Again, Rachel, page 44
And Kallie? No, I couldn’t do this to myself. Kallie wasn’t my responsibility.
The houses around mine were in darkness, everyone in bed, asleep. I watched Luke get off his bike. Even in the dark, he was unmistakeable. As he approached, I felt as if I were dreaming.
Then, suddenly, I landed back in my body. This was real.
By the circle of light thrown by the porch lamp, he hesitated. ‘Rachel, what is this?’
‘I don’t know. Yet. Do you?’
‘No. But it’s not nothing.’
My relief was brief. ‘Luke, what about Kallie?’
He took a breath. ‘What about Quin?’
Warily we watched each other and came to an unspoken agreement: this wasn’t something to be proud of but we knew what we were doing.
When we tumbled into the dimly lit hallway, Crunchie barked at Luke, but within moments was rolling over and displaying her belly. Luke got down on one knee, petting her, then he glanced up, that familiar dark gaze. ‘Does she need to go out?’
‘Benigno next door took her earlier.’
Crunchie was trying to lick him to death. Yeah, you and me both.
But enough of Crunchie. I whistled and pointed towards the kitchen. ‘Sorry,’ I whispered to her sorrowful face, shutting the door firmly and turning around – straight into the heat of Luke’s body.
He pressed me against the wall, shifting his feet, adjusting his stance so that his hips were level with mine. Cradling my face between his splayed fingers, he whispered into my mouth, ‘Babe.’
His breath, his lips, his warmth, his sweetness – as the kiss intensified, relief flooded in, filling me up.
‘Rachel.’ His mouth still on mine, he groaned, ‘You are gorgeous.’
Desperate to reach his skin, I was pushing his jacket from his shoulders. It hit the floor, then I began to unbutton his shirt.
‘I’ve wanted you so badly,’ he breathed. ‘Tonight has been hell.’
Together, our hands fumbled over his buttons. ‘Watching you,’ he said. ‘Wanting you. Worried that you’d leave and –’
Parting the dark cotton, warm from his body, his skin released a fragrant fug, an intense distillation so musky and sweet that I moaned. ‘You smell like you.’
He laughed, his teeth flashing in the semi-darkness. ‘Who else would I smell like?’
‘The night you came over, raging about Kate and Devin, you were different.’
He flinched. ‘… That night. I’m sorry.’
‘No. Shush.’ Pulling his head down to kiss him again, my fingers got tangled in his curls. ‘I’ve missed your hair,’ I whispered.
‘I’ve missed your everything.’
Stroking the smooth skin of his stomach, I slid my thumb along the line of silky dark hair that arrowed downwards from his belly button. Arriving at his waistband, my fingertips moved to his belt buckle and as they slid over the scratched metal, his sharp hiss of breath was audible.
Suddenly anxious, I looked up at him. Maybe he’d misunderstood this. Maybe I had?
‘Oh God, Rachel.’ His voice was husky. ‘Don’t stop.’
‘If this is just because you’re horny … Then don’t do it. Please.’
Holding my gaze, his hands worked on something. There was the click and jingle of his buckle. Glancing down, I saw that his belt hung open and his top button had been popped. ‘I’m yours.’ Then he added, ‘If you want me.’
I could have laughed. ‘Do you want me?’
He indicated his body, the thick bulge, listing to the right, beneath his zip. ‘Not much point denying it, is there?’
The heat of his hand was on my thigh, sliding under my dress and upwards. When his fingertips touched the bare skin at the top of my hold-ups, he flinched. ‘Jesus, Rachel.’ His voice sounded choked. ‘Can we take this upstairs?’
I wanted to laugh with delight. I loved when he said things like that, stuff that was borderline cheesy.
In my bedroom, the lamp gave off a mellow glow. I lay Luke, shirtless, on my bed. ‘Let me do this. Please.’ I slipped my hands along his satin-smooth shoulders and the tangle of silver and braided leather around his neck.
With deliberate care, I undressed him. His boots first, then I moved to his jeans. Propped on his elbows, he watched with grim anticipation. ‘Rachel.’ His voice was low and urgent, his jaw clenched. ‘You couldn’t hurry things up? I’m dying here.’
‘This will be my only chance. I want to remember everything.’ I unzipped his jeans and inched them from his body, savouring his hair-roughened legs, the paler skin at the tops of his thighs, then all the drama of his crotch, as his erection sprang from his underwear.
I couldn’t stop myself from burying my face and inhaling the musky fragrance. ‘If only they could bottle it.’
He laughed, suddenly appearing light-hearted – then vaulted from the bed. ‘Babe, I’m sorry.’ He reached for me. ‘I’ve been patient long enough.’
It was like ballet, the ease with which he unzipped my dress. It fell to the floor and I stepped out from it, sensation flaring as my bare skin touched off his.
But when his fingers reached the clasp of my bra, he paused. ‘Rachel? Are you sure?’
‘This isn’t sex,’ I said. ‘It’s the only way to express our feelings.’
‘It is sex.’
‘You know what I mean,’ I said. ‘Well, I know. Yes, I’m sure.’
Still he wavered, so I repeated, ‘Luke. I’m sure.’
Almost under his breath, he asked, ‘Why am I even arguing?’ And with three or four deft hooks and sweeps of his thumbs, removed the rest of my clothes.
He arranged me on the bed and the second his lips touched the inside of my thigh, my body remembered everything. The response was as intense as it had ever been. In moments, with short, breathy gasps, I was pulsing into the heat of his mouth.
Staying until the last of the ripples quietened, he laughed softly. ‘Well.’ He seemed ridiculously happy. ‘That was easy.’
‘Like riding a bike.’ I was floaty and dazed. ‘Come here. Before …’
His angry-looking erection appeared about to explode.
‘Wait!’ He clicked his tongue as he remembered. ‘My jacket …’ Was downstairs on the hall floor, where we’d flung it.
‘It’s okay.’ I was already opening a drawer. ‘In here.’
He removed a foil square, tearing it open with his teeth, unrolling and smoothing it along his length. Transfixed, I watched his hands move in ways that were familiar and wildly erotic. And, oh God, the heft of his body, the grace of it as he shifted and slid into me. I clenched around him, almost choking from so much sensation.
‘I know,’ he whispered, his eyes so dark they looked black.
Welded together, locked the length of each other, his gaze fixed on mine – and still it wasn’t close enough. Slowly, tenderly, every movement was meaningful, every breath felt sacred.
Our movements gathered speed until, without much warning, his breathing became harsher, more urgent. ‘Rachel –’ His voice was hoarse. ‘I can’t –’ Then he was shuddering against me, goosebumps popping on his skin.
For the longest time, we lay stunned and wordless. I could have stayed, my face to his chest, inhaling him, forever.
Eventually, he spoke. ‘I’m sorry it was so quick.’
Light-heartedly, I said, ‘You must really fancy me.’
‘Nothing new there. But it’s not like I haven’t been –’ Abruptly he stopped.
‘Haven’t been what?’
‘Oh, you know.’ He rolled over and grinned into my face. ‘Since – what day was it? Wednesday? The place by the stream. You, behind me, on the bike.’ He squeezed his eyes shut. ‘Christ.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Seriously.’
‘… Tell me.’
‘I dropped you home, went back to Justin’s, barely got into my room. Just about got my jeans open …’ He shrugged. ‘Every time I think about you, I go hard. And the problem is I can’t stop thinking about you. I haven’t been like this since I was fourteen. I’m sore from it.’ He hesitated. ‘Does that make me pathetic? Disgusting? I told you, the past, the present, it’s all mixed up. I’m a mess.’
Oh.
Hearing that he’d spent the last few days as affected as I’d been filled me with joy. But the implication that he only fancied me because his emotions were all over the place?
I was disappointed. Far too disappointed.
It was a reality check though, one I should be grateful for.
‘Me too,’ I managed. ‘A mess, like.’
Sometime in the pre-dawn, drowsy and heavy, we woke, our limbs intertwined. With one slick move, he was inside me, and my body was already in flames even while I was still marvelling, Oh my God, it’s Luke.
Afterwards we lay in bottomless silence, my head on his chest, his arms hard and tight around me. In my soul and in my body was a deep peace. Here, in this bed with him, even the loss of Yara was lighter.
Outside, the chirping of the first birds began and light was creeping under the curtains.
‘Are you okay?’ Luke spoke into the room.
I shifted, in order to see his face. ‘Better than okay. I’m really grateful to … the universe? Well, whoever’s in charge, for this.’
‘Tell me,’ he said. ‘How’s your sleep these days?’ But there was compassion in his voice, not judgement.
‘Still my weak point, the first thing to go when I’m upset. I’ll never be one of those lucky people who’re out like a light the moment their head hits the pillow. But I’m okay most of the time.’
After a while, I sent him downstairs for water. ‘In the fridge,’ I said. ‘Bring up a bottle. Mind Crunchie doesn’t lick you to death.’
Even though we were alone in the house he pulled on his jeans. He’d always been an odd mix of raunchy and modest.
While he was gone, I had to tell myself over and over again, This is real. This is real. This is real. Luke was genuinely here and it was as if those years apart had never happened. But for a few strange seconds, I decided to terrify myself with thoughts that I’d imagined everything, that I was all alone – and oh! He was back, carrying a green bottle. Bare-chested, his hair a disordered tangle, he stood at the foot of the bed, watching me thoughtfully as, idly, he rolled the bottle back and forth across his torso.
‘What?’ I asked.
‘Never not gorgeous, are you?’ Then, ‘Just … so I’ll remember.’
He put the bottle down. His eyes on mine, he unzipped his jeans – underneath he was naked and already erect – and slid them off. In one fluid movement, he was halfway up the bed, climbing towards me with intent.
‘Again?’ I asked.
‘Oh God, yeah. Again, Rachel.’
We fell asleep once more and I woke at just gone eight. He’d have to leave soon.
He opened his eyes. ‘It really is you,’ he said faintly. ‘This feels like a dream.’
‘It’s real.’ I ran my hand across his stomach. ‘Still flat. How? Don’t tell me you’ve started going to the gym?’
‘We –’ His voice stumbled. ‘I go horse-riding.’
I’d made him remember Kallie.
‘I know,’ I said immediately. ‘We shouldn’t have done this.’
‘… Yeah –’
‘But it wasn’t really sex,’ I said. ‘It was part of our healing.’
In silence, he looked at me and suddenly my shame was overwhelming.
‘Kallie won’t agree,’ I said, feeling even worse. ‘I can only imagine if Quin told me he’d slept with Shiv – that’s his ex-wife – but everything was fine because it was grief, not, like, lust. Luke, I’m so sorry. I hope she’ll forgive you.’
‘Wait now, no one put a gun to my head. I wanted this. But what about Quin?’
‘He’s … He gets that humans are complicated.’ I struggled to find the right words. ‘He’ll be hurt. And angry. But he might understand.’
‘Rachel, that sounds … delusional.’
Now he’d said it, I realized he was right. It was like snapping out of a trance.
‘Oh my God.’ As the extent of the possible damage hit home, I stuttered, ‘I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have – at the time, it made sense but … we have lives. It took us a long time to rebuild them –’
‘Those lives are still there,’ he said. ‘It’s okay. This was a one-off. It won’t happen again.’
‘But I want us to be friends.’ I was adamant. ‘Can we try to forget about … this?’
‘Totally.’
‘You’ll take care of Kallie?’ I was remembering my devastation when I thought he’d cheated with Mia. ‘I’m so sorry for causing her pain.’
‘Of course I will, Rachel. But you mustn’t –’
‘Luke?’ I insisted. ‘You promise?’
He took a moment. ‘I promise. So now will you show me Yara’s tree?’
Out in the garden the air was fragrant with early-morning dewy grass and damp earth. Luke, barefoot, wearing a woolly jumper Devin had left behind, looked around, taking in all my flowers. ‘You’ve done this? It’s incredible. Wait! You have a shed?’
‘You don’t know the half of it. I obsess over spades. And compost. This way. Over here.’ Yara’s cherry blossom was only about six feet high and the tiny, tucked-up buds were a long way from flowering. ‘It doesn’t look much today,’ I said. ‘But by mid-May it’ll be’ – I waved my arms for emphasis – ‘this riot of pink petals, they look like confetti, it’s so pretty, it’s so her.’
‘I’ll have to come back,’ he joked.
Then he went silent and I let him have his moment. There was a stillness to his focus and a slight twitch to his lips – was he praying? Because I’d noticed, amongst the other hardware around his neck, a tiny silver cross on a thin silver chain.
He’d always had tendencies that way – it looked like they’d got stronger?
He noticed my scrutiny and, slightly embarrassed, he laughed. ‘Whatever gets you through.’
‘Hah!’ I said. ‘I’m hardly one to judge.’
‘Even without the – what did you call it? The “riot of pink confetti petals”? – it’s a beautiful tree.’
‘I’m so glad you said that!’ His approval mattered. ‘It helps me. Seeing that, in a way, she lives on, as something beautiful.’
Out of nowhere, a blanket of sorrow dropped – all that we’d hoped for and all that we’d lost. Warily, we watched each other, thinking about the little girl who didn’t get the chance to live. As tears spilled from his eyes, he was in my arms, and I cried with him. It was sad, it was terribly sad but we were grieving together and that was right and good.
Eventually we wandered back into the house and Luke put his jacket on, readying to leave. The impulse to fix his collar felt automatic, but I resisted. There would be no more of that, and it was okay.
‘Safe journey.’ My heart was swollen with gratitude, regret, sorrow, acceptance – too many emotions to know.
‘Thanks. I’ll …’ Luke shifted awkwardly. ‘We’ll …?’
‘Be in touch?’
He nodded. He smiled. His hand twisted open the lock on the door.
And I let him go.
You know it’s not an either or? It doesn’t have to be Quin or Luke. You can have a very happy life without either of them.
80
‘… I swapped my regular Wednesday night meeting for pregnancy yoga, so I was getting to just two meetings a week …’
The alarm on my phone pinged and, with a long exhale of relief, I stopped typing. Wasting no time, Nola had me doing my Twelve Steps again, making me focus long and hard on what had been in play, when I’d talked myself back into taking the pills.
For the past fortnight, I’d been getting up an hour earlier than usual to do the writing before work. Currently on step four, I was examining my behaviour when I got pregnant. Complacency was the biggest culprit – I’d been clean for such a long time, I’d let my attention shift entirely to my expected baby. Basically, I’d sort of forgotten I was an addict. When the opportunity for sleeping tablets reared its head, there was nothing in place to protect me.
The process was teaching me new respect for my addiction, for its patience, its stealth, its dogged determination.
And now, to my relief, I had to go to work. Self-examination was faaar harder than my actual job. It was so much nicer to be looking at the delusions of others rather than my own.
But I was doing okay, especially considering all that had shaken down in the sixteen days since Mum’s party.
Almost as soon as Luke had left my house that Sunday morning, I’d had the most thorough shower of my life, washing away every single trace of him. Then I unmuted my phone, ignored the twenty or so messages from Claire and went directly to Quin’s.
He would only admit me as far as the hall. ‘You had sex with him?’
I’d nodded. ‘I’m sorry.’ Hurting him was horrible.
‘And …?’ His voice was husky. ‘You’re back with him?’
‘It was a one-off.’
‘But …?’
‘… It brought up a lot of stuff from the past, I’m sort of all over the place.’
‘Yeah. Me too.’
His defiant tone made me focus on him more carefully.
‘Yeah.’ He shifted in a pretence of awkwardness. ‘Me and Golden.’
Maybe it shouldn’t have, but it knocked the breath from me. ‘… Last night?’
‘The night after we got back from Barcelona.’ Then, defensively, ‘What did you expect, Rach?’
Now that he’d said it, it was clear that even before I’d spent the night with Luke, Quin and I were done – the mortifying exchange with the ring in Mr Navabi’s showroom had seen to that.
He refused to look away, slightly ashamed, a lot more defiant, glad I knew and angry he’d told me. Reluctantly, he said, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘And I’m sorry, Quin. I’m so sorry.’
In painful silence, we watched each other. I couldn’t think of one other thing to add – shockingly, our two-year relationship appeared to have been dispatched in moments. As I moved towards the door, he said, ‘Don’t.’
