Sophie's Run (25 page)

“I will tell you, soon. I need to work out a few things first,” Rachel cut into my thoughts. “The real question is, do
you
trust
me
?”

“Of course I do,” I assured her without hesitation.

We left it there, even though it was a bit of an effort not to worry away at this revelation. Once upon a time, I would have been merciless, nagging until she cracked. Likewise, she would have done the same to me. Whether it was out of respect for our newfound grown-up-ness, or whether something told me to back off for another reason, I wasn’t sure, but I let it be.

We paid up and split up. Not immediately, of course—that would have meant we had had a disagreement of some sorts. No, we ambled down the High Street, engaging in a little window shopping, and chatting away quite amiably. But when we came to the crossroads where it would normally have been a question of “your flat or mine?” we went our separate ways.

I should have persisted. Something had come between us and I should have given this whole interlude more thought. But I didn’t, and I didn’t allow myself to worry. Whatever it was, I was bound to find out eventually.

The weekend before the August bank holiday, Steve suggested that we should go sightseeing.

“Let’s be tourists,” he had proposed. “Let’s do London, in a day.”

I chortled. “But we live here. Why would we ‘do London?’”

“Because,” he challenged, “do you ever bother to see the sights? The London Eye?”

I shook my head.

“The Tower? Tower Bridge?”

More shakes of the head; I was getting the point.

“Come on,” he coaxed. “Let’s do this. It’ll be fun.”

I laughed. As far as dates went, this was almost the anti-date. There wasn’t a promise here anywhere of a posh restaurant, sophistication and elegance. And yet it sounded like my kind of thing.

So there we were, on a Saturday morning, wandering down Baker Street in double step. We took the ubiquitous hop-on-hop-off bus tour and let ourselves be driven around London for an hour. Steve had stocked up on gummy bears and diet cola, and we felt like naughty teenagers once again, snacking away under the disapproving stare of the commentator. We got off at the South Bank where we ate cheesy pizza bought from a street vendor, sitting on a bench overlooking the Thames and watching the world go by. Afterwards, Steve bought me a huge stick of candy floss from a nearby stall, and I thought, to hell with my waistline.

The queue for the London Eye was long as ever, but Steve had pre-booked tickets. This “on the hop” tourist expedition wasn’t as spontaneous as he had made it out to be. I was thrilled, and flattered, and simply deliriously happy. Once aboard our pod with a handful of other people, I stepped up to the railing expectantly. Steve hugged me close, and we stood together as London dipped lower and lower beneath us.

We must have been about halfway up when Steve suddenly turned mildly green, swallowed deeply and announced he had to sit down. My exhilaration turned into dismay as I imagined greasy pizza being returned, right here, without fresh air or any buckets. Still, I sat down with Steve, holding his hand and patting his back.

“Are you all right?” I managed in between deep sympathy breaths.
Keep it cool and steady,
I advised myself.
You can do this
.

“Yes, fine,” Steve uttered, looking slightly better.

I must have stared a question mark at him, because he suddenly offered an explanation.

“I get terrible acrophobia,” he stated. “I can’t stand so close to the window, now that we’re so high up.”

I was incredulous. “You have fear of heights?” I repeated. He nodded, embarrassed now. I suppressed a giggle. “And you booked a trip on the London Eye because—?”

Steve shrugged. “I thought you’d enjoy it.”

Love him.

“I am enjoying it,” I confirmed quickly. “But, you didn’t need to do this. If you’re that afraid of heights.”

“I know,” Steve patiently reiterated. “I know I didn’t have to do this. But I wanted to. For you. To see your face, when you’re all happy, and excited, and relaxed. That’s what I came to see.”

“I’ve got to give you a kiss,” I announced, and followed through directly. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Steve grinned, relieved and buoyed by the fact that we were nearly down again. An image flashed through my mind of me and Dan visiting the TV tower in Berlin.

“I guess you wouldn’t go up a TV tower with me,” I ventured, somewhat thoughtlessly.

“Probably not,” Steve concurred. “Nor the Eiffel tower. But there are plenty of other things we can do. And it was worthwhile coming, trust me.”

He put his arm around me as we stepped out of the pod, and I hugged him as tightly as I could.

“What now?” Steve demanded eagerly. “I’m all in your hands.”

To be perfectly honest, doing the tourist trail had completely exhausted me. Just the sheer amount of people we had braved today, pushing, shoving, talking every language under the sun, taking photos—I had had enough. Steve’s exuberant and inadvertently suggestive phrase gave me an idea.

“Let’s go home,” I boomed. Lowering my voice a little, I whispered, “let’s make mad, passionate
lurve.
”

Steve chuckled. “What, before dinner? How
very
naughty.”

And naughty we were.

Okay, so there wasn’t a cellar involved, not a dark one or a wet one, and no chains or spikes. But Steve led me to the lounge as soon as we got in. He closed the curtains and stood me in the middle of the room.

“Hm. What have we here?” he muttered, and I went hot and gooey in the loin region. He was undressing me with his eyes, but I wanted him to undress me properly, please!

Steve took his time, stalking around me while I didn’t move. “Take your trousers off, now,” he said, nicely but firmly.

So I did.

“And your shirt.”

All too soon, I stood naked in the lounge, with him still fully dressed. The imbalance of power proved unexpectedly exciting.

Steve stepped up to me and tweaked my nipples. The effect was electrifying, and I gave an almighty groan. I tugged at the button of his shirt, and he slapped me gently on the wrist, grinning widely and mischievously.

“Now, now, young lady, not so hasty,” he joked, and I groaned some more.

He stood behind me and ran his hands up and down my back, and soon I was covered in goosebumps of pleasure. He cradled me in his arms as if taking me from behind, and I could feel his arousal pressing into the small of my back.

“I believe we have wood,” I giggled, citing a teenage movie from way back when.

“We certainly have,” Steve confirmed.

I tried to turn around, eager for a kiss, but Steve held me in a tight arm lock.

“I’m enjoying your behind,” he murmured into my ear, nibbling gently at the lobe, then giving it a playful bite.

“And I—”

“Don’t speak,” Steve admonished me. “It’s not your turn to speak. Be quiet.” He pressed harder into my back to emphasize his point.

I obeyed, part willing, part unable to do anything else.

“Good. That’s good. Now bend over.”

“Bend over what?” I wasn’t sure what he expected me to do.

“Just bend over and stop talking.” Steve spoke in a harsh voice but I could tell that he was brimming with hilarity. Goodness knew what had got into him, but now he seemed to be struggling to stay in his role. He relinquished his hold on my upper body and I bent over and touched my toes. Head firmly tucked upside down between my knees, I could see Steve’s still be-jeaned legs planted firmly behind me. The absurdity of the situation made me giggle.

Steve lightly smacked my bare bottom. “This is really no laughing matter!”

Of course I dutifully collapsed in a heap.

“Oi, you, wench,” Steve objected, towering above me and clearly also brimming with mirth. “That’s not supposed to happen. You’re supposed to…

I jumped to my feet and turned on him, raising myself up to my full height and trying to meet his gaze levelly.

“Yes?
” I inquired in a matronly voice. “What is it that I am supposed to do, young lad?”

Steve snorted through his nose. “I don’t think this kinky role play is working for me,” he admitted abruptly before he lost his grip and guffawed loudly.

“Me neither,” I agreed. “I do like it but it’s not doing it for me today. I’m just too impatient, I guess.”

I ripped the shirt off his back while I spoke and he took the cue. We fell onto the sofa, conjoined at the hip, while he was still struggling out of his jeans.

Our love making was swift and intense and overwhelming, and so addictive that we had another turn after dinner. This brand of passion was new and intoxicating to me, and I simply couldn’t get enough of it.

Steve and I, we had become lovers, soul mates, best friends. We had been together for six weeks. Not a word had been said about our future or about our plans. The
M
word hadn’t been mentioned. And yet it was there, between us, as plain as a fourteen-foot billboard. The truth, the obvious. We would get married. We would have children. It was apparent from our every interaction. I couldn’t really explain it, but we had mated for life, and we both knew it.

The following Friday night, Steve arrived at my place with a glossy brochure and a rucksack full of clothes. He was excited like a little boy on Christmas Eve.

“Look,” he said. “I got us a surprise getaway.”

He opened up the glossy leaflet and showed me pictures of a grand old castle with big stately rooms plushly furnished. One featured an enormous four-poster bed with a roaring log fire in the background. There was an indoor swimming pool, a sauna and a spa room, as well as a fancy restaurant.

“There’s a beautiful nature reserve round the loch, and we can go for long walks by the water, have pub lunches, come back, rest, sleep, have dinner. It will be wonderful.”

His eyes shone, and it was impossible to resist his enthusiasm. I took the brochure out of his hands and looked through it. Steve watched me avidly but said nothing more.

It did look inviting, the perfect place for a getaway.

“It says you can go horse-riding,” I latched onto a random detail.

“Yes, it does; you can,” Steve concurred eagerly. “Would you like to?”

“I would love to,” I said cautiously, “only I haven’t actually ridden for years. The last time, I was about thirteen, and I only learned for three weeks or so.”

“Never mind,” he gushed. “I can’t ride either. We can learn together.” He took my hand and squeezed it encouragingly.

I let the riding hang for a moment and focused on a more pressing question.

“Where is this place?” I quizzed him. “And how much is this going to cost?”

Steve put his index finger over my mouth in a
shush
gesture. “This luxury getaway castle is up in Scotland, and don’t you worry how much it costs. You’re getting it on the health service.”

“I am?” I exclaimed, utterly perplexed. “Why? How?”

My gorgeous, kind, and thoughtful man blushed. “Well, in a manner of speaking, that is. They are paying my salary, after all.”

I took a moment to compute that information, then protested. “No, honey, you can’t pay for this, you’ll bankrupt yourself. That’s not right.”

By way of response, Steve cupped my face in his hands and gave me a big kiss. “Trust me, it’ll be worth every penny.” He paused for a moment. “Let’s get you packing,” he eventually suggested cheerfully.

“Why?” I hadn’t quite understood the ramifications of his grand getaway plan.

“Why?
” he repeated, half laughing and half exasperated. “Because we are going tomorrow. This trip is all in the bag. We’re leaving from King’s Cross at midday.”

“We are?” I confirmed stupidly.

“We certainly are,” Steve repeated gleefully. I sneaked a look at his rucksack which, on reflection, was much too crammed, too full for one night at my flat.
Light bulb moment.

“You’re already packed!” I burst out, and Steve looked duly bashful.

“I am. I’m sorry if I jumped the gun.”

“It’s okay. It’s cool. It’s…actually, it’s quite exciting,” I grinned, infected by his joy.

We set off for the Tube at ten-thirty on Saturday morning to get to King’s Cross to catch our midday train. However, two hours, two broken-down Tube trains and one hefty traffic jam later, we arrived at King’s Cross minutes after our train had left. Out of breath, hot and flustered after our travel ordeal, Steve looked more dejected than I had ever seen him. Deflated, worn out, and disappointed. I set my bag down and gave him a cuddle.

“Come on, now, it’s not so bad. There’s got to be other trains,” I offered hopefully.