Something Blue Read online

  Jack began to ease her jeans down over her hips. Catching sight of the practically non-existent panties, he pulled her to him with a groan and buried his face in the filmy lace. After a moment, he looked up at her, breathing hard. ‘“Off with that Coronet and shew …”’ he pulled off her jeans and tossed them in the corner ‘“… the hairy Diademe …”’ he began to slide the panties down ‘“… which on you doth grow.”’ He gazed at her adoringly, then pulled her to him.

  At last she’d be able to do all the things she’d longed to do for so long. Wash his socks. Iron his shirts. All the little things, the domestic things that formed the glue of any –

  ‘“Licence my roving hands, and let them go …”’ His voice was hoarse. ‘“… before, behind, between, above, below.”’ He began to suit the actions to the words.

  Anna closed her eyes again and gave herself up to the pleasures of sensation, all thought of cushions and terracotta pots forgotten.

  ‘“Full nakedness”!’ He was removing his own clothes, now, and fast ‘“all joys are due to thee” – give me a hand with this buckle, would you darling, the damn thing always sticks.’

  They subsided onto the floor.

  ‘“… As souls unbodied …”’

  Breathing as hard as he was, now, Anna struggled with his belt buckle while he shucked off his shirt with frantic haste.

  ‘“… bodies uncloth’d must be.”’

  She was easing his zip down when she caught sight of him casting a covert glance at his watch as he unbuttoned his cuffs. God, how she hated that watch. Still, they wouldn’t have to live like this for much longer. She kissed him, took hold of his corduroys and began to tug them downwards. ‘“To taste whole …”’

  She licked his chest.

  He groaned. ‘“… joys”. Christ, Anna, that underwear – it’s bloody fantastic.’

  Smiling, she slowly travelled lower. ‘Won’t it be great when we don’t have to keep meeting like this, Jack? When we can take as long as we want? As often as we want?’ Lower still.

  He groaned again, and thrust his hands deep into her curls. ‘God, yes. Can’t wait…’

  Everything must be all right, then. Oh God, she couldn’t wait any longer either. She had to know – had to hear him say it. She’d ask him now; get it out of the way – they’d enjoy making love even more then. She raised her head. ‘Jack? What happened? … How did Ruth take it?’

  Jack recoiled as if she’d hit him, and snatched his hands from her hair as if it had stung him. Anna looked down at his slowly wilting penis, and sat up. ‘Jack?’

  He looked away. ‘Anna, it’s not as easy as you –’

  ‘Easy? Nobody ever said it was going to be easy. You promised you’d tell her last night – you promised! Jesus, Jack, it was your idea to tell her you wanted out!’

  ‘And I do want out, you know I do!’ He looked at her pleadingly. ‘You know I love you – it’s just harder than you realise to actually tell her. I did try last night, honestly, when she came back from her aerobics class. I offered to get her a glass of wine, you know, to get her in a good mood. It always worked a treat when we were first –’ He saw the look on Anna’s face, and stopped. ‘Yes, well, anyway. By the time I’d brought it into the living room and gone back to the kitchen to get the peanuts she wanted and been sent back again because I’d brought the wrong ones, she’d started to watch some documentary on euthanasia. She shut me up as soon as I started to speak.’ He frowned. ‘Between you and me, I reckon she’s just waiting for the law to be changed so she can bump off her mother. Old bat annoys her even more than I do, apparently, though I can’t see the problem myself.’ He put a hand on her thigh. ‘The kids are always around, for another thing. In fact the only time I see Ruth alone is in –’

  She pulled away from him. ‘Oh, for God’s sake, spare me. The thought of you and Ruth in bed together makes me want to throw up.’

  ‘I was going to say Sainsbury’s, actually.’ He sounded hurt. ‘We do the Saturday shop together. She always says she can’t trust me to get the right things.’

  ‘Sounds really cosy.’ She leapt to her feet and drank some wine. ‘Look, either do it or don’t do it. Just stop messing me around.’

  ‘Messing you around?’

  Anna banged the glass down on the table. ‘It wasn’t me who asked you to leave – you told me your marriage was finished, that it’d been over for years before you met me. That you’d been wanting to leave sodding Ruth ever since she laughed when you told her you wanted to write a play.’

  ‘Or a film script. You know I’ve often thought that’s where my true vocation –’

  ‘That you … that I … that we …’ Her voice broke.

  ‘Anna, darling, please.’ He was trying to pull up his corduroys. Anna could see that his underpants had got caught in the zip; she made no move to help him. Her eyes filled with tears.

  ‘It’s the second time, Jack – the second bloody time you’ve chickened out! Why didn’t you have the guts to tell me when you came?’

  His underpants came free. Zipping up his trousers he got to his feet and reached for his shirt. ‘Came?’ He glanced at her from under his eyelashes and attempted a rueful smile. Anna could tell someone – sodding Ruth, probably – had once told him it made him look like a little boy. ‘Well, chance would have been a fine thing.’

  ‘You cheap bastard, Jack.’ She picked up his shirt and hurled it at him. ‘Get out.’

  ‘Anna –’

  ‘Just go, Jack.’

  He was buttoning up his shirt. ‘I’ll tell her tonight, I promise. Maybe she’ll be in a better mood.’

  She threw his jacket at him. ‘Now!’

  He took a hesitant step towards her. ‘Please, Anna, be reasonable –’

  ‘Reasonable?’ She backed away from him.

  His shoulders slumped; he passed his hand over his eyes in a gesture of defeat and picked up his briefcase. ‘I’ll ring you tonight. Well, if I can, Ruth –’

  He was already at the kitchen door. Anna picked up the corkscrew and threw it with all the force she could. It bounced harmlessly off the pine panelling. After a moment, she heard the front door close quietly. For a second, she stood motionless. Then she poured the wine down the sink, threw the bottle in the bin and hurled the glasses and plates of sandwiches after it. The glasses shattered and the plates broke with a satisfying crack. Good – she’d never liked them. In fact, come to think of it, she completely and absolutely loathed them.

  She slumped to the floor and burst into tears. Bastard – she must have been mad to have believed he’d really go through with it. Yet on Tuesday night he’d seemed so certain, so sure. In the three years they’d been together she couldn’t remember a single disagreement. It had been bliss. Well, all right, they hadn’t been together, exactly. You couldn’t call two evenings a week and one lunch hour (when he could skive off school dinner duties) being together, but that was the whole point, that was why he’d made up his mind to finally make the break with Ruth. Their relationship was nothing like his married life – hell on wheels, he called it. Meeting Anna had opened his eyes to what love should be. She rubbed at her eyes, not caring if her eyeshadow smeared and her mascara ran.

  It had all been so perfect at first. She’d never forget his startled look that day three years ago when he literally bumped into her in HMV. He was turning away from the counter having just paid for his goods; she was approaching with a stack of CDs she was planning to give as Christmas presents. Their purchases had fallen to the floor with a crash, and since several of their choices were identical, it had taken some time to sort them out. While they did so, a mutual attraction had manifested itself, helped on by their shared taste in music. When he’d asked hesitantly if she had time for a quick coffee so that they could continue their discussion of Ella Fitzgerald, her first thought had been to refuse – what kind of person let themselves be picked up in a chain store? And anyway, she still had loads of shopping to do … He’d picked up h
er reluctance and, apologising, turned away: a tall man with dark hair that kept falling into his eyes and a wide mouth that looked as if it hadn’t smiled for a long time. He’d been wearing ancient jeans and a grey tweed jacket. That night as she lay in bed she thought to herself that if anybody had told her she’d find grey tweed with leather patches on the elbows sexy, she’d have said they were mad.

  Her nose was running; she wiped at it angrily with her forearm. She probably had been mad, sod it – mad to have changed her mind and gone to Starbucks with him. Mad to have accepted a second tall latte. Mad not to have left the moment he told her he was married, no matter how unhappy he was with sodding Ruth …

  She was still weeping five minutes later when she heard the sound of the front door opening. Anna froze. It couldn’t be Jack – he had to be back for ‘Time for Self-expression’ with the third year. The front door closed quietly. Simultaneously overcome with joy (he’d come back!) – and panic (her eye make-up had run, her face must be a mess of tear stains and snot) she leapt to her feet, grabbed a handful of tissues from a box on the dresser and dabbed frantically at her cheeks. It took three seconds to pull her underwear back on. She’d throw herself into his arms, tell him she forgave him. Of course he'd tell Ruth tonight, she was a cow ever to have doubted him.

  The kitchen door opened.

  Arms outstretched, Anna ran forward.

  And stopped dead in her tracks.

  ‘Mum?’

  Anna had read about people wishing the ground would open beneath their feet and swallow them. She had always assumed this was wild exaggeration; she knew now it was not.

  ‘Sam!’ Her voice was high and thin as a bat squeak.

  Her son stood in the doorway, regarding her with horrified amazement.

  Behind him – which made things even worse, if it were possible – stood Lucy, his girlfriend.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘Mum, what the hell’s going on? Why aren’t you wearing any clothes?’

  Even as a small boy, Sam had been a stickler for niceties. Conformist at the age of five – ‘Mum, my Mr Man mug doesn’t match my plate’; by eleven he’d become positively strict – ‘Mum, you must never, ever come to meet me wearing your stripy socks.’ At eighteen, she had a strong suspicion he told his friends he’d been recently bereaved – ‘Sam’s mother? Weird; he’s never mentioned you.’ Now, at the ripe old age of twenty-five, he stood in the doorway clad in his idea of leisurewear (butter-soft caramel suede Ralph Lauren bomber jacket, moss green moleskins and checked wool Paul Smith shirt) regarding her with a disapproving frown not dissimilar, Anna imagined, to the look God bestowed on the naked Eve after the apple episode.

  She strove for calm. ‘Sam! Lucy! How lovely to see you!’

  The corkscrew glinted a couple of feet away from his chocolate brown loafers. Under cover of giving them both a swift hug, she deftly kicked it out of sight beneath the dresser.

  ‘And you’ve been crying!’ His tone was accusing.

  Anna gave what she hoped was a light laugh and headed for her blouse. Inspiration struck as she bent to pick it up and caught sight of the fat ceramic pepper pot on the table.

  ‘I know, darling.’ She slipped the blouse on gratefully, and fastened the buttons. ‘It’s just that I was trying on some new underwear and it’s too small, dammit. I suppose I was crying because I’m disappointed my diet isn’t working.’

  ‘You can say that again. And what on earth are you doing wearing red, Mum? You know you always wear grey stuff.’

  Grey? OK, so she tended to wear underwear – well, everything, come to think of it – till it was so old it was ready to fall apart, but describing it as grey was a bit much. Anna stepped into her jeans and yanked them up. ‘I know, hideous, isn’t it? But it was the only colour they had in what I thought was my size.’

  ‘Oh well, it’s not as if anyone’s going to see it, is it?’ He smiled kindly at her.

  Lucy stepped forward and pressed a large bunch of tulips into Anna’s arms. ‘I thought the colour looked rather good on you, actually, Anna. Goes with your skin tone.’

  ‘Honestly? Thanks, Lucy, that’s –’

  ‘By the way, Mum, I thought your half day was Wednesday? We stopped by the gallery first. The plan was to take you out for a swift drink in your lunch hour. Roxanne said you’d changed to Thursdays.’

  Yes, because old Jennings had practically forced Jack to supervise the first-year Remedial Reading group in Wednesday lunch hours.

  ‘The shopping centre’s so much quieter on Thursdays, darling. Makes it so much nicer for, er, shopping.’ Change the subject, quickly. ‘So how were things at the coffee bar? Busy?’

  ‘God yes, heaving, weren’t they, Lucy? Don’t know how you stand it, Mum.’

  ‘It was pretty busy,’ Lucy laughed. ‘Trish was trying to cope with some woman who was complaining about the colour of the paper napkins. I loved the exhibition.’

  ‘Yes? It sounds awful, but I never have time to look at what’s on the walls.’

  Lucy looked shocked. ‘Oh, Anna, you should. They’re photographs, black and white, by some Irish photographer I’ve never heard of.’

  Anna grinned. That wasn’t surprising; Alastair prided himself on spotting new talent. ‘I’ll make a point of taking a look. What sort of photographs are they – landscapes? Portraits?’

  ‘That’s just the point, it’s hard to –’

  ‘Mum?’ Sam was advancing into the kitchen. ‘What the hell’s that godawful smell?’

  Anna froze. Surely even Sam couldn’t detect … Anyway, she and Jack hadn’t –

  ‘I think something’s burning.’ Lucy made for the oven, and opened it. Clouds of dense black smoke billowed out: the pecan pie.

  ‘Bugger. I meant to lower the regulo –’

  ‘Stand clear, you two; I’ll deal with this.’ Sam grabbed a tea cloth, grasped the offending confection and dropped it in the sink. ‘God, Mum, you really want to watch it. Can’t have you getting forgetful as well as fat.’ He bent and examined the charred remains of the pie. ‘Isn’t this a pecan pie?’ He frowned. ‘No wonder that diet’s not working, Mum. You really will have to take it a bit more seriously if you want to see results. Still, at least nobody could say it was undercooked – at least there’s no chance of it giving anyone E-coli.’ He roared with laughter.

  Anna gritted her teeth. Much more of this and she’d tell Lucy about the problems she’d had getting her darling boyfriend potty trained.

  ‘Oh, isn’t this absolutely dear!’

  She turned. Lucy was holding out a slender arm and Jack’s tie dangled at the end of her French-manicured fingernails. Anna concentrated hard on not screaming.

  ‘Mum, tell me that’s not my birthday present.’ Sam stared in horror at the ochre ribbon patterned with rows of little panda bears. The logo of the World Wildlife Fund was emblazoned at the bottom.

  Think. Present …

  ‘Your birthday present? Good heavens, no.’ She retrieved the tie and folded it carefully. ‘No, this is for Mr Simwak-Kim.’

  From what she’d gleaned of her Thai lodger’s eating habits he was more likely to stir-fry bits of panda than have them decorating his ties, but now wasn’t the moment to share that information with Sam.

  ‘Phew, right. It’s not really my style.’ He rolled his eyes at Lucy.

  Anna restrained herself from slapping him. ‘Why don’t you put the kettle on, darling. I’ll just pop upstairs and –’ scream into a pillow for half an hour or so ‘– freshen up. Can you stay long?’

  ‘Only a couple of hours. Lucy wants to nip up to Kemp Town to see a friend while we’re here, then we’ll have to be getting back. Just thought we’d take the opportunity to get out of town while the pressure’s off for a bit. I told you I’m up for the Zircon contract, didn’t I?’

  Anna nodded, smiling enthusiastically. ‘Yes, that’s –’

  ‘And I’m on the team for the Goldstein Bloom deal.’ Lucy smiled up at him adoringly.


  ‘Sam! That’s terrific –’

  ‘And Lucy’s just finished up on the Lavglo account, so –’

  ‘So…’ Lucy rubbed her head against his shoulder. She and Sam smiled at each other conspiratorially.

  She would not think about Jack. ‘So, here you are. And I can’t tell you how lovely it is to see you both. Get that kettle on, Sam – I’ll be back in a jiff.’

  In the safety of her bedroom she dragged a brush through her hair and repaired the worst of the ravages to her face, reflecting on the fact that the sight of her thoroughly grown-up son never ceased to surprise her. Did all mothers of grown-up children feel the same? She must remember to ask Roxy tomorrow. One minute Sam had been a toddler and the next he’d somehow metamorphosed into a sophisticated adult. She still thought it was incredible that at the age twenty-five – twenty-five? How was it possible? – he was consultant – consultant! – to one of Europe’s biggest IT companies, lived in a huge flat in Muswell Hill, drove an Audi TT and probably earned more money in a year than Anna had earned in her entire life.

  After a string of girlfriends while he was at university (most of whom he’d kept well away from Brighton) he’d met Lucy O’Shaughnessy, who was pursuing an equally brilliant career in advertising. They’d ‘clicked’ straight away, apparently, and she’d been living with him for some while now. A beautiful girl, all milky Irish skin and auburn hair; she and Anna, though hardly soulmates, got on extremely well, sharing a fascination with cheap horror films, a loathing of animal cruelty and a terminal fear of dentists.

  She could just about accept all these changes when Sam was visible in the flesh, thought Anna, as she touched up her mascara. The problem was that when he wasn’t, which of course these days was almost all of the time, he reverted in her memory to toddlerhood. She frequently saw small boys in town while she was out shopping that for brief but heart-stopping moments she thought were Sam; and although she laughed at herself for her foolishness, a painful wrench always accompanied the realisation that she’d been mistaken.