Another Summer (7 page)

That bloody dress had been the start of everything.  Him playing the big man to impress her.  The tipsy pub lunch afterwards.  Necking by the river then chickening out at the last minute because he’d never had a virgin.

Joe had been horny as hell when he’d dropped Evie off.  When he’d stopped in the village for a coke, he was waylaid by the barmaid who’d been giving him the come-on all week.  She asked for a lift with her two heavy bags and before he’d even stopped outside her cottage, the clingy red dress was hanging off her nipples and he was bursting in his jeans.

It was over in moments, hot and urgent and exactly what Joe had thought he needed.  A fuck was a fuck, whether it was a married tart or a sixteen year old virgin.  But however much he tried to convince himself, it was Evie he couldn’t get out of his head.

By the night of the Drydens’ party, he was edgy about seeing her again.  He realised he’d probably upset her by bundling her so quickly out of the car and that was spooking him enough without Steve winding him up.

They were sizing up the arriving guests, out of sight on the half landing, bottles in hand, trussed up in proper shirts and jackets all belonging to Steve.  Not having enough cash left to buy his own clothes was doing nothing to help Joe’s mood.

“Who knew mousy little Evie would scrub up like that?” Steve whistled, when she finally arrived.  “She’s got my name written all over her.”

Joe shrugged as if he couldn’t care less.  He wasn’t going to let on he’d been scared she wouldn’t show up.  She looked stunning in her new dress, her hair piled up with bits escaping round her face.  But she was young and no match for someone with moves like Steve.

“Tenner says I’ll be in her knickers tonight?”

Joe wanted to warn his mate to keep his sweaty hands to himself.  But didn’t.  He stood there watching as Steve moved in for the kill.  Without giving Evie time to think about it, he slipped a glass of champagne into her hand and steered her onto the dance floor.

As Steve pulled Evie against him, pretending to slow dance so their drinks didn’t spill, Joe fizzed with anger.  He itched to smash his fist into Steve’s cocky face.  But as Steve’s free hand kept roaming down Evie’s  back, Joe stood there doing nothing and was furious with himself.  

He was way out of his depth.  He felt like the poor kid tagging along in the shadow of the prodigal son.  He wanted to get the hell out of there but he followed them around like a silent stalker until eventually Steve staggered off to take a leak.  Seizing his moment, Joe grabbed Evie’s hand and tried to lead her outside through the open French doors.  But she tugged her hand away.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m rescuing you.”

“Who says I need rescuing?”

He raised a questioning eyebrow and when she looked away, biting her lip, he knew he had it in the bag.

“I want to make it up to you for the other day.  And I want to dance with you away from all this noise.”

“I don’t know any steps.”

“We can improvise.”

This time, when he took her hand, she went with him.  The stone terrace was lit only by the glow from the party.  Music hummed in the background as he drew her into his arms.  The fresh smell of her caught in his throat, making his voice sound hoarse and ridiculous.

“I knew you’d look a knockout in that dress.”

She brushed her hands nervously down the skirt.  “I’m not that sure about it.”

“Take my word for it.  Amazing.”

She was so different from the women he usually went with.  She didn’t even know she had assets, never mind how to use them to get what she wanted.  He was well turned-on and he hadn’t even touched her.

He didn’t know any steps either but the slow number meant he could hold her and shuffle as if he knew what he was doing.  Her waist was tiny beneath his hands, her breasts lush against his chest.  His heartbeat was racing.  He was going to keep her away from Steve if it killed him.

She suddenly winced, reaching down to rub her foot.  “Can we sit down?  I’m not used to heels.”

“There’s a summerhouse,” he remembered.  “It’s quiet there, cosy.  We can talk properly?”

He grabbed an opened bottle of champagne from a table just inside the doors and couldn’t believe his luck when she let him hold her hand.  As they followed the path through the garden, he was desperate to kiss her but he didn’t want to miss the moment and send her scurrying back to the house.

There was a padded swing on the summerhouse porch.  She flopped onto it, kicking off her shoes, tucking her bare feet under the frothy skirt of her dress.  He sat down next to her and offered her the bottle.

“Sorry I forgot to get glasses.”

“I don’t mind.  I never had champagne before tonight.  It tickles.”

She laughed as it fizzed up and dribbled down her chin.  He wiped it away, tracing his finger over her mouth, almost groaning when her eyes closed.  They were facing the sea and despite the shelter of the porch, the night breeze was salty and sharp.  He took off his jacket and draped it round her shoulders, putting his arm around her as she curled up against him.

“Cold?”

“Not now.”

She giggled and he realised she was a bit drunk.  She wriggled against him, sliding her arms round his waist as he lay down with her along the swing.  She lifted her face, eager for kisses.  He was so horny he was clumsy with the tiny buttons of her dress.

Her breasts were creamy against her tan.  They spilled into his hands and he stroked her nipples, watching her face as she purred.  Her eyes stayed closed as he found her plain cotton knickers, such a turn-on after the lace and tat of his usual partners.  He slid them off, playing with her wetness, counting to ten as his free hand fumbled with his zip.

The swing rocked as he sucked her nipple.  She groaned, frowning, a palm clamped to her forehead.  He pulled out his fingers.

“Evie?  Did I hurt you?”

“Feel ill.”

Then she threw up, violently, so it splattered onto the ground right next to Joe’s feet.  He jumped up out of the way, hitching up his pants as his erection flopped in the cool night air.

She was sobbing, mascara streaming down her cheeks.  Joe found himself hugging her, wiping her face, realising too late he was using her knickers as a cloth.  He fastened her buttons and walked her round the garden until she’d recovered enough to face her grandmother.  And he watched her go home still a virgin.

Joe folded Heather’s spare duvet and made himself a strong tea, drinking it standing by the window.  It was early, barely light.  He hadn’t slept, tortured by memories of that other summer.  The rain was still coming down in stair rods, battering the river into miniature waves, not far now from the walkway.  If it kept on like this, it would flood.

He was itching to get out of there.  He couldn’t face having to explain himself again.  But there was no sign of Lisa stirring and going into her room to wake her was the worst idea in the world.

“What the fuck have you been up to now, man?”

Steve, always an early riser, looked none the worse for his weekend binge.  His former mate had turned into an all-round family man.  Joe wanted to be irritated but realised he missed him.  Missed the old days.  He felt a bit choked, wary.

“Heather still asleep?”

“She’s not best pleased about you bringing the girl here.  You know she thinks the world of Evie.”

“There’s nothing going on with Lisa, whatever it looks like.  I’m just helping her out.  Give me a fucking break, mate.  I’m trying.”

“Maybe it’s a bit late to start trying now.  Sometimes I wonder why you ever bothered to get married.”

“What?  You must remember what it was like?” Joe snapped.  “I had women going at me from all directions.  My four sisters.  Her sister.  Her scary mother.  I didn’t even have anywhere to live, remember?”

“She deserved better.”

“Thanks, mate.  But I figured that out for myself.”

Steve shrugged and poured water into his mug, sniffing the coffee as he stirred it.  He shoved four slices of bread in the toaster.  Joe hoped some would be coming his way.  He was starving.

“Congratulations anyway,” Joe said.

“Yeah, we’re chuffed.  Sorry about yours, though.  Is that what finally fucked things up?”

“I don’t know.  Maybe.”

He’d never really talked about the lost baby.  Or figured out how he felt.  It was easier to pretend it had  never happened.

“So, Evie ran off to Cornwall?  And you’re hot-footing it down there with another girl in tow?  How does that work?”

“Long story, mate.  Give it a rest.  I’ll be dropping Lisa off on the way.”

Steve nodded, not really convinced.  “So, ring Heather when you get there, yeah?  She’s pissed off now but she’ll worry.”

Thank Christ Lisa woke up before Heather and they managed to escape.  She didn’t say anything about the sofa incident.  Didn’t say much at all in the car for which Joe was grateful.

Raking up the past always unsettled him, made him feel like a failure.  It had been easy in the beginning, when Evie had worshipped the ground he’d walked on.  And it was maybe okay to think of nothing but getting laid when you were nineteen.  But in your thirties?  Not so much.  How had it taken him until now to get that? 

Steve was right.  Evie deserved better and he owed it to her now to put things right.  But first he had to get to her and the traffic on the M1 was barely crawling.  They were down to one lane due to road works and an inconvenient dunch that looked minor rather than fatal.  By lunch time they were still passing Sheffield.

Joe could hardly see.  Headlights in the middle of the day always gave him a headache.  The wipers couldn’t cope with the relentless rain or the muddy spray chucked up by the lorry he had no chance of passing.  At this rate they’d be lucky to make it to Cheltenham.  Cornwall was an impossible dream.

After another hour or so, he knew he had to stop.  Lisa was asleep but he needed a break, a slash and more petrol.  He hated motorway services but Burger King would have to do.  Maybe the traffic would ease off while they were in there and he could claw back a bit of lost time.

But it was nearly four when they hit the M42 and Joe’s aching body was locked in position.  When the turn-off for Stratford upon Avon loomed ahead in the gloom, he knew if he didn’t get off the motorway, he’d be ready to kill himself.

Lisa woke up rubbing her eyes.  “Why are we stopping here?”

“Because I’m knackered and I need a cup of tea and a sugar rush.”

“If you fancy a proper tea shop, I know a place.  We go sometimes for treats before the theatre.”

Of course she’d know a place.  It was on her doorstep.  Just not quite near enough.  They still had a hell of a drive.

“I need to find a cashpoint.”

“I’m costing you a fortune aren’t I?”

“Let me worry about that.  And don’t start crying on me again.  There’s enough water around already.”

Even so, he was relieved the machine didn’t chew up his card.  If Evie had cleaned out their joint account, he could hardly have blamed her.  It was mostly her money anyway.  But he knew deep down, she would never be that vindictive, no matter what she thought he’d done.

He bought an umbrella from an enterprising joker selling them for a fiver.  Lisa tucked her arm in his so they could snuggle underneath it and he noticed yet again that she wasn’t wearing a bra.

“You’re getting soaked again.  Here, have this.”

He practically forced her arms into his denim jacket.  At this rate, she may as well keep it.  But he couldn’t handle a see-through sweater on top of everything else.

She led the way to the old town.  The river was running very high, almost lapping onto the grass.  There was no sign of the famous swans.  They must have taken refuge in the reeds.  He knew how they felt.  The tiny umbrella was delivering a constant dribble down the back of his shirt.

The tea room was quaint and traditional with exactly the black and white timbers Joe had imagined.  Even the menu was in Copperplate script.  Their tea came in a china pot and the cakes were arranged on a chintzy stand with a fancy silver handle.

Eclairs, what else?  Joe tried not to watch Lisa sucking the cream out of one end.  What was wrong with him, to be so turned on?  She was too young.  Too pregnant.  Too everything that wasn’t his wife.  He had to get her home on the double.

“Won’t your mum and dad be worried about you?”

“Why?  They’re not expecting me home until tomorrow.  I’ll just say I got an earlier train.”

Joe had fretted about Claire going to Italy, even with her grandmother.  He couldn’t imagine, even in a couple of years, being anywhere near cool enough to let her travel the length of the country on her own.

“Or I could come to Cornwall with you?”

He almost choked at the thought of explaining that to Evie.

“I think you’re just trying to put it off.  Once they get over the shock, they’re bound to rally round and help you decide what to do.  Come on, let’s get back on the road.”

He paid the bill and gave her no option but to follow him outside.  Rain water swirled down the street and over their feet.  He couldn’t remember weather so downright miserable.

He noticed a tear dripping down Lisa’s face, mingling with the smudge of cream on her lip.  He wiped it away and knew he was on very dodgy ground.  If he put his arm around her he’d be done for.  But she looked so forlorn, he couldn’t seem to help himself.

“Don’t get upset.  I’m sure it won’t be that bad.” 

He tried to keep a gap between their bodies but the umbrella was so small and she was so eager to cling, he’d have to be a shit to push her away.  As they walked, she stopped crying but all he could feel was her hip nudging against his thigh.

They were both drenched when they got back to the car.  She threw his jacket onto the back seat but her sweater was damp underneath.  Damn it!  Why couldn’t she ever wear a bra?  He dived into the boot and grabbed his bag, pulling out a couple of sweatshirts once he was back inside the car.  He stripped off his shirt and put one on but didn’t look away in time when she did the same.  What was wrong with the girl?  Didn’t she know what she was doing to him?  He couldn’t get to Cheltenham quick enough.

But every way out of Stratford seemed to be flooded, more like its namesake ford than any main road.  He had to inch through the water, praying the car wouldn’t stall and by the time they reached the M5, it was almost dark.  The fields bordering the motorway were awash and flood water had started to lap onto the hard shoulder.

Driving conditions were treacherous.  Visibility almost zero.  Joe’s neck and shoulders were aching from staring at the tail lights in front, trying to judge a safe distance.  Two lanes were blocked by breakdowns and after a couple of hours, they’d barely done fifteen miles.

It was hopeless.  Knocking on someone’s door after midnight wasn’t the best way to deliver a pregnant daughter.  Even if they got there at all, which wasn’t looking very likely.  He knew he’d have to find somewhere they could spend the night.

But by the time they got to the next motel, he was hard pushed to decide which would be the most dangerous.  Taking his chances on the road.  Or spending the night with Lisa in the only room the motel had left.