Page 43 of Faking It (and falling in love)

“Morning,” said Philippa, moving across the bed to kiss Alex. She couldn’t resist being close to her after the night they’d just shared. She knew she would be sleep deprived at work, but she really didn’t care.

“This is the kind of alarm call a girl could get used to,” said Alex between kisses. Philippa smiled and kissed her again. Alex groaned in pleasure as Philippa gently dragged her fingers down Alex’s front and brought them to rest exactly where Alex wanted her most. “Yes, I have decided,” said Alex, her eyes still closed. “I think this is the best way to wake up.”

Philippa glided her fingers up and down, feeling how turned on Alex quickly got. She was slick with want, and Philippa adjusted herself so she was fully on top of her. She kissed Alex passionately and soon Alex was gasping with pleasure.

“Well that was embarrassingly quick,” said Alex. “But my excuse is that I’m still turned on from last night. Or was it this morning?”

“Mummy, why is your door locked?” Dottie’s voice came from just outside the door. Both women froze. “Your door’s never locked. Except when you’re wrapping Christmas presents. And it’s the twenty-eighth of May, so you’re definitely not doing that.”

“Sorry, darling. I did it by accident,” called out Philippa, who had never felt less erotic in her life. She looked across at Alex and hissed at her. “Get in the wardrobe!”

“What?” said Alex.

“You heard me,” said Philippa. “Coming, darling,” she called before reverting to a whisper. “Look, I’m out to her, but I’m not ready to introduce her to anyone. Can you just hide, this once? I promise I’m not trying to put you back in the closet.”

“I mean, you kind of are,” said Alex, gathering various items of clothing from the floor as she made her way to the wardrobe. There was a hint of a smile on her face. “But given I’ve had about four orgasms in the last twelve hours, I’m going to let you off.” She vanished behind a white wooden door.

Philippa had thrown on a thick furry dressing gown and made her way to the door. She took a breath before unlocking it. “Morning, Dottie. How are you?”

“I’m fine, thanks. You?” said Dottie, her upturned face a picture of innocence. “Why is your hair sticking up like that?”

“Oh, um, I was doing yoga first thing,” said Philippa, putting her hand up to her head, where she was very clearly sporting what another adult would have recognised as sex hair.

“Whose phone is that?” asked Dottie, whose eagle eyes had picked out Alex’s mobile by the side of the bed.

“Oh, a friend’s,” said Philippa, flustered. “Why don’t you go downstairs and get the cereal out? I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Sure thing, Mummy,” said Dottie. “Have you remembered it’s Romans day?”

“Of course,” said Philippa, a cold fist of dread squeezing her heart. Dottie trotted away and Philippa closed the door.

A muffled voice emerged from the wardrobe. “So, have you remembered it’s Romans day?”

“It’s ok, you can come out now,” said Philippa. “And no, obviously, I’d completely forgotten. I don’t even remember being told in the first place, so it’s less forgetting and more never knowing. What the hell am I going to conjure up in the next hour?”

“Leave that to me,” said Alex, managing to make climbing out of the wardrobe look quite graceful. She’d somehow got herself dressed while Philippa was talking to Dottie. “Sorry about the phone,” she said.

Philippa waved away her apology, aware that the whole situation was somewhat teenaged. “No, it’s fine.”

The door flew open again. “Mummy, the rice crispies have run out!” exclaimed Dottie. “Oh, hello Alex. Why are you here? Did you have a sleepover?”

“Morning, Dottie, loving the shoes,” said Alex, without missing a beat. “They set your school uniform off nicely.”

“Thank you,” said Dottie.

Philippa collected herself. “Yes, Alex, my friend, had a sleepover last night. And she’s going to help us create a Roman costume for you.”

“She is?” said Dottie, entirely unphased by Alex’s presence.

“I am,” said Alex. “I have a plan.”

“You forgot, didn’t you, Mummy?” said Dottie.

“I think that technically I didn’t forget, it was more that I wasn’t told,” said Philippa, side-eyeing her daughter.

“I’m sure I told you and I think there was a letter in my bag or something,” Dottie insisted. “But anyway, what about the rice crispies?”

“Go downstairs and make do with cornflakes, I’ll be down imminently,” said Philippa, using the voice she rolled out if she didn’t want to be asked any further questions, either by her daughter or by colleagues. She was confident the letter was scrunched up at the bottom of Dottie’s schoolbag still.

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