Torn (20 page)

His own breathing had quickened. While his hand continued its explorations, he chewed, licked, sucked at whatever portion of her flesh he could reach with his mouth.

‘Danny! Danny, quickly!'

‘What do you want?' he gasped. ‘Should I go on?'

‘No. No!' Jessica grabbed at his hand, locking his wet fingers in her own, and dragged him down on top of her. ‘Just do it, Danny!' Her legs wound around his waist, her hips thrust up against him, but already she was past the point of no return. The lightning flared in her brain followed by ecstatic waves of sensation which pulsed through her body. ‘Danny! For God's sake, fuck me! Now!'

A slight fumble and he was there, sliding deep. His eyelids drooped, he grimaced, he bit hard on his bottom lip. As she heard his drawn out gasping groan and felt the deep throb of his ejaculation, she recalled that springing, silvery thread. A half-strength reprise of her first orgasm shimmered through her and a dreamy smile touched her face.

‘Oh, Jess! Oh … fuck! Oh, Jess! Thank you, thank you, thank you.' The gasps, sighs, expletives, and thanks went on for a while. Splayed on the divan beneath him Jessica stared at the crystals, feathers, and shells still swaying above her head.

I've really done it now, she thought, as the smile slowly faded. A loud hammering erupted on the caravan door.

‘Shit!' Danny jumped, then leapt up from the divan and pantsless, began to drag on his combats.

‘Sorry to disturb you, mate!' was shouted through the closed door. ‘I've a ewe in trouble!' He pulled open the door just enough to show himself. ‘I wouldn't have bothered you but she's in distress.'

‘OK … I'll just,' he glanced round at Jessica with a small, rueful shrug. ‘Put something on.'

‘Thanks, I'm grateful.'

Danny pushed the door closed, then turned to Jessica. She'd pulled the stars and moons up over her chest and now lay with one arm flung up, the back of her hand resting on her forehead. He looked down at her for a long moment then stooped to kiss her.

‘I'm sorry about this. I wanted to talk.'

‘Not your fault. I need to leave soon anyway. I'll slip away when you're gone.'

He washed his arms and hands at the sink, scrubbing thoroughly at his nails. Without stopping to dry himself, he pulled a T-shirt over his head. His hand was on the door handle when she called to him.

‘Does it work?'

He paused, looking puzzled.

‘The dream catcher? Does it catch your dreams?'

He grinned, blew her a kiss, and was gone without adding any more layers of clothes. It made her feel chilly just to imagine it.

‘Sorry, mate!' she heard. ‘Have you got a girl in there?'

‘What makes you think that?'

James Warwick laughed. ‘The smile on your face. The way the van was vibrating! No. Don't tell me. None of my business. Good luck to you! I'm just sorry I had to interrupt.' The voices died away.

The older woman bore down upon her determinedly. ‘Jessica! How are you?' As they walked into the nursery together Jessica pulled her silk scarf up and kept her hand there, holding it close around her throat.

‘Fine. And you, Gilda?'

‘I don't seem to have seen anything of you recently.'

‘Rory hasn't been here for a few days, he's not been well.' True enough, but in fact she'd been rather avoiding Gilda even before Rory's bug. It was nothing personal. The woman was undoubtedly charming, in an old world, home-counties style, and more importantly, seemed determined to make a friend of her; but just at the moment Jess found it hard to concentrate on any kind of superficial social interaction.

‘Poor dear! How is he today?'

‘I was just about to ask Sheila. This is his first outing.'

‘Sounds like he's been smoking Capstan Full Strength, but otherwise he's been fine,' Sheila interjected, coming out into the lobby. ‘Had a bit of a spat with George, something to do with the stick insects, but that's only par for the course. If I didn't have to separate warring infant boys every day of my working life I'd think something had gone wrong with the world. Incidentally, Jess, I was going to suggest you and I go out next week. There's the public meeting about the route for the new by-pass on Wednesday.'

‘Oh!' Gilda exclaimed theatrically, ‘Don't talk to me about that road, I'm heartily sick of it!'

‘We won't be seeing you at the meeting, then?' Jessica asked.

‘No way, as you young things say. But I'll not escape that easily. It's a subject too close to James' heart.'

‘He's for or against?' Sheila prompted.

‘Well obviously for, but the route is quite a different matter.'

Sheila turned to Jessica. ‘I know you're interested, Jess, so I thought you might like to combine the meeting with a meal perhaps?'

‘I'd love to go, but it's difficult with Rory. I can't ask Alison to have him again, not after last time. My neighbour, Ethel, would be happy to babysit, but he's not keen to stay with her for too long, and she doesn't like to leave her cottage when it's dark.'

‘Jessica, my dear,' Gilda interrupted, ‘He can come to us. I'm sure he'd love to stop the night with Sasha.'

‘Of course he would but I couldn't impose, and –'

‘Nonsense, it was something I already had in mind to ask you. It's Sasha's birthday in the middle of March. We are planning a small party, the first she will ever have had. James has never felt like doing it before this year. I wanted to ask you if Rory could come.'

‘Of course he can. He'd love to. You must tell me what kind of present she'd like. I've not much experience of little girls.'

‘Time enough to think about presents. Although James has already bought her a Dartmoor pony.'

‘Wow! That's some present.'

‘Pure bred you understand – not the mongrel “hill” variety.'

‘Of course not.'

‘He took the lad with him to look at some registered Dartmoor ponies a few weeks ago, and chose one then and there. But it's not being delivered until her birthday. I still think Sasha's too young, but what does her grandmamma know? Anyway, I was going to ask you if Rory could stay the night after the party. Sasha is very keen to have a sleepover as a special treat, but neither James nor I feel we could cope with more than one of her chums staying?'

‘That would be great, but I'm not sure. He's not really used to –'

‘So stopping over one night next week could be viewed as a dress rehearsal, to see if it works out on all sides.'

‘He's only slept away from home once and it wasn't a great success.'

‘He is
dry
at night?'

‘Thankfully, yes. But he can wake in the night, and in a strange place he's likely to get distressed.'

‘So who did he stay with? Was it family?'

‘No.' Jessica paused. It would take too long to explain why there wasn't an extended family for Rory to be off-loaded onto. ‘He stayed at Hannah's. Her mother had a few kids from the nursery to sleep over on New Year's night.'

‘Alison Brooks? Oh, she's a cold fish. Even Sasha isn't a particular friend of Hannah's. She wasn't even invited to her sleepover.'

‘I think Rory was only invited because …' Jess tailed off, catching Sheila's eye.

‘So there you are then!' Gilda said, as if her point was proved. ‘We both know Sasha and Rory are the best of chums. Even if they wake in the night I'm sure they'll keep each other amused. And I'll ask Edie to stop over as well.'

‘Edie Dowdeswell, your …?'

‘Help. Yes, she's brilliant with children, very motherly, and Rory gets on well with her. And remember, the sooner he gets used to stopping away from home for a night, now and then, the freer you will be.'

Before this morning, any above-the-board opportunity to visit the farm would have been welcomed by Jessica. Now she was gripped by complex and contradictory emotions. By continuing to find objections she was aware she wasn't solely thinking of her son's well-being. But Gilda was adamant. It was true that the two children had developed a very firm friendship, despite the debacle over the Wendy house; this could be the ideal opportunity to try out the sleepover experiment again.

‘Will lambing have finished by then?' Her question was abrupt, coming after a short silence.

‘Lambing?' Gilda looked puzzled. The start and finish of lambing obviously had no impact on her social calendar. ‘I really couldn't tell you. We've already had quite a few. By next Wednesday I dare say there will be plenty more in the mothering pens for the children to see.' This was not why Jess had raised the subject, but it served as a good enough reason. ‘There was one other thing I was going to ask,' Gilda continued. ‘Say no, please say no if it's an imposition, but I wondered, do you think you would consider helping me, with Sasha's party that is? You see, I just don't know where to turn. And I know James will be utterly hopeless.'

‘Of course I'll help you.' Though not at all confident there was any pleasure to be derived from ‘helping' with a children's party, Jess added, ‘It would be a pleasure.'

‘Bless you. That is such a weight off my shoulders, Jessica. Now, what about Wednesday week? Is that a settled arrangement? Shall I pick Rory up after nursery?'

‘It's so kind of you to offer to have him. Thank you. I really appreciate being able to go to the meeting.'

‘Great.' Sheila had been an interested eavesdropper to the conversation. She grinned at Jessica. ‘We've got a date then. I'll book a table at the pizza place next to the Great Western. We'll never get in if we leave it to pot luck.'

‘What's the Great Western?'

‘The old station. It's a cinema now, specialises in art house movies. But on Wednesday week it's the venue for “The Great Roads Debate”. By the way, Jess, the way you're clutching that scarf around it … is there something wrong with your neck?'

‘Mummy? Mummy, what's the matter? Why aren't we going?' the voice croaked. As Jessica had buckled Rory into his child seat, her mood had veered between elation and repugnance. Social chitchat at the nursery door was the very last thing she'd wanted to get involved in today. What she'd intended, beyond reassuring herself that Rory had coped OK with his first morning back, was to collect him and shoot off, head down, talking to no one.

Instead she'd been trapped, chatting about sleepovers, parties, ponies, and pizzas, with a love bite the size of a fifty pence piece under the scarf; sweat, saliva, and semen dried on her belly, and the moist reminder of how she'd spent the morning oiling her crotch. All she wanted was to get home and take a long hot bath. For the second time that day Jess drooped forward over the steering wheel, head on her arms, as the self-disgust welled up.

She straightened. ‘It's all right, nothing's the matter. Come on let's get you home, sweetheart, see what you want for lunch.' Sweetheart? She'd called Danny sweetheart this morning. It had popped out as naturally as it did when talking to her son. Recalling the context now made her shudder. Not long into the future Rory too would be hovering on the brink of manhood. The idea that some older woman might tamper with him – attempt to corrupt his innocence, was repellent.

‘I want to eat the same as Tubs.'

‘I don't think you do.'

‘I do, Mummy! I do, I really do!'

Chapter Thirteen

After being allowed to sniff, rather than taste Tubs' cat food, Rory opted for fish fingers – then barely ate a mouthful. He'd coped well with the morning's excitements but by then was visibly flagging and, to her relief, agreed to her suggestion of a nap.

At last she was able to strip off her clothes and turn on the bath taps. There'd not been enough time to get home to change her knickers, let alone to take a bath, before she collected her son. The best she'd been able to do was ensure that make-up wasn't smeared all over her face. Just as well she'd checked in the vanity mirror. The smudges of mascara had been easy to rectify with spit on a tissue. As for the other – luckily there'd been an old scarf in the glove box.

Now, letting herself down into the hot, sudsy water she examined her body with distaste. She was an adult woman with a young child, yet here she was, like a soppy teenager, counting the love bites that stained her breasts and belly. An affair with a boy was stupid, inappropriate, and self-indulgent. She couldn't let it go on. With a grimace she hooked out the diaphragm. It floated to the surface of the water and bobbed there like a jellyfish.

It was the previous night, after Rory had gone to bed, that she'd searched the bathroom cabinet, rummaged through all her drawers, and eventually found the contraceptive in its plastic box in the pocket of a weekend case. Given it was over three years old, and hadn't been used for more than two, she wondered if the device was still intact. Even the spermicidal jelly she'd liberally smeared it and herself with was well past its sell by date. She had used the cap as a method of birth control for more than a year after Rory's arrival. Sean disliked condoms, and her trust in them – or of men's conscientious use of them – had been dented by the pregnancy. Then she'd abandoned the cap as un-aesthetic, a judgement she still adhered to. She had no intention of continuing with it as a permanent method of contraception now.

Given the first misadventure, Jess had felt it safe to assume Danny was not an STI risk. Yet she wondered about his relationship with Zoe, the girl he claimed to have ‘knocked about with'. The expression was imprecise and meant different things to different people. They could easily have been platonic friends, but was there more to it? And if so, what, given his partial admission of virginity? Now that particular hurdle had been overcome there was a world of women and a lifetime of opportunity ahead of him. Jess could not assume he would remain monogamous. In the future ‘safe sex' for both of them meant a supply of condoms had to be bought. And if he needed help she could teach him how to use them.