays with cash. The heartbreaking receipts are the hotels. When I see a receipt saying how many guests to a room.

And then there’s the extras. The videos they send up for. The receipts list if they ordered room service or videos, but not what videos they were. Wonder if they were pornographic. Or funny. Or romantic. Wonder if he’s made her watch Highlander I, II and III, like he made me watch them when I first met him. Hope so. Serve her right.

Then there’s usually a cinema receipt or two a week. I can tell if he’s seen a film with her already. He always makes a comment.

Paul—‘One of my friends said they enjoyed this.’

Or:

Paul—‘One of my friends said they didn’t think much of this. Found it boring.’

Or, worse:

Paul—‘I know someone who would really enjoy this film.’

When have any of his friends ever been one of his friends?

When did Paul start to have nameless friends?

It’s Friday already. Six p.m. Time has no meaning at the moment. Probably why I’m on time or early these days.

Babysitter has arrived. Tina is busy running around after Ben. Getting him bathed, bedtime story then lights out. Kiss for Mummy. Then night-night. Thankfully Ben seems not to notice Daddy hasn’t been about much these days. Occasionally he asks where Daddy is, but he spends most days in the nursery, and I keep him busy with games and fun in the evenings.

I’ve briefed the staff at the nursery about what I’ve come to call the situation at home. Sat down with the principal nursery nurse for half an hour, managing not to cry. She reassured me divorce and separation are becoming the norm, not the exception. There are four other children in Ben’s class where the parents are experiencing what she called similar problems. I didn’t go into too much detail. I doubt if these other couples have quite the same story to tell.

I try not to cry in front of Ben. When I do he tells me to, ‘Brush those tears away, Mummy. Brush those tears away.’

And I do. And I tell him I love him. And that Daddy loves him and that Mummy and Daddy love each other. And that calms him and me both.

Babysitter Tina also knows about the situation at home. She’s been looking after Ben since he was a baby. She’s extremely sensible and efficient, and Ben loves her and is terrified of her. Paul is terrified of her, too, which is good. Her advice is a little drastic. She tells me I should kill Paul in his sleep. I tell her this would ruin my social life and that I look lousy in stripes.

Doorbell rings. Too early. Can’t be Pierce.

It is.

Sarah—‘Hi, Pierce. Didn’t expect you this early.’

Pierce—‘Hi, just came from the gym. The showers weren’t working properly there. Can I use your shower?’

Sarah—‘Er, yes, of course.’

Bit confused. Not the usual way to start an evening. I’ve never had someone come to take me out to dinner and ask to shower at the house. And he goes to the same gym as me. The showers were working perfectly all right when I went there yesterday. Perhaps he’s had sex at the gym or at lunch or something. And wants to get the smell of the other woman off his body. Whatever, it’s a bit weird.

I’ve got to shower, too, so I take a shower in the en suite bathroom off the main bedroom. He takes a shower in the main bathroom. So I suppose we’re sort of taking a shower together.

Half an hour later, both finished. He’s wearing something Armani and black and looks—well, gorgeous. I’m wearing something feminine and tight, but not short. Having lost so much weight, I now want to wear things that add weight rather than take it off. This outfit does.

Pierce—‘You look lovely. Paul is silly. You’re a babe, Sarah.’

Sarah—‘Thank you, Pierce. Nice to feel I’m a woman again.’

Pierce drives a BMW 5 series convertible. Dark blue. Black and tan leather interior. He mixes his own CDs. While we drive to the restaurant we listen to Norah Jones, Prodigy and Vaughan Williams. Pierce has eclectic tastes.

Sarah—‘Do you see much of Jane these days?’

Pierce—‘We talk on the phone. She’s met someone. I haven’t. But I’m happy for her. I still love her, but couldn’t live with her. Nor her me. I know our divorce was for the best, and I’m sure you will feel the same about Paul.’

Sarah—‘At the moment I don’t. I’ve known Paul for twelve years. I’ve been through a lot with him and I still believe I love him and want to try to make it work. I think he’s tried to make the relationship work in the past, mainly through trying to change me rather than himself. But we’ve both avoided the issues in our own way. Now we’ve got to confront them. For Ben’s sake if not our own.’

We turn into the restaurant car park. The car purrs to a halt.

Pierce—‘You are a very beautiful woman, Sarah—(holding my hand)—very beautiful. And you deserve a lot. And Paul wasn’t able to give it to you. I know you’re feeling vulnerable at the moment, and you’ve got to be careful at this time. You’re feeling vulnerable, and you may just hook up with any man to get rid of those pent-up sexual frustrations that have been building up inside you over the years. The longing you must feel… It must be terrible. Just make sure you only confide in those you trust. Someone you trust and respect and who is here for you.’

I look at Pierce. And think, Yes, I am distraught and vulnerable. And haven’t been made love to for ages. And I do feel unloved and unwanted and unconfident and bruised. But I’m not stupid. And I’m not desperate. And I think that was a chat-up line.

‘I can get rid of those sexual frustrations the same way I’ve always got rid of them. I work out. A lot.’

Pierce—‘Yes, you’re in good shape. I can see you’re very toned. You know I’ve always found you attractive.’

Sarah—‘You find a lot of women attractive, Pierce.’

I think, Is this a good idea? Dinner with Pierce? It’s just dinner, after all. Nothing wrong with that. I need a friend now, not a lover. Not just yet anyway and not him. Too close. He works with Paul and I know Jane. Too soon. Still want to try and make it work with Paul. And he’s possibly kinky. Kinky not good for me at the moment.

The Waterhole is full of the upper crust of Chelmsford society—the senior back office boys. The settlement clerks of the City. The wannabes of the Square Mile. Then there are the made-good second-hand car dealers, jewellery dealers, drug dealers. Loud watch hanging from one wrist. Louder wife hanging from the other.

Pierce ignores the flirtatious glances of these women as we walk to the table. He turns more heads than I do—which I expect. We order. He looks good.

We order something with salad to start. Then fish. Tuna, grilled, with soy-something. I’m not hungry, but I think I can eat tuna. Nothing tastes of anything these days. It’s just good to be out of the house.

Pierce—‘You realise you’ll be perceived as a predator now? You won’t hear from many of your so-called friends because they’ll suspect you will pinch their husbands.’

Sarah—‘You think so?’

Pierce—‘Yes. I know so. I know some of the brokers Paul works with have the hots for you. They’ve told me as much.’

Sarah—‘Er, right. Don’t like any of them. Quite liked Wills, but Paul doesn’t work with him anymore. I wouldn’t go for any of them, even if they made a pass at me.’

Pierce—‘I think you’re just stressed. You need to relax. I remember when I was going through the divorce with Jane I was very stressed, and just needed to chill and relax. You need a good, long, slow, sensual massage.’

Sarah—‘I probably do. And I’ll have to book one sometime. When I have time. My main concern is Ben and that he is okay and that he still knows his daddy loves him—despite the fact his daddy reeks of beer and stale aftershave these days.’

Pierce—‘Others in the office have noticed Paul’s started to take longer lunches and not come back, and he looks—well, like shit in the mornings.’

Sarah—‘Nothing to do with me. Wish it were, but it’s not.’

Pierce—‘You can’t change his mind. I’ve had a word, Sarah, and he just says that you had affairs and he can’t deal with it, and it’s sad but it’s over. One thing my relationship with Jane taught me is that you can’t change the way people feel.’

Sarah—‘I know. You said before.’

Pierce—‘Do you know how I feel about you?’

Sarah—‘Am I going to find out?’

Pierce—‘I like you Sarah. You’re a very sexy woman.’

Sarah—‘I don’t feel particularly sexy or sexual at the moment, but thank you, Pierce. But I think you and I have enough on our plates at the moment without making life even more complicated. For a start, you work with Paul. Despite the fact he’s bonking another woman, he won’t like it that someone in his office is bonking his wife. Even if she may be his soon-to-be-ex wife.

‘And then there’s Jane. Although she’s now your ex-wife, it would also complicate matters.

‘Then there’s Ben. He is my priority, and I don’t have time for a relationship—sexual or otherwise. I need friends now. Level-headed, genuine friends. And simplicity in my life. And, lastly, I think you have enough sex kittens. I get some of your text messages occasionally, meant for other women, and think you have your hands full already.’

Pierce smiles.

Pierce—‘Nice brush-off. Eloquently done. Okay. But you are a babe and don’t forget that—whatever happens over the next twelve months.’

Sarah—‘I won’t.’

Rest of conversation revolves around sex kittens. How he once had three in a bed and it wasn’t as good as he thought it was going to be, because they tied him up and stole his money and left him naked and penniless in the Charleston Hotel, just round the corner from the office. And how the maid had to call the police. And his boss. And then we talk books, and where you can buy the best range of self-help guides and works on erotic bondage and self-flagellation.

After the tuna, which I didn’t touch but was getting really rather good at playing with, Pierce takes me home.

Tina’s watching A Room with a View.

Tina—‘This film is lovely.’

Sarah—‘I know. It’s my favourite.’

Tina—‘Very romantic.’

Sarah—‘I know. I’m not watching it at the moment.’

Tina—‘Oops. Sorry.’

Sarah—‘No worries.’

I pay Tina, say goodbye to her at the door, and go upstairs to check on Ben. He’s asleep. Curled in a foetal position sucking his thumb. Giggling quietly. Hopefully dreaming about Buzz or Woody or perhaps even his daddy.

Coffee in hand, I return to the sitting room and to Pierce, who is now sitting on my sofa. Shirt off. Firm, muscular and tanned torso on display. No signs of flagellation.

Pierce—‘Hope you don’t mind. Bit hot.’

Sarah—‘I’ll turn the heating up, then.’

Pierce—‘I do a mean massage.’

I think, Do I let Pierce massage me? What’s the harm? I’m in control. Hey, go for it, girl. Perhaps I’ll release some tension without getting hurt.

Sarah says—‘Okay. Give me a massage, then.’

Pierce looks surprised.

Pierce—‘Okay.’

Sarah—‘I’m keeping my clothes on.’

Pierce—‘That’s fine. And probably wise, in the circumstances.’

Sarah—‘And no being tied up.’

Pierce—‘No being tied up.’

I lie down in the middle of the sitting room floor. Make sure door is closed. Ben is upstairs asleep. I don’t want him to open the sitting room door to see Mummy on the floor with a tall, dark handsome stranger straddling her between his rather well-toned and probably—though I can’t see them—bronzed thighs. Stroking her back. Can imagine his conversation with Paul next time he sees his daddy.

Ben—Hello, Daddy. Mummy was with this man on the floor downstairs and he was tickling her back. And he wasn’t wearing any clothes.

Yeah, right. So, door firmly closed. I lie on the carpet in the centre of the room. Lights are dimmed. I feel Pierce leaning over me and starting to massage my shoulders. Then running his fingers over my shoulderblades. Then down the middle of my spine, right to the base of my back, and then swirling motions with his palms all the way up to the top of my shoulders. He starts on the legs, then the arms, and finally runs his fingers through my hair, pulling gently. It’s very good. Genuinely very relaxing. And ever so slightly sexual, and somehow, with clothes on, even more sexy.

After what I think is about fifteen minutes, he stops.

Sarah—‘Ah. Thank you, Pierce.’

Pierce—‘Now I’m feeling stressed.’

Sarah—‘Can I massage you?’

Pierce—‘That may stress me out even more.’

Sarah—‘I will be gentle with you. Keep your trousers on. You’ve got your shirt off already. So leave it at that.’

Pierce—‘Okay. But can I take my shoes and socks off?’

Sarah—‘Fine.’

Pierce takes off shoes and socks. He lies on the floor exactly where I’ve just been lying.

Pierce—‘I can smell you.’

Sarah—‘Can you?’

Pierce—‘I can smell your perfume.’

Sarah—‘Oh, yes. Right.’

Pierce—‘What is it?’

Sarah—‘Sure antiperspirant. Won’t let you down.’

Pierce—‘Ah. Right.’

I straddle him and start massaging in a similar way to theway he massaged me, but with longer, harder, firmer strokes—across the back—up and down—side to side. I’d learnt how to massage on a gulet holiday in Turkey, where one of the girls in the crew was a sexual masseuse. I watched her like a hawk to learn the art. It’s served me well ever since. It was always wonderful pre-coitus.

The muscles in his back are more relaxed than those in his legs, and I need to be firm and push deeply, which Pierce seems to like. He lets out the occasional sigh, but we don’t speak. There is no music in the background, so I’m able to hear him breathing quite clearly. I move down his legs slowly and start to massage his feet. And then, for some reason, start to blow between his toes.

I think I’m teasing him. Or am I teasing myself? Toying with the idea of having sex with him? Shall I? Shan’t I? Shall I? Shan’t I? Imagining the what ifs. What would the harm be if I did suddenly start to kiss or lick or stroke? I haven’t had sex for years. Perhaps I’ve forgotten how to do it. How to feel again. Feel sexual again. Give and receive pleasure. Feel lust. That lust I last felt with Stephen. With John. And a long time ago—a very long time ago—with Paul. Feel that energy. That release. Feel like a woman. Behave like a woman. Use that bloody box splits position and really give Pierce something to talk about in the office the next day. And make everyone jealous. Even Paul.

Perhaps I should move my hands more provocatively. I know he wouldn’t resist. I know he would take the opportunity. But this is not the right man. I realise this now. On the verge, I realise this. At this moment. This is not the right man. Not the right time. Not the right place. Too soon. Someone not suitable. And Ben is in bed upstairs. Three strikes, and he doesn’t know it but he’s out.

Pierce—‘Ohh. That’s different. That’s nice, Sarah. Blowing between the toes. That’s really feels good.’

Sarah—‘Sort of refreshes the parts other strokes can’t reach. It should give you quite a good sensation.’

Pierce—‘It does. This is almost better than sex.’

Sarah—‘I don’t think so, somehow. But it’s safer. Better to blow than suck or whip or beat. That’s what I say.’

Pierce laughs.

Pierce—‘Mmm, well…’

I move from the feet to the hands and massage his palms and each finger. Sucking the fingers will be a bit too suggestive. So I stop there.

As I finish I lift my legs over his body and he coils round, smiling broadly.

Pierce—‘Thank you, Sarah. That was lovely. Unexpected and lovely.’

Then:

Pierce—‘I understand how you feel. But I know how I feel, too. And, well, I find you very sexy—that’s all I can say. You will be fine. You’re a babe, and you’ll find another man who will love you. And will treat you the way you want and deserve to be treated.’

Sarah—‘Yes, I know. But at this moment in time I just want Paul back. Funny, that. Wish I could be cold-blooded about it. But I can’t. And while I still have this love for him I want to try to make it work. Because I realise once the love has disappeared—that’s it. That’s it with me. I don’t look back. I’m not that sort of person.’

Pierce—‘I feel sorry for you both, Sarah. But he’s so stubborn.’

Sarah—‘I know. Want a cup of tea?’

Pierce—‘That would be good.’

I feel more relaxed with Pierce, somehow. As though the tension has been released. I don’t feel threatened by his presence in the house any more.

Pierce—‘Do you like poetry?’

Sarah—‘I love poetry. I had a thing about Keats at school. Read all his odes. Nightingale was wonderful. Depressing as hell, but wonderful. Think I’ve got a book of his poems upstairs. Do you want me to read you one?’

Pierce—‘That would be wonderful.’

I run upstairs and get the little black book John gave me as a present the first time we went away for a whole romantic weekend. I always keep it by my bedside. Wellthumbed, the pages fall open at Ode to a Nightingale naturally, and I read it as I walk down the stairs.

A drowsy numbness pains my sense, As though of hemlock I had drunk.

Wonderfully depressing. Keats was indeed the Dido of his time.

I recite the poem to Pierce. He listens quietly and patiently, sipping coffee, which should have been tea because I forgot what I’d suggested and made coffee anyway.

And then he recites poem after poem by Wordsworth. The most beautiful poetry, beautifully spoken. Probably word-perfect. Eloquent. He doesn’t lift his gaze from mine and his deep voice resonates over every vowel, every syllable, with just the right inflection. It’s magical. And then he stops.

Pierce—‘I have to go now.’

Sarah—‘Okay, then. That was wonderful. You are very talented, Pierce. Where did you learn that?’

Pierce—‘Oh, at school. The dregs of an expensive education. And I love poetry, too, which helps.’

Sarah—‘And I expect it helps to pull the sex kittens.’

Pierce—‘They’re not interested in poetry, Sarah. They’re interested in this.’

He grabs his crotch and jiggles his balls about as though they are worry beads.

Sarah—‘I wonder? I think if you recited more poetry you’d attract a different sort of pussycat.’

Pierce—‘Perhaps. Jane was the closest I’ve met to my match. She’s sexy and brilliant, and I love her energy and attitude.’

Sarah—‘But you couldn’t live with her.’

Pierce—‘No. Couldn’t live with her.’

Sarah—‘Do you know why?’

Pierce—‘Perhaps we’re too much alike. Perhaps. We went to counselling, but it didn’t help much.’

Sarah—‘Have you had much counselling?’

Pierce—‘Yes. It helps me. But it depends how open your mind is to it. And what you want to learn about yourself. You’ve got to make yourself very vulnerable.’

Sarah—‘What sort of things did you and Jane do?’

Pierce—‘Oh, we had to write a list of things we liked about each other. I think I got mine wrong about Jane.’

Sarah—‘How can you get it wrong?’

Pierce—‘Well, I put all stuff about how she made me look good, and what she did for me that was good, rather than anything about her in her own right. And the counsellor said that said a lot about me.’