‘Soooo stressed, Stella,’ said Coco.
Stella felt herself tense up at Coco’s touch.
‘Relax,’ she soothed. ‘I am pretty good at this. I have magic hands.’
Stella just tried to breathe, close her eyes, and enjoy the release. She was panicking.
Coco’s fingers dug deeper now, really kneading her shoulders.
‘Aaaah,’ moaned Stella. ‘You really do have magic hands, that feels great. I have been so stressed – the kids, my career, money, Jake.’ The remembrance of the issue with the bank made her tense up again.
‘You just need some time to yourself,’ Coco remarked. ‘Time to relax. Time to enjoy yourself without worrying about everyone else.’
And as she was talking, her hands started to move lower, towards Stella’s breasts. Gently caressing them, sliding over the bra, roving over her nipples. Stella didn’t move; it was thrilling. A heat swelled through her. Her heart thumped, and not only her heart.
I know I shouldn’t be doing this, she thought, but I really don’t want this to stop. A voice in her head was screaming: this is wrong – your youngest is asleep in his pram beside you. You are married! Her body was saying: but it’s so nice, and what harm can it do, really… She let out another moan of pleasure, which Coco seemed to take as her cue to move things along. She slowly moved round to the sofa so that she was sitting astride Stella and without saying anything she gently pulled her face towards her and started kissing her. She really was kissing her. This was not her imagination. There was no ambiguity. It was so light and caring, nothing forceful about it, and it was in a weird way so different to kissing a man. The same urgency wasn’t there. It was as if she knew how intimate it was, how special Stella was. Coco continued to caress her, and as if sensing Stella’s hesitation, she took Stella’s hand and guided it under her shirt. She wore no bra. Her breasts filled Stella’s hand. The nipple was hard beneath her finger.
I don’t know what do with a boob! Relax, she thought, I’ve touched my own breasts while masturbating, what do I like? But it was so small, so firm, and the nipple was so erect. She just gently stroked it, and, as she did, felt Coco responding to her touch, and her confidence grew.
Stella was aware that she was now seriously aroused and thoughts began to churn, pulling her out of the moment. She knew she wasn’t gay; she had never had any interest in women in her life, or ever felt that way about anyone female, so she was confused by how easy it was, and how her body was reacting. She found herself lying back on the sofa. Coco on top of her, kissing her, stroking her face, touching her breasts, reaching for her nipples and she was again lost for a moment.
Then without warning or thought, she was bolt upright, pushing Coco away. ‘God, I’m sorry, Coco, I don’t know what I’m doing. I am married. I’m straight. I really don’t know what I am doing!’
‘Hey now, calm down, it’s fine. Although I have to say it seemed like you were enjoying yourself there, just for a minute,’ giggled Coco. ‘Maybe you are not as straight as you think!’
Stella was relieved that Coco seemed to be making light of the situation, but she wanted to run. This was more than she could deal with. It was a lunchtime and she was making out with the Van Nesses’ nanny on their sofa in broad daylight.
‘I had no idea what I was doing. I’ve never touched another boob in my life!’ said Stella, hoping to sound light and jokey.
Coco laughed, and that was what Stella liked about her: she was so relaxed and happy. There was no judgement.
‘I was enjoying it,’ said Coco. ‘Maybe you have a flair for this kind of thing after all!’
Their eyes met and Stella felt herself blush.
Rory was stirring, and Stella was grateful for the excuse to depart before things got any more… complicated.
‘I’d better take him home, get ready for the school run – it’s like groundhog day, isn’t it, this merry-go-round of life!’ she said, trying to sound natural, carefree, but aware it sounded inadequate after what had just happened.
‘Thank you for lunch – a delicious salad. I might steal the recipe! Anyway, see you soon, I think, I hope, I don’t know.’
As she opened the front door to leave, Coco followed and pushed it shut again. She kissed her on the lips and gently said, ‘Live a little. There are no labels here. If we like it, we do it, no? No regrets, right?’
Then she opened the door for her, helped her down the steps, giving Rory another kiss on the lips (eeuw, thought Stella again) and waved her off.
There was something oddly familiar about disappearing from the scene of something illicit in broad daylight. Stella realised with a laugh that it was her first lesbian walk of shame.
Stella collected Tom from school and took them both for ice cream at McDonald’s. It was an awful place, but Tom loved the swirly ice cream and Stella wanted to avoid the park. Tom was such a bright and observant kid that she didn’t wish to encounter Coco again. He might pick up on something.
She called Jake again and was almost surprised when he picked up.
‘Thank god, Jake. We’ve been hacked. There’s literally tens of thousands gone from the account over the last month. Did you know?’
‘Darling, would you relax. It’s nothing, just a technical thing. I’ll get it ironed out.’
‘What do you mean a technical thing?’
‘It’s connected to the partner’s contribution for the last six months. We’ve had some liquidity issues, short-term cash-flow inconsistencies. It’s temporary. It’ll all be back in the account in no time.’
‘Jake, I have no idea what all that means. Who is IG? The payments are to a company called IG.’
‘IG, oh that’s nothing. It’s… it’s standard, the money is held in escrow for security. So it’s safe. No one can touch it. Then it comes straight back to us as soon as the situation is resolved.’
‘I don’t understand. What situation?’
‘As I said, it’s a temporary cash-flow situation. Nothing to worry about. It’s my fault really. Listen, Stella, I’ve got to go. I’m on a call in literally thirty seconds. I’ll see you at home. I’ll explain everything then.’
‘What time will you be—’
But he’d gone and Stella was left standing in the middle of McDonald’s with a giant vanilla shake in her hand. She didn’t know what exactly or why, but she had a stomach-churning sense of impending doom. She buried herself in the whip, slurping at the sugary, stress-dissolving sweetness.
‘Oh my god…’
‘Mum!’ screamed Tom. ‘That’s mine!’
Her mouth full with creamy goodness, she nodded, and tried to speak. ‘I know. I know,’ she mumbled. ‘I’ll get you another one. This. Is. Just. So. Good.’
Chapter Thirteen
Ana
Monday was now Ana’s favourite day of the week: less sex with Rex and she got to wear yellow. Yellow was her colour. It highlighted her year-round tan (thank god for her Chilean ancestry). When her grandfather and father fled the Pinochet regime in 1974 (her grandmother was a journalist, but she never made the journey), they brought no legacy from their abandoned homeland, just a desire to live in peace and prosperity, with that resourceful entrepreneurialism that defines migrants – and a genetic bronzer. Yellow made her eyes shine bright ‘like a lioness,’ her grandfather used to say. Her father believed he’d died from the thought of never being able to return to Chile, but he’d survived long enough in the UK to become a defining influence on Ana. He loved art and his childcare consisted of hours spent in the museums and galleries. He would spend hours explaining the background to the tragedies; Goya was always his favourite. When he died, he left all his paintings to his 8-year-old granddaughter. Yellow made her skin glow. Yellow made her happy.