Their tone was playful. Sex had moved them on a level.
‘Absolutely, your honour.’
They were still and quiet for a few moments, catching their breath. His head was on her chest. She had one hand across his shoulder, while the other smoothed his thick hair.
‘I don’t do this.’ She heard the wonder in her own voice.
He lifted his head and smiled kindly, briefly at her. ‘Neither do I.’
And she believed him.
Another minute. Then he said, ‘I’d like to stay here for ever, but I’ve got to move’, and groaned softly. He handed her dress to her as he stood up and shucked himself back into his jeans. It was thoughtful of him – she felt suddenly vulnerable and very, very naked as his flesh left hers. He walked over to the kitchen part of the room, away from her, and she watched him move while she tidied herself hastily. His back was broad, with well-defined muscles, chestnut brown from the sun. He was the best-looking man she’d ever been with. She remembered Alex. Pinky-white, ever so slightly sunken-chested and hairy. There was a second when she felt disloyal, then remembered her loyalty was no longer required. And almost giggled.
‘Drink?’
‘Please.’
‘Glass of wine?’
‘Mm.’
‘White? I hate rosé.’
‘I do too. White sounds great.’
‘Sauvignon Blanc or Chardonnay?’
‘I’m easy.’
He raised an eyebrow. She blushed.
‘I don’t mind,’ she corrected herself.
He took a bottle from the door of the fridge, uncorked it, and filled two large glasses he took from an open shelf beside the sink. Holding them in one hand, he grabbed a blanket that was folded over the arm of the sofa in the other. ‘Come and see.’
The sun was setting. She hadn’t realized the time.
The view from the back of his place was uninterrupted big sky. The sun was going down behind a line of trees far away across two empty fields. There was no breeze, and the air was still wonderfully warm. One wide bench, more like a daybed, faced the sky, and he inclined his head in its direction. The others would wonder where she was. Let them. Someone else could make the sodding salad. Her mobile was inside, on the bookshelf where she’d put it before he’d kissed her, and she felt no inclination to get it.
He sat on the bench, and motioned for her to sit between his legs, resting on him. He spread the blanket around both of them, handed her a glass, took his own, and put his other arm around her. ‘It’s going to be a good one …’
That was all he said, and it didn’t require a response. Laura relaxed into him, and watched the sun, feeling perfectly contented. His chest rose and fell beneath her, and her own breathing slowed naturally to keep pace with that movement. Without her trying.
It wasn’t love. She wasn’t a kid and she wasn’t stupid. But there was tenderness in it, and gratitude, for the sense that each had filled a need in the other. And, most of all, there was peace. At this moment, there was no past and no future. Just the ‘present’ her yoga teacher talked about. No need to ‘refuse to engage’ with her thoughts. She wasn’t having any. She felt almost liquidly languid, and she knew it was because – for good or for now – the anger had gone. ‘Shavasana.’ She said the word almost to herself, under her breath.
‘What?’
‘Shavasana. It’s a word my yoga teacher uses.’
‘What does it mean?’
She laughed quietly. ‘I think the literal translation is “corpse pose”.’
‘Sounds great.’
‘It’s the best bit. It’s basically you lying completely still. We do it at the end of a class. For five minutes, a few more maybe. Part relaxation, part meditation.’
‘Why?’
She rested her head on his shoulder, tilting her face towards the last rays of the sun. ‘It rejuvenates the body, mind and spirit.’
He nuzzled into her neck, planting soft, dry kisses in tiny touches on her skin, and whispered, ‘Namaste.’
54
Nick woke up on 6 August with two of his three children in bed with him. Only Delilah was missing, the others having migrated at some point between his coming up around eleven, and five, when he first woke, pushed unnaturally into the top left-hand corner of the bed by a starfish and a dervish. For a long while, he watched them sleep, forcing his breath into the peaceful, gentle rhythm of theirs, and smelling their familiar, sleepy smell. A year. It had been a year. They’d been only his for 365 days. But she was here, their fierce and fabulous mother, of course, in their precious faces, in their hairlines. The whorls at the napes of their necks were all Carrie, and so were their long eyelashes, and their smooth, golden skin. She was here, in the echo and the memory of everything she’d ever said about them and what she wanted for them. She would always be here.
He wanted her to be as alive and vivid and real for them as she was for him, but he knew she wouldn’t be, and the thought brought tears to his eyes in the bed where he lay between them. She had loved them so.
Last night at dinner he’d sought his family’s advice about the anniversary. The kids had been in bed. Bea was the only one who knew what today was. He wasn’t even sure how she knew, but she’d mentioned it a couple of times in the last few weeks, and a couple more in recent days. She’d announced it to him, in the hearing of her siblings, at bedtime, after he’d read them a story. Hearing the fact in her small voice had almost floored him.
He hadn’t known what to say.
Charlie’s eyes had filled with tears. ‘Anniversaries are hard. You can’t ignore them.’
‘Especially not where Bea is concerned. It’s pretty obvious that would seem strange to her.’
‘But I don’t want to churn them all up either.’
‘You may not be able to stop that, Nick.’
‘I know. But there’s a difference between that and initiating it.’
Heather had been quiet, but now she was ready to speak. ‘Nick. Tell me to butt out if you want to …’
Nick smiled. ‘No, Heather, please.’
‘I’ve never been in your position, so I –’
‘I’m really hard to offend, Heather.’ He laughed.
‘He is. I can vouch for that. I’ve been trying to for bloody years.’ Scott wasn’t sure what Heather was going to suggest, but he wanted to encourage her.
Heather spoke a little more boldly.
‘So. You don’t want to ignore it. You don’t want them to be upset. So let’s do a thing. A little celebration of her. Give them a chance to talk about her. Look at some pictures. If we do it at breakfast, then distract them, get on with the day. If they come back later on, want to do more – especially Bea – then fine. You may find they don’t.’
Scott squeezed Heather’s shoulder reassuringly, and looked at his brother. ‘Not a bad idea, Nicky.’
Nick looked at Heather’s kind, open face and felt a rush of gratitude for her. ‘That might work.’
She beamed. ‘Okay, then. Got some work to do. Scott – you can airdrop, right? And, Nick, you have your laptop, yeah?’