“It looks amazing.”
“Fantastic.”
“Awesome.”
“Out of this world.”
“Quintessential.”
“Sam, thank you so much. I don’t know what to say. You bought me the earrings, now this.”
“I enjoyed it, really. I love doing stuff like this.”
“You’re like Ulf.”
“Ulf?”
“He’s a Swedish friend. Well, not exactly a friend. I hardly know him.” Amy explained how a couple weeks earlier Bel had virtually press-ganged him into assembling Charlie’s IKEA furniture and they were now going out. “Lovely chap. Brain surgeon. Bit earnest, though. Into Strindberg and Norse sagas.”
As they sat on the sofa, demolishing a seventeen-inch American Hot with extra salami, Amy suggested opening another bottle of wine.
“No. I really mustn’t have any more to drink,” Sam said. “I’m driving.”
“Stay,” she whispered. “It’s late.”
“You sure? I snore, and I’m well known for stealing all the duvet.”
“Well, I’ll just have to steal it back again.”
“Okay, I’ll stay.”
“Good.” She paused. “Sam, can I pick your brain?”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
While he opened the wine, she went back into the bedroom to fetch the large folder full of Charlie’s artwork that she kept behind the wardrobe.
“These all belong to Charlie,” she said, handing Sam the folder. “He forgets what he’s done and moves on to the next thing, but I don’t have the heart to throw anything away. I’d love to know what you think.”
Sam sifted through the drawings and paintings. The more he sifted, the more his eyebrows rose.
“Amy, these are incredible. I can’t believe Charlie’s only six. There’s such maturity here. He’s got a grasp of perspective and color. Look at the character in the faces. I’d say you have a prodigy on your hands.”
“You think he’s that good?”
“I do. Are you having him tutored?”
“I’ve thought about it; I’m worried it might put too much pressure on him. I don’t want his art to turn from a delight to a chore.”
“On the other hand, a child like this really needs to be challenged and brought on. I don’t know Charlie, but I bet you anything he’ll love having one-on-one lessons. And if he starts kicking up and saying it’s too much, you stop.”
“I guess. Makes sense.”
She said she needed a shower before bed. “Care to join me?” she said with a sexy giggle.
“You bet.”
There wasn’t really room for two in the narrow bath, plus the spray from the ancient overhead shower was more trickle than torrent. They took turns standing under it. Afterward, kissing and laughing, they set to work on each other with the shower gel. His hands slid over her breasts. Hers followed his hairline south from his stomach. She lathered his balls, watched his penis lengthen. She squeezed more gel onto her hand. They watched her hand glide the length of his penis. As she ran her fingers over the tip, he closed his eyes and let his head fall onto his chest. Her pace quickened. His face was contorted with pleasure. He was thrusting himself into her hand now. A tiny pearl of sperm appeared. Fearful that he was about to come too soon, he took her hand away. “Your turn,” he whispered. She leaned back against the wall tiles as he slipped a soapy hand between her thighs. As he parted her and moved his fingers over her clitoris, she let out a tiny cry of delight. At one point he turned her around to face the wall. He massaged her buttocks, slid his fingers between them, moved slowly forward until he was back on her clitoris.
“Come in me,” she whispered.
She turned around. He grabbed her thigh, pulled her leg onto his hip, and pushed hard inside her. She gripped his shoulders, felt the thrusts getting harder and deeper. She felt him hold his breath. His body shuddered. This time, because it was harder for him to reach her clitoris, she found it harder to come. As his penis slipped out of her, he started working on her again, firm circular movements over her vulva. He didn’t let up. The certain rhythm made it easier for her to lose control. As the familiar waves built up inside her, she let out a series of soft moans. “There you go,” he whispered. “There you go.”
Her nails dug into his shoulders. Her mouth opened. He held her until she was still. Then he kissed her gently on the lips. They stayed, resting in each other’s arms, until the hot water started to run out.
“
SO DOES
Charlie ask why he doesn’t have a father?” Sam said a few minutes later as they lay in bed.
“Sometimes. They’re not easy conversations to have. He can’t understand why his father can’t at least come and visit. It breaks my heart having to tell him that will never happen.”
“I can imagine.”
“And I know that when he gets older, he might get angry with me for not giving him a proper father. I mean, even divorced kids get to see their dads. He never does. He wants to be part of a family that’s more than just me and him.”
“Maybe, but at the same time he knows that you wanted him so much that you were prepared to raise him alone. That will always mean a great deal to him.”
“I like to think so.” Neither of them spoke for a moment or two.
“You know,” he said eventually, “I used to be a sperm donor.”
“No. Really?”
“It was years ago, when I was a student in Manchester. I’d just lost my part-time job, and I was really hard up.”
“Omigod, was it excruciating? You know, being shut in a little room with a load of dirty mags.”
He laughed. “I have to say it wasn’t easy. First, the clinic was a converted church. Saint Bernadette’s, it was called. As a well-brought-up Catholic boy, it wasn’t easy jerking off in church, I can tell you.”
This made her laugh.
“Then one day I forgot to lock the door, and a nurse came barging in. There was me with my jeans around my ankles and … well, you can imagine the scene. I never went back again. I was too humiliated.” He stopped laughing. There was a pause. “Actually, there was another reason I never went back.”
“What was that?”
She watched as he gathered his thoughts. “Okay, there is something I need to tell you. I know we’ve only just started dating, so what I’m about to say is going to seem premature and a bit forward, but I couldn’t bear the thought of us getting serious and this being a deal breaker.”
“Go on.”
“I never got any money from the clinic, and when I asked why, they said I was sterile.”
“Oh, Sam, that’s awful. But isn’t there anything that can be done? I mean, you got that diagnosis years ago. There are operations. Or maybe your body’s changed.”
He shook his head. “If you’ve got a negligible sperm count, that’s pretty much it. I’ve done a fair bit of reading.”
“So how do you feel about never becoming a father?”
“As a student, fatherhood wasn’t something I’d given a moment’s thought to. You don’t at twenty. Over the years, I think I’ve just grown to accept it.” He paused. “The thing is, if my being sterile is going to be a problem for you, I’d rather you told me sooner rather than later.”
“I’m not going to lie. Part of me would love to have another baby, but with my family history, I know I’m extremely fortunate to have Charlie. I could try some more IVF by donor, but I’m not sure I want to bring another fatherless child into the world. A second child has never really been on my agenda. I think that like you, I’ve just come to accept it. So, to answer your question: The sterility issue wouldn’t be a deal breaker.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
“Wow, that is a weight off. I’d geared myself up to getting dumped.”
She kissed him on the cheek.
“You’re
not getting dumped.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Why would any man in his right mind dump you?”
She let out a soft laugh. “Because they don’t want a child in their life, particularly one who isn’t theirs. The last guy I dated suggested farming Charlie out on the weekends so that he wouldn’t get in the way.”
Sam was shaking his head. “That’s appalling.”
“Men often don’t understand that I’m a mother and Charlie will always be my top priority.”
“Amy, I get it. I have a sister with small kids. I would always expect you to put Charlie first. In fact, I’d find it strange if you didn’t.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I can’t tell you how much hearing you say that means to me.”
“So we’re okay?” he said.
“We’re absolutely okay,” she said, stroking the side of his face. He wrapped her in his arms, and they both drifted off to sleep.
THEY WERE
woken about nine by frantic buzzing at the door.
“Whassat?” Sam mumbled.
“Paperboy can’t get into the building.”
Amy pulled the duvet over her head, hoping one of the other residents would come to his rescue. When the buzzing carried on, it occurred to her that it might not be the paperboy.
She sat up and swung her feet onto the floor. “Okay, I’m coming.” She reached for her dressing gown, which was at the end of the bed, and padded to the front door. She lifted up the handset on the intercom.
“Hello?”
“Amy, it’s me.”
“Who me?”
“Me … Victoria.”
“Victoria?”
“I’ve left Simon,” she wailed through the intercom. “He said I’m a monster. Amy, please tell me I’m not a monster.”
“Sweetie, of course you’re not a monster,” Amy said, buzzing her sister in. A few moments later, Victoria was weeping into Amy’s shoulder.
Victoria never cried—at least not in public—and she never left the house unless her hair, makeup, clothes, and accessories were in perfect order. Now here she was, sobbing for all she was worth, wearing not a scrap of makeup, and looking like she’d slept in her clothes. A bewildered Arthur was at her side.
“I am so sorry.” Amy said.
“You and Mum were right. Things haven’t been good between Simon and me for ages. I just never thought it would come to this. I just don’t know what to do. Suppose he wants a divorce? How would I cope?”
Panic was something else that rarely figured in Victoria’s emotional repertoire.
“It’s okay,” Amy soothed. “It won’t come to that. It will all get sorted out. Don’t worry.”
At that point, Amy turned her attention to Arthur. “Hi, poppet,” she said, bending down and giving him a kiss. “How you doing?”
He shrugged.
“Where’s Lila?” Amy asked Victoria.
“School trip. Left yesterday for ten days.”
“I guess that makes things a bit simpler.”
Victoria put a piece of crumpled tissue to her nose and nodded.
“Mummy and Daddy got cross with each other,” Arthur piped up. “It was in the night, and I was frightened.”
Big as he was, Amy scooped him up and gave him a kiss. “Oh, darling, that must have been awful. The thing to understand, though, is that they weren’t cross with you. Mummy and Daddy absolutely adore you.”
He looked at Victoria. “Of course we do, darling,” she said between sniffs. “None of this is your fault. You mustn’t think that. And I’m sorry we frightened you.”
“Okay,” Amy said, putting her nephew down again. “Why don’t you go into the living room and watch TV or put on a DVD. I’ll bring you some juice. I might even have some chocolate cake somewhere.”
Under normal circumstances Victoria would have demanded a comprehensive list of the ingredients in the chocolate cake with particular reference to sugar, saturated fats, and gluten. Right now she couldn’t have seemed less bothered. Arthur was about to head off when Sam appeared wearing Amy’s green silk kimono, the one she hadn’t been able to find.
“You’re that man who told me off,” Arthur said, pointing at Sam. “Why are you wearing that? It’s for a girl, not a boy. You look stupid.”
Victoria told him to be quiet and said it was bad manners to point and make rude comments.
“But he does look stupid,” Arthur persisted.
“I know,” Sam said, offering Arthur a smile. “But I’ve been staying, and I seem to have mislaid my clothes.”
“Sam,” Amy broke in, “you remember my sister, Victoria.”
He checked that the ill-fitting kimono was protecting his modesty before moving toward her, hand outstretched. “Of course. Hello again.”
She did him the courtesy of taking his hand.
“Look,” he said, “I’m really sorry we got off to a bad start the other day in the café. I can be a bit heavy-handed sometimes. Maybe we could start again.”
“I don’t see why not.” Victoria offered him the thinnest of smiles.
He bent down. “And if I remember rightly, this is Arthur. How you doing? Hope you haven’t been getting into any more stick fights.”
Arthur gave an enthusiastic shake of his head.
“Good boy.” Sam ruffled his hair.
“Look, I’d best be getting off,” Sam said to Amy. “Don’t suppose you know what happened to my clothes.”
Amy said she’d put them in the washer-dryer last night because they’d gotten so dusty. “They should be dry.” He headed into the kitchen while Arthur wandered into the living room to watch TV.
Amy and Victoria were alone in the hall. “How could you?” Victoria said in a whispered hiss. “I mean, after the way that man insulted me. How could you be so disloyal?”
“Look, I have gotten to know Sam. He is a great guy. He’s apologized for upsetting you. Now, please let that be an end to it.”
Victoria grunted. “What happened to the floor?”
“Sam helped me sand the boards. I’m going to paint them white.”
“That’ll look good,” Victoria said.
“You mean you actually approve?”
“Yes, why wouldn’t I?”
“You never approve of anything I do.”
“Amy, please don’t confuse a genuine desire to stop you from making mistakes with disapproval.”
Just then Sam reappeared fully clothed, if a little rumpled. Victoria was clearly feeling better because she took one look at him and found the strength to observe that Amy clearly hadn’t used the dryer’s anticrease setting.
“Right, I’ll be off,” Sam said, kissing Amy on the cheek. “I’ll call you later. We’ll get together during the week.”
Amy nodded. “Great.”
He picked up the electric sander, which was standing by the front door, and said he would get it back to the rental shop.
“You sure you don’t mind?”
“Positive … Bye, Victoria. Nice seeing you again.”