Part three:
Chapter forty, Friday:8thnovember2013 – home
Returning home is incredible relief. The bitter clean cold of London oxygen. The familiar smell of aviation fuel fills the freezing air around Heathrow is a welcome as we get out of the airport. A convoy of black sedans line up outside for us all and we jump into them in a configuration born of adventure and attraction. Daniel and I get in alone, Stan speaks to our driver and they swap so he drives us. A true protector, even after all the anxiety and excitement of the last week Stan resumes his rightful spot behind our wheel and we drive. 'Our' wheel, well I’ll be damned, even in my head we're sharing everything, well, not those horses, he can keep his well-manicured and tattooed fingers off them can't he?
Stan has been driving Daniel since he was at school, they know each other, and remain stoically professional.
My phone rings, signal yes!! England yes!!! Essex, soon, yes, yes, yes!!!
TC: “Hello Mum, I’m in the car leaving Heathrow” hope that cheers her up considerably.
EC: “Glad, your Brother tells me he is in love, has he told you anything?” Kidding?
TC: “Mum, I’ve just landed, you're the first person I’ve spoken to” true story.
EC: “And I assumed it was only me you forgot to call Catharine” don’t start please.
TC: “Who is this girl Henry is dating?” Change the subject please.
EC: “Who knows, your his Sister, speak to him, apparently she's a vegetarian and has a tattoo, what is he thinking?” Is she kidding? She could be describing me!
TC: “She sounds most unsuitable, I’ll have a word” god help me!
EC: “You know what I mean, don't be obtuse.” What did I say?
TC: “I'll come see you, show you photos of Peru” there's thousands, thank goodness for my SkyDrive account, I just upload them all off my phone as I go.
EC: “It would be nice to see you, I’ve forgotten what you look like” aaaarrrgh!!! Mothers.
TC: “Bye Mum, see you soon” hope so.
Daniel's lips curl in amusement, he likely has similar conversations with his own Mother, who doesn’t? I wonder what Barbara thinks of me...or do I? Course, its human nature.
The magazine from the plane is on my lap as I casually browse through, there's a promotional photo of my Brother and his band on the cover, and inside a double pager talking about the lead singer and their up-coming tour. And there is one with me last year, with our arms around each other, smiling at Henry's well deserved success, and the drummer I was dating, for a while.
TC: “Bro, Mum tells me you're in love” tell me it's true, I’d like him to be happy.
HC: “Sis, where are you?” Stalling, you won't get away that easily.
TC: “M25, tell me about this girl” could I be more clear?
HC: “She's talking about Carol” blimey, Mum was right, there's a girl.
TC: “Carol? Tell me” I don’t realise it until now, but my face is screwed up and the tip of my tongue is poking out. Daniel is watching me too.
HC: “She has a lovely shape and purrs like a kitten” bloody hell, do I want to hear this? I decide in do.
TC: “Bloody hell Henry, what happened to that photographer?” She was at least as slutty as him, they suited each-other.
HC: “On a shoot” typical.
TC: “And you need to be endlessly entertained?” yep.
HC: “Carol is the one Tharie, every time I'm in her...” stop it, fingers over my ears lalalala!
TC: “Henry, I'm your Sister, there's things we don't...no, shouldn't share” true bloody story.
HC: “Carol, is my Triumph Herald, she's vintage dark green and comes from a time when girls were called Carol.” it's a great name for a car, I have to agree, didn't Dad have a Herald?
TC: “Love it Henry, text me a photo” I’m happy for him, and quite relieved, though not sure why…
HC: “Oh, she's not here, she's parked at Grace's house” ...dare I ask? I have to don't I?
TC: “Grace?” Please no.
HC: “The girl I’m going to marry Tharie, you'll love her, she's from Stock.” an Essex girl, I needn't have worried, sounds right after all.
Mum was right, though I don’t need to tell her that do I? As I see my reflection in the black glossy surface of my quiet phone, I have to agree, my hair does need cutting.
I speak first, totally exhausted from the trip and the flight, I hate flying, it’s so boring, even when your boyfriend has his fingers down the front of your pants under the blanket the whole way home. I hum my approval to myself, several climaxes later, I shiver in pleasure at the thought.
“I must get home,” I tell Daniel, relieved to be back, “I really miss my home.” I turn and look at Daniel, he is clenching his fists silently looking from the page open in my lap to the lit screen of his phone, his casual mood has slipped away, and back to a hard faced professional. I’m not sure what's changed between us in that short while, or if it is the message that has caught him, but it feels stale in the back of the car.
“Can I come with you?” Daniel asks looking to the front.
“Daniel,” I whisper softly with an attempt at a smile, I desperately don’t want to be anywhere without him but I must learn to keep hold of the thing that's me, before he takes me over body first, mind later. Being strong with myself I decline, “I just want to spend time at home, with my boys, and I’ll see you in a couple of days at your Mum's party, is that OK?” I can't believe I’m asking another person's permission to do something I fully intend to do regardless of the response. The silence suggests that clearly it is not, or is it that he’s not used to being told no.
The silence is white noise in my head, not sure what to say, just as I am about to try anything Daniel hits the intercom button and asks Stan to take me home. “OK, he breathes, I’ll see you Saturday night Tharie.” Tharie, not baby, what's happened?
A 'shoulder-in' from K to M at trot. Dressage, it's like maths. Trying to focus my mind.
He turns to me then, a masked expression, his eyes bore into mine, lust? Anger? “I’m going into the office in the morning to sort a few things Daniel, shall we meet for lunch?” I try to stay happy sounding and light-hearted, not at all how I feel, and smile for an answer. The corners of his lips curl in a predatory expression and I suddenly know what a mouse feels like when he's trapped by a cat. But I want it.
Before I can respond he is on me, Daniels whole weight holding me down, his mouth over mine, kissing me, no devouring me hard and relentless. He is frantically struggling with my clothes, not a seductive undressing but a raw aggressive ripping of fabrics. Yanking at my underclothes he tears my panties and throws them to the floor of the car. Nothing is said between us.
Kissing me harder still his hands up under my top, roughly massaging my breasts, pulling the lace from them in fumbling desperation. He pinches my nipples hard, my body responds instantly and convulses to meet his, turned on completely my insides begin their reaction. Roughly he grabs my hips turning me over, so my chin is rested on the seat, my knees are on the floor and my arse is raised toward him. He is eating me with his lips all down my shoulders and neck, then from behind me I hear him undoing his jeans. All for him, not for me.
His fingers are in my sex, crazily flicking and rubbing over my * getting me suitably wetter, he hums an approval. He wipes the end of his cock across my vagina smearing it in my juice, I love the feeling, he sticks it inside me just a little, once, I moan in delight.
Ow! I feel a slight pain as he jabs his thick slick cock deep inside me all the way to the tip. Pushing hard back into him I want to enjoy this too. Thrusting hard back and forth in and out in a quick steady rhythm, he is climbing. My fingers white where I grip on so hard to the back of the seat. He reaches down and fingers my * for a second getting his fingers wet with me, and licking them sounds very satisfied with himself. Faster and faster his thrusts in a steady speed, beating our flesh together with a smacking sound, faster, in and out, then in a second he is still and sated, his hot injection deep inside me, I finish myself off with my hand, hurt that he anger f*cked me, and not sure why.
He climbs off me and dresses, making no attempt to help me, so solemnly I dress myself hunting for my clothes where they were angrily thrown around the back of the car. I sit back down, aware I’m without working underwear and the torn remnants of my Stella McCartney 'Friday' embroidered panties are in my jeans pocket, now no longer a set.
“Lunch then?” I manage, trying not to cry.
“Sure, I’ll call you then.” He still doesn’t look at me, answering the text message his fingers flying over the illuminated screen, now not focused on me at all.
“Who's that man in the photo?” He asks the universe, because he's certainly not speaking to me. His fists clench and unclench, white knuckles and silence, staring gooseberry hard eyes forward.
“Is that what this is about Daniel?” I am slightly shocked, men can be so stupid can't they? His question doesn't even qualify an answer. Daniel spins his head slowly to face me, I suddenly think of the Exorcist film and half expect it to keep going. Of course it doesn't, it's just my mind making ordinary events seem extraordinary. Well, I am a designer after all, had you forgotten? I find it hard to cope with Daniels Jekyll and Hyde mood, but knowing myself, I know there must have been a trigger to his new mood, the magazine photo? Surely not. And decide to remain still and quiet until I get home, like a grown-up.
D piaffe 12 steps. Dressage like a grown-up.
Then after I’ve seen to my animals, I’ll open a fresh bottle of Jack, drink half and cry myself to sleep, and that’s exactly what I do, you know, like grown-ups do.
I awake from a fitful half-sleep to my phone buzzing.
PF: “Have you seen Danny?” Hello friend, I’m trying not to think about it, does everyone call him 'Danny' now?
TC: “Still no” it hurts.
PF: “He’s at a party tonight, I can see him” what?
TC: “What party?” Not funny Pete, now I’m cross.
PF: “Does it matter? I’m here too and he’s with a girl” he’s what!
TC: “Not funny Pete, not funny at all” tears are welling, as I know she wouldn’t joke about a thing like that.
PF: “Sending you a picture honey” do I really want to see this? I decide I do.
A photo is coming through, its Daniel in a tux looking incredible, with a very attractive young woman wearing a backless dress, he has his arm around her posing for a photographer. I feel sick, and tears flow down my cheeks, what has he done to me.
I take a large gulp of tears,
TC: “It’s over then” typing becomes difficult.
PF: “Sorry honey, shall I kick his arse!” That’s the spirit, I laugh.
TC: “Has he seen you?” A plan is blossoming.
PF: “What does that matter?” You’ll get the idea in a minute.
TC: “He won’t be able to lie if he knows he’s been seen” there you go.
PF: “I’ll go and give him a kiss hello” hope they get a photo of that too.
TC: “Thank you” it’s what friends are for.
I pull myself together and my plan develops.
TC: “Meet me for a drink?” Hopeful.
PF: “Usual place, one hour” great.
Next part of the plan. (And before you ask, it's not hair related Mum).
I open the door with the swipe key card Daniel gave me I pause first making certain I want this, I decide I do. I hear a mechanical ‘click’ each side of the large smooth featureless door. Worried by his reaction to me turning up, would he even be at home? I tiptoe inside, listening more than looking, silence and chilled air too? I am floating on my nerves, like I’m drunk but aware of everything around me, plus I am a little drunk.
My phone demands a response.
PF: “Did Barbara call you yet?” What? Why would she?
TC: “No, why would she?” I already know don’t I?
PF: “She wasn’t happy when I kissed Daniel, her words were, ‘isn’t one of my sons enough’?” Bloody cheek.
TC: “And…?” Don’t leave me asking.
PF: “Barbara and that woman are friends” what!?
His Mum was there? Hardly an affair then surely?
TC: “Home safe honey, love to James, then...I need a new plan” one's already starting to brew. That brings me to another plan, tea, now let’s get that kettle on, whilst I send a text.
TC: “Barbara, who is she?” Apart from a friend of the family.
BP: “His old flame, reacquainted” how did she manage to deliver a few words so smugly.
TC: “Does he still love her?” Why did I ask that?
BP: “They have lots in common Tharie, I’m sorry” liar!
TC: “But does he love her?” I daren't ask, but I can't help myself. 'Click', the kettles boiled thankfully.
BP: “Didn’t I see a photo of you with another man Tharie? Keep your own side of the street clean before you criticise my Son” they're a suspicious lot those Pearce's, oh dear.
TC: “What picture?” I really don't know, then something begins to bloom in my memory. Henry.
BP: “Like heavy rock music don't you? Well that's not Daniels scene” leave him alone.
TC: “Henry is my Brother” my tears are of frustration, and they roll freely down my cheeks, I’m spent.
BP: “Leave it Tharie, he's forgotten all about you already, and is now with Jess” I can't speak, I just swipe my screen until its black.
“Henry.” I whisper to myself.
Empty, his huge house is cavernous, lights pop alive as I wander through without the use of any switches, it’s a hygienic thing I suppose. It’s bigger than I remember and lighter too, embarrassed by being here I reverently walk straight to the living room, disturbing nothing, touching nothing, since it feels like we are no longer together these are things I have no right to be leaving my fingerprints on. It smells familiar, and welcome I’m so disappointed that he’s not here my insides drop sharply at the feeling. I am so very tired, I curl up in the corner of the sofa, kick off my boots and pass slowly into unconsciousness. My cup of tea barely touched and getting cold on a coaster on the table top.
My phone never leaves my hand, I have been sleeping with it just in case.
I am dreaming again, soft kisses and tight curls of cats sleeping, a heavy drum beat and the taste of cheap red wine. I have little idea how much time has passed before I am woken, I’m a light sleeper. You have to be when you keep two gorgeous horses in your front garden. Have to keep them safe.
There's a sudden drop in temperature, a door to the outside has been opened, accompanied by a shuffling sound. I lift my head, still sleepy but on high alert, I always assume the worst just in case, then you can never be disappointed or disagreeably surprised can you? I pat the hoof-pick in my jeans pocket, yep! I'll be safe.
Daniel walks in, I am hit square in the stomach by how much I’ve missed him, my tired body beginning to come awake my senses alive. The man is just so bloody handsome, I can't help but stare.
His jacket thrown over his shoulder, hanging by a finger, tie loosened at the neck top button undone, his free hand in the pocket of his skinny trousers, 2 days stubble at least. His mask is on, his gooseberry grey eyes cool, pale and sensuous. Too cool. Seeing me lying there, messing up the clean lines of his living space, he puts down the jacket over the back of a chair and turning on his heel heads to the kitchen, cold, not cool. “Tea?” He shoots at me not turning back.
“Please.” I feebly reply.
I’m in trouble for letting myself in, he doesn’t want me here.
I straighten myself out, my plan to swiftly release us from each other so no more harm is done breezes past me unnoticed, and dissolves with my resolve. Reignited feelings are confusing me, because Daniel is behaving so cold, but I love him don't I? Don't I?
He is pacing up his kitchen when I get there, phone to his ear, listening not talking. Is it Barbara? When he turns, he sees me and stares into me, eyes aflame and angry, a dam is about to break I think. I keep my distance, passive and quiet, I slide up onto a barstool and rest my elbows on the counter top, shiny wet-look clean and white, then instantly remove them to avoid marking it’s perfect surface, I pull my jumper over my hand and polish the surface nervously just in case. Cups are out, handles pointing the same way, teabags in, no pot, it must be bad.
A working trot along the long side.
He growls a command into the phone, “just get it done and call me once it’s finished.” He leans both hands on the counter top bending at the waist, his tie swinging like a pendulum, I focus on that, back and forth, my eyelids are growing heavy, stop it. An intake of breath, then he speaks, “Tharie,” he lets it all out in one lengthy hiss of air, “you're…hard work baby.” His head turns to glare at me.
Not sure what exactly I’m in trouble for now, I look at my hands wringing in my lap. “Kettles boiled.” I answer as a puff of steam escapes the spout and it ‘clicks’ off.
Shaking his head and muttering to himself, “what's wrong with this?” Under his breath, but not quite quiet enough. The mechanics of tea making help calm us both. “You go to a bar, get pissed out of your head...”
“With Pete” I remind him, “not by myself.” Stop being so defensive, he has no right to tell you what to do, you don’t belong to him, I suddenly wish I could believe that. “And when did you take responsibility for me Daniel, you’ve been with Jess.” There, said it now, he looks madder, his face boiling in a rage, true bloody story though, I heard it from your Mum.
He collects himself, regains composure, “who told you that?” He shoots me a glare, but his words are quiet almost melancholy.
“Your Mother told me,” he closes his eyes and shakes his head slowly, gripping the counter top harder, his knuckles white. Yes, that's right traitors in your midst. “Barbara told me, she’s more your type!” I tell him, but look at my lap.
Exasperated he answers, “Is this what it’s all about? Jess?” He thumps a fist onto the surface, the cups clink together, “she’s...” he’s searching for the correct word, “old news,” and fails.
I can't let that go, I’m stubborn like my Grandma, “then why spend all your free time with her?” I jab my finger at him, instantly sorry for being rude and return it to my lap where it continues ringing with my other fingers. “When you could be with me” I whisper so quietly to my lap, he doesn’t hear me. It sounds so churlish and I instantly feel stupid. A gasp from Daniel, he leans his body forward, tight sculpted under his slim shirt, I have missed touching him.
He licks his lips, his mouth is dry, “baby, she’s a friend of Mum’s, she gets invited to these affairs, she…. was just there.” Don't be baited Tharie, leave it.
“For you to hold on to?” I snap, my voice shaking, “The photos, I saw them.”
“Tharie.” A harsh sounding warning shot across my bow? To use my name against me, it's not fair. “And you're clean as snow are you?” He means Henry, and the photo in the glossy.
“Daniel” I look unflinchingly into his face, “Henry, is my brother.” I leave the words hanging.
Daniel shuts his eyes, and looks like he's about to speak but is choosing his words with care for their delicacy. But I don't want to hear it, not sure why, he has put me through this for what? “I think we’re over,” I whisper to myself, but hoping loudly enough to be heard, I place my key card gently on the kitchen worktop as I leave, that'll do it. I don’t even drink my tea, it wouldn’t taste of anything anyway right? What a waste. And this time, I don't mean the tea.
Stan stares ahead concentrating on his driving. “Apologies miss Charles, are you OK?” He asks concerned. “Daniel has been frantic the last few days I’ve never seen him like it.” Is he trying to help? He indicates and makes a right turn. “He is a good man Tharie,” his eyes meet mine in the mirror, and I suddenly understand. All this behaviour, it’s my fault. I’ve driven him crazy with my jealousy. Tears come fast and I am once again in pain.
TC: “Daniel, please let’s forget all this silly jealousy.” mine, not yours.
DP: “…?”
Subtle.
Need tea. True bloody story, but you were expecting that by now eh? Otherwise, in all likelihood, you’re not paying attention.