Million Love Songs(82)
Chapter Seventy-Four
Oh, shit, fuck, bugger. An alarm is going off by my ear and when I open my eyes, for a moment, I have no idea where I am. Then I hear Joe muttering and he reaches over me to switch it off. Turning towards him, I wonder if I’ve got mascara tracks down my face as the last thing on my mind was taking my make-up off.
‘Morning,’ he says, sleepily.
‘Morning.’
‘Forgot to turn the alarm clock off.’
That, I’d gathered. ‘Have I got panda eyes?’
‘Yes. But I’ve always had a thing for pandas.’ He reaches for me under the sheet and pulls me close. I mould into him and his hand caresses my breast then slides between my legs. ‘The kids won’t get up for ages,’ he whispers against my lips as he kisses me. ‘I don’t see why we should be in a rush either.’
So we make love again and this time it’s even more sweet, caring and sensuous. I’d be quite happy to have sex like this for the rest of my life. I have no idea what Gina’s new man is like but, quite frankly, he’s going to have to go some to beat this. The woman must be mad.
Eventually, we hear the kids stirring and we go into Joe’s en suite and take a shower together. A shower that takes rather longer than it should.
I borrow a T-shirt from Joe, put my pants on inside out and rub round my teeth with toothpaste on my finger. Skanky, I know, but what can I do? I’ll have to change when I get home.
‘I promised you breakfast,’ Joe says, ‘and I’m a man of my word.’
I touch his arm before he leaves the room. ‘Thanks for last night.’
‘The pleasure was all mine,’ he teases.
‘It felt nice,’ I say sincerely – which is the biggest compliment I can give him.
He wraps his arms round me. ‘You’re the first woman, other than Gina, that I’ve slept with in many a long year. Thanks for not making me feel like an idiot.’
I toy with the buttons on his shirt and it takes all my strength not to start opening them again. He stays my hand. ‘Time for breakfast, madam.’
‘Sounds wonderful.’
‘Come on,’ he says. ‘I need to face up to the kids and I’d rather we were in the kitchen than coming out of the bedroom together. I don’t mind them knowing that Daddy had a sleepover, but I’d rather it was on my terms.’
‘You think they’ll be OK about it?’
‘We’ll soon find out.’
So we go downstairs and I’m put on toast duty while Joe gets the necessary bits together for our fry-up. We’re working quite well as a lean, mean breakfast-making team when the kids emerge. Tom’s black eye is livid purple and his lip is swollen. He’s moving like a zombie from The Walking Dead.
‘How are you doing, champ?’ Joe asks, gently ruffling his son’s hair as he passes.
‘I hurt,’ Tom complains, smoothing it down again as best he can. ‘I hurt all over.’
‘I have the cure for that,’ Joe says cheerily and cracks eggs into a pan. ‘One full English coming up. It will put hairs on your chest and lead in your pencil.’
Tom grimaces. ‘Gross.’
Daisy, clad in pink ‘I’m a Princess Get Over It’ pyjamas, raises one hand in greeting. ‘Hey.’ It looks as if several birds have nested in her hair overnight.
They both slide into seats at the table and busy themselves on their phones. That, so it seems, is the full glare of attention that my first night in their family home warrants. Perhaps it was better happening like this than us both making a big fuss about it. Whichever way, I’m certainly glad that it did. I have a little bubble of happiness around me. While Joe multi-tasks with the breakfast, he winks at me and I smile back. First hurdle jumped, I guess.
We eat breakfast together and then Joe checks over Tom’s injuries again and decides that a family outing to A&E isn’t necessary. His wounds seem to look worse than they are and he’s given painkillers and a coating of antiseptic cream. So Tom collapses onto the sofa in front of the television while Daisy is cajoled into helping with the clearing up. I’m just stacking the dishwasher when the doorbell goes. Tom, washing the grill pan in the sink, wipes his hands on the towel and heads to the door.
The next moment, a woman who can only be Gina bursts into the room. She’s beautifully groomed in tight white capri pants, a black shirt and gold heels even though it’s eleven o’clock on a Monday morning. She has Aviator shades perched on top of her long, glossy black hair.
‘Where is he?’ she says, breathlessly. ‘Where’s my baby?’ Then she pulls up short when she sees me. ‘Who the hell are you?’
Joe is at her shoulder, his face dark with suppressed anger. ‘This,’ he says, ‘is my friend, Ruby.’
‘Oh.’ Gina looks me up and down and is clearly not enamoured by what she sees. I, in turn, am wishing that I had on designer clothes or at least not her husband’s band T-shirt and yesterday’s pants. Some make-up wouldn’t go amiss either. I probably bear the look of a thoroughly shagged woman. Which I am. Stick that in your pipe, Gina the Ex.
Joe adds, ‘She came to Tom’s rescue last night.’
‘Did she now?’ She scowls at me and I’m glad that looks are actually unable to kill or I’d be a goner. Gina turns her attention to Joe. ‘And where were you when our boy was in trouble?’