Coming Around Again (12 page)

Stella busied herself by calling her husband and
met with his answering machine every single time. Her mother came to their
table and pulled the boys down.

“Why are your children embarrassing everyone?”

She shrugged. “They’re bored. So am I. They’re
clever little things and all this dullness is just making them antsy.”

“Well, maybe you should take them home.”

“Probably.”

Her mother stared at her for a moment, mouth turned
down at the corners with distaste. “Where’s your husband?”

“Somewhere over the Atlantic,” she guessed.

Her mother’s mouth pulled down further. “Are you
two all right? I hardly see him.”

“He’s working very hard.” She trotted out her
standard line.

“Isn’t he always? I mean, we had the blessing for
your cousin’s newborn last month.”

“So?”

“So, Stella, you didn’t come.”

For God’s sake.
“Look, Niels and I seem like we have a lot, but
it’s because we work. Both of us. Incredibly hard. I don’t know where you or
the rest of your side of the family gets the idea from that all I do is swan
around in The White Company goods with a team of servants, I do not. I cannot
drop everything for every small little thing that happens.”

Judith pursed her lips. “We are your family,” she
said eventually. “That is why you should. You know better than anyone that
husbands are rarely for life.”
Your husbands,
Stella wanted to add
rudely, but it would certainly fall on deaf ears. “And when you do remember
that, you’ll know that we’ll be here to support you.”

They would not. Her mother’s side of the family
were gloaters. Schadenfreude was their game, and God, they were good at it.

Stella gave a muted smile and got to her feet. The
boys saw her before she called, “Strøm!” They quieted and stood patiently on
either side of her. “We’re going. And we’re getting pizza,” she added
maliciously. Her sons cheered and swooped out of the hall, jackets flying like
banners over their heads.

Once home, she asked them to change and hang their
nice suits in their wardrobe, ready for dry cleaning on Tuesday, with the rest
of the load that went weekly. They ordered pizza, cleaned up, and were in bed
by a quite reasonable eleven p.m. for a Saturday night.

Stella sat up. Frustrated. Worried. Annoyed.
Disappointed. She went to bed and tried to sleep. But post-orgasmic Stella
always slept better than annoyed Stella. So she reached for her
battery-operated friend.

Twenty minutes later, she removed the vibrator from
between her thighs, feeling both exhausted and unsatisfied. Where the hell was
he? Stifling a sob of irritation, she turned to the side, her body on a muted
ebb of need.

Drifting into a light sleep, her brain turned to
disaster. What if he’d been horribly mutilated in a crash? Car? Or even worse,
killed in an airplane? She pressed a hand to her chest and sat up, just as the
man himself slipped into the bedroom.

“Have you had a shower?” she demanded, her body a
jangle of shock and delight.

“Yes, wife. I was trying not to wake you.”

“You should have called me instead. That would’ve
been wiser.”

He held up his phone. “Fried battery and a
deep-fried cable. Died halfway over the Atlantic.”

And she’d recently changed her phone number.

“When was the last time you checked our answering
machine?”

“No one calls us at home!” she protested, but her
voice began to peter out as he lifted the sheets and slid in next to her,
drifting a scented wave of deliciousness with him.

“I called as soon as the flight was delayed by four
hours. Then my phone gave up the ghost before I could tell you we were stuck on
the tarmac for another three hours while they fixed the baggage door. I called
the house phone. I kept calling… You smell like sex,” he said, voice low and
rough.

“I do not.”

“Yes, you do,” he countered, stroking his hand over
her stomach and between her thighs. Her body immediately overreacted at the
feather-light touch over swollen lips. “Why are you so wet?”

“Maybe because you have a hand on…in!” She changed
the word the moment his fingers drifted to her drenched pussy and pressed
inside.

“Hmm?”

“This really is inconvenient. I'm not happy with
you,” she grumbled, clenching his shoulders as he drew his digits over her
sensitised flesh.

“Because I missed one family gathering?” He kissed
his way from her collarbone to a peaked nipple. She shuddered when his teeth
closed over the hard nub and tugged. Arching into him, she forgot her line of
interrogation. “I’ll be there for the next one.”

“Liar,” she gasped. “Don’t make promises you
can’t—or won’t—keep.”

Pushing down his boxer shorts, Niels caught his
cock in his hand and dragged the underside over her clit.

“Name one instance,” he suggested, hypnotising her
hips into following each stroke of his cock on her re-energised skin. Sometimes
a vibrator was not enough. He bent his head and clamped his mouth around the
other nipple.

“Tell me.” His voice dark with command, Stella
lifted her hips in offering. The tip of him slipped inside her, that give of
her pussy sending a tremor of anticipation through her.

“Other than today?”

“Today was entirely out—” he pressed the head into
her, “—of my control. When else?” He withdrew, leaving her desperate for more.
She wriggled toward him and he held her still, one hand on her hip. “Tell me
when I've broken promises to you.”

“You didn't come to my salon opening.”

“Clashed with an unavoidable meeting back home.”

“Whatever I say, you’ll have a reason for it,” she
said, sighing with annoyance. No, she did not want sex from her husband that
badly. “Never mind.”

She turned on her back, that itching need to be
thoroughly and most filthily used stemmed by crossing her ankles and pressing
her thighs together.

In moments, Niels hooked her leg into the crook of
his arm and slid deeply into her. “Turn that tempting ass on me, and you know
every time I will want to fuck it. Let me…”

After a simple, permissive nudge of her hips, he
drove into her deeply, roughly, alternately pinching her clit and then reaching
up to tightly pinch her nipples. Damn him and his cock. But the drag of his hot,
thick length inside her was too much to resist. She begged him for more, her
body alight with need and sensation. He obliged her, pulling her to her hands
and knees to bury himself into her, his palms curved around her shoulders. Of
course she couldn’t think straight. Of course he wanted to have sex instead of
explain himself properly. He released her to rove his hands and lips over the
globes of her buttocks before he kissed her soaked thighs and sucked on her
clit. When she came, it sent her into such a daze, she barely felt him plunge
between her thighs to reach his own climax.

Limbs liquefied and trembling, she watched Niels
reach for tissues and tidy her up. “Now,” he breathed. “Do you want to talk
about promises?”

She shook her head. “I want to sleep. If you saw
the show your children made of themselves, you’d know how much I deserve to.”

He relented and curled her against his chest.
“They’re their mother’s children.”

Filtering her fingertips through the hair on his
torso allowed her to stroke herself into sleep.

It always began with the little ones. The bigger
promises then became easier to break into little pieces.

It took a few weeks for Alec to get in touch, but
when he did, Stella found herself at a loose end. The curse of having a
self-sufficient business was the lack of input that was required from her.
Additionally, having her children staying with their father left her hands
irritatingly free. Alec’s voice was as warm as Highland whiskey as he asked if
she had the time to talk.

“Of course. Aren’t you at work?” she replied,
frowning at the time.

“I’m already at work but I had five minutes to
spare and didn’t want to keep you on the hook longer than necessary.”

“Thoughtful of you,” she said, surprised by it. Few
men were.

“Can we do a trial this Saturday? Are you free? I
know it’s presumptuous of me to ask, you must have a thousand invitations…”

“Not really. So yes, Saturday’s fine. The boys will
be with their dad, so I don’t know who I’m going to practice on…”

“Me, naturally.”

An odd sensation travelled through her at the idea
of being so close to the man. It was a little intimate, essentially playing
with his face. “Do you want to come to me or should I…?”

“No, I have everything with me, so I can come to
you. Is three in the afternoon all right?”

“Yes, that’s fine. I’ll see you then.”

“Looking forward to it. Bye, Stella.”

It took her a moment’s hesitation before she called
Niels. “Yes, my dearest former wife?”

“Are you going to the Croft party with the boys?”

“I’ll pick them up after, but hanging around a
bunch of ten-year-olds, really isn’t my cup of tea. Is this because you’re
doing your
Day of the Dead
spiel for the children?”

“Yes…”

“I won’t make any trouble for you. Not that I could
anyway.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, if there are more like
Rash
then, I
won’t be there to create a scene. We’re over that, remember?”

“I remember me not smashing a table into your head
at the restaurant the other day. So I cry progress, yes.”

He laughed and she felt her cheeks heat with
pleasure
. Damn it, why couldn’t the man
get out of her system?

“It is progress for all mankind. Are you around
this evening for the boys to call you goodnight or should I try to exhaust them
as soon as possible?”

“Option A, please. I always want to wish them
goodnight.”

“Of course. I’ll speak to you later.”

“Bye, darling.” She heard him pause and slapped a
hand over her mouth in irritation. “Sorry. Force of habit.”

“And I miss that habit.” He ended the call before
she could say anything else remotely embarrassing.
Oh dear. No progress at all
.

Distracted by her slip-up to her ex-husband, Stella
forgot all about Alec until he turned up on her doorstep with a bag of screen
makeup goods in one hand and a picnic basket in the other.

“Hi there. And you forgot I was coming around…” he
trailed off, as he took in the oversized jumper that slipped over one shoulder
and was slit on both sides, exposing generously rounded hips and a pair of
shorts she only ever wore to clean. She hadn’t bothered with a stitch of
makeup, and an elaborate scarf covered her hair.

“A little bit, I’m so sorry. Come through to the
living room and I’ll…make myself presentable.”

Alec sidestepped her, his gaze still focused on her
bare legs. “You certainly know how to make an impression.”

“Weren’t you married to a model?” she threw over
her shoulder as she made for her bedroom.

“Exactly!” he called after her.

After a brief and brutal examination of herself in
the mirror, Stella exchanged the shorts for jeans and the cut-out jumper for a
long-sleeved Breton printed top. The scarf found itself on the other side of
the room and she twisted her hair into a loose bun. “The least you can do for
the poor man is put on some makeup.”

She quickly dusted on some powder, blusher, and
after a moment’s hesitation, shrugged off the idea of mascara. As she jogged
down the stairs, she smoothed on lip balm and shouted, “Do you want a cup of
tea?”

“I brought some stuff with me,” came the return.
“To say thank you.”

Frowning, Stella stepped into her living room and
found Alec setting up the contents of his picnic basket. What was this? He
gazed up at her and bit down on his bottom lip. “Overkill?”

“No, no, it’s really nice. Thank you. What did you
get?”

“I just didn’t want to put you through the pressure
of feeding me on top of making me look disturbing.”

Stella held up her hands. “You’re making me feel
very tired. I’m going to get some tea. If you want some, great. If not, don’t
worry yourself.”

Alec grinned. “You don’t pull any punches, do you?”

“I have two male children. Don’t have time.”

She returned with a large mug of tea and sat
opposite him. Alec looked slightly forlorn on her sofa alone, but he had
unpacked a veritable feast. “Where’d you go for all of that?”

“Harvey Nicks,” he admitted, pushing a pot of
olives and feta cheese toward her. “No point in going in halves.”

Stella lifted her mug to drink rather than reply, or
pick at any of the food. The extravagance of the spread didn’t make her hungry
at all.

“So,” Alec said into the silence. “What are your
boys up to today?”

“I suspect Niels is going over some mathematics
tests with them. For the entrance exams.” When people had kids, parents really
needed to be warned about the sleepless nights that had nothing to do with
feeds or teething and everything to do with their children’s first steps into
education, and thereby setting up the rest of their lives.

“Oh, where are you applying?”

“White Hart College. Stanford Grove Secondary.
There’s this ridiculous private Catholic boys school that my mother is pushing
for them to go. Only because my brother went and he’s alumni.”

“I know what you mean. St. Josephs. I was alumni
there a thousand years ago.”

“Not quite a thousand,” Stella admonished. He
really was rather good-looking. Nowhere near old enough to refer to himself as
a thousand years old.

“My ex was looking at schools in France, but I
nixed that. What the fuck would I do in France?”

Stella shrugged uncomfortably at the curse. “I
dunno. Eat cake?”

A small smile flickered across his face. “Sorry.
Still a sore subject.”

“When did you split up?” Stella asked, glancing at
the clock and wondering if it was too early for a drink. It would probably be
the best way to stay focused during his sob story.

“Just over a year. I said at the school it’s been a
difficult year for me and Short.” He said the nickname with a grin. “I’m sure
there’ve been words spoken about it.”

“Well, the lack of photographers hanging near the
school told the story.”

“Not that my wife did the run,” Alec added
bitterly, pushing a tub toward her. “Steak tartare, if you fancy.”

“No thanks,” Stella refused gently, wondering why
he was exposing the separation story to her. “So how does she split her time
between Short...I mean Philip and her work?”

“You don’t want to know what happened?” he asked,
popping an olive into his mouth.

“No more than I suspect you want to know why me and
Niels broke up.”

“I heard that was all his decision. Lots of
malicious rumours going around that one or both of you were unfaithful.”

Stella wasn’t surprised. She, however, was slightly
disgusted by how easily he spread it around. “Untrue. Normally people use that
to deflect from their own sins.”

Alec bowed his head. “No one is innocent any more.
Every relationship breaks down on the part of both sides. I don’t know if
you’re already aware, but there are a lot of men who are secretly pleased that
you’re single.”

“Who said I am?” she answered. That brought him up
short. “Let’s not drag over the details of our sordid tales. Let me see what
you brought with you.”

He handed over the bag of goods and Stella read
carefully through the back. “I’ve got all my stuff in my office. But the light
is better in the kitchen and the stools are higher.”

She stood up and he did so at the same time. “Shall
I take some of this through?”

“Maybe later. It’s difficult to do any sort of
application if my client is chewing.”

Within a few moments they were set up in the
kitchen, and Stella was gluing a fleshy silicone strip to Alec’s well-defined
cheek. “This is actually a really good idea. I’m just not sure how many kids
will want to sit still for at least half an hour. None of them are going to
deal with contact lenses.”

“I will. I want the full effect.”

“You can manage those yourself. I can’t deal with
people’s eyeballs.”

The phone rang and Stella put down her makeup brush
to answer it and place it on speaker.

“How’s the George Romero makeover going?” Niels
asked.

Stella smiled, pleased that he’d remembered better
than she had. “Call me on FaceTime in about five minutes and you can judge.
How’s the tutoring going?”

“I think we’re lucky our children have improved on
our genes. Now they understand what they need to do, they’ve got it.”

Stella sighed in relief, and began to dab more
foundation on the fake wound. “Good work.”

“Have a chocolate in celebration. The boys and I
are going out to eat. Just wanted to let you know first before you heard from
them and cried spoiling.”

“You know you spoil them.”

“If they get into St Joseph’s, you know we’re going
on holiday.”

“That was a joke!” Stella cried. “Don’t you dare
drag me to Disneyland!”

“It’s happening. Queues. Disney money. Florida…”

“You’re sick.”

“Without doubt. I’ll call you later.”

She ended the call and, still chuckling, she
carried on with Alec’s face.

“You two get on…well,” he murmured as she dabbed
fake blood into the wound and added a little ochre to make it look infected.

“Only took us two years. It’ll happen for you as
well. Honest. Because you love your kid.”

Alec lifted a hand and touched it to her wrist. She
halted and stepped back. “I admire you. So many people I talk to are all about
how to get back at her and make her suffer.”

“It’s not worth it.” Stella said with a shrug.
“Have a look.”

He picked up the mirror and sucked in an impressed
breath. “I look suitably disgusting.”

“Marvellous. Good to know my work is appreciated.”
He gave a sad little smile and pity wormed its way through Stella’s frosty
little heart. “If you want to talk, at least I’ve been there and done that to
tell you revenge is pointless.”

“What I really want is to go out. Like out. Old
school, as if I never got married out.”

It sounded like unadulterated joy. A chance to
reclaim her lost youth, which were spent drunk and sometimes a little high at
all-night drum and bass raves. “There are all sorts of retro nights around. I
could get a few of us together to go.”

“Girls?” he asked, his accent intensifying with
suspicion.

“Not all. But some. It’ll be fun.”

“And less likely to be interpreted as a date.”

“That, too. People have big mouths.” She tapped in
the last bit of blood under his eye to streak over his greyed and hollowed-out
skin. “Dancing is the best stress relief.”

“Dancing to music and not that rot children are
obsessed with.”

“Grumpy old man in session,” she laughed. “Done.”

“I like to think we’re starting.”

Stella packed away her tools. No point reacting to
something that seemed entirely throwaway.

***

Philip’s birthday party was hard work. Keeping the
fifteen boys entertained while they had their zombie makeup applied required
nothing less than a sterling effort. Her own children were anxious to play
laser tag in the assault course Alec had managed to install into his impressive
garden.

It wasn’t a garden as much as it was acres of land.
In among a climbing frame, there was a trampoline, a monkey bar set, some faked
Army-type hillocks for the boys to take refuge and command their assaults. Once
the game was won—by Philip’s team—they all came inside for homemade burgers and
fat chips. Alec tried to be healthy with a nice coleslaw on the side, but not
many of the boys were interested. Only because the twins caught their mother’s
expression did they partake in some vegetables.

With white zombified contact lenses in and a torn
jumper that had fake blood tapped into it, Alec looked completely the part.