Page 18 of A Clean Sweep
The drive home was equally swift, the roof up as it was distinctly cooler now. Joe pulled into the driveway, killed the engine, and turned to Emily. Here it comes, she thought. The 'It's been lovely but’ line that would flatten her fantasies and thrust her firmly back into reality.
‘It's still quite early so, I wondered, would a nightcap be in order? Maybe just a cuppa for me as I'm driving but it seems a shame to call it a night just yet. Unless you've had enough of me already!’
Emily refrained from flinging herself bodily across the seats and indulging in a bit of mouth-to-mouth to complete the first aid experiences of the evening. Steady girl, she chided herself.
‘That sounds like a good idea to me. Shall we?’
She slipped off her seatbelt and exited the car, Joe following close behind. Turning the key in the lock, she opened the door and headed towards the kitchen, flicking on a couple of lamps as she went. She headed straight for the kettle, checking there was sufficient water before turning it on.
‘Emily?’
Joe was inches away from her. She could feel his body heat, the warmth of his breath on her cheek. Her heart wasthumping as she turned and saw the look in his eyes. Not one of disgust or disappointment but of pure, unadulterated longing.
‘Would you mind terribly if I kissed you? Because it's what I've wanted to do all night. And before that, actually.’
He reached out and gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear before leaning in towards her. His lips grazed hers, ever so gently, his arms pulling her closer. The kettle was coming to the boil, Emily almost matching it on the temperature scale. She surrendered completely to his embrace, linking her hands behind his head and matching the increased fervency of his kisses. Every part of her was on red alert, her long-dormant libido fully awakened and crying out for attention. The lower sections of her anatomy felt like they'd been defibrillated, strange but delicious sensations flooding her mind and body. Had it ever felt like this before? Possibly not. Was she going to put a stop to it now, even if she regretted it in the morning?Hell, no.
Joe had moved back slightly, a question writ large on his utterly irresistible face. Emily gave her answer, taking him by the hand and leading him towards the stairs.
‘Are you sure? I don't want to pressure you. If it's too soon please say and I'll go. We can just have a cup of tea and—’
She reinforced her response by grabbing him by the bottom and grinding his hips against hers. No room for doubt there.
‘I'm sure. There's just one thing I think we really need to do before we go any further.’
Joe looked slightly abashed. He grappled in the back pocket of his jeans and produced a condom.
‘I know, I know. Really presumptuous but I just wanted to be prepared. Sorry. Kick me out now, if you want.’
Emily could not have been more flattered than if he'd said she was the double of Angelina Jolie. Which she wasn't but hehad clearly wanted to have sex with her and had thought ahead enough to consider contraception. Since her last period was over a year ago a pregnancy scare was highly unlikely but …
‘Not that, you lovely, lovely man. I just think we really need to remove these bloody bibs, don't you?’
Both Joe and Emily glanced down and realised they were still sporting the protective garments from Chez Jacques. Explosive laughter followed, bibs were duly torn off and they proceeded to remove the rest of their garments en route to the bedroom.
Chapter 12
Susan had contemplated cancelling book club. She’d started her cancer treatment two weeks ago and it had left her tired, irritable and in considerable discomfort. The only thing that had prevented her doing so was the knowledge that it was the social highlight of her month. Terribly sad but true. She envied the other members and their busy and fulfilling lives, or at least the impression they gave of filling their days with work, hobbies or just relaxing with family and friends. Her days and nights never varied: juggling numbers for her clients and drowning out her loneliness with a combination of TV dramas and food.
A leaflet had dropped on to her doormat a couple of months earlier, advertising a new gym and offering a free trial session. She’d tossed it in the bin, only to fish it out a few hours later. Maybe it was worth a go, she’d thought in a rare moment of positivity. Before her courage deserted her, she’d picked up the phone and booked herself in for the following day.
Arriving at the gym, she’d felt shaky and sick. She’d watched a couple of women in their forties make their waythrough the revolving door, immaculate in their tight-fitting leggings and fluorescent tops. Both wore make-up, their hair tied back in high ponytails. Susan had glanced down at her own gym wear – a saggy T-shirt with an indeterminate stain on the hem and jogging bottoms she only ever used when gardening – and fought the urge to turn and run.
Inside she was greeted by a young trainer named Joseph who exuded good health and exuberance. He practically bounced on the spot as he waited for Susan to fill out a health questionnaire. She fudged a few of the questions:How many times a week do you exercise?(Real answer: none);What is your current weight?(No idea, the thought of stepping on scales was too awful to contemplate), andWhat are your long-term gym objectives?She’d wanted to write:To stop being either invisible or the source of people’s amusementbut settled for:To lose weight and get fitter. Which was probably the expected answer, after all.
In the gym, Joseph had started her off on the treadmill at a gentle walking pace. Within ten minutes she felt hot and sweaty, the well-worn elastic of her jogging bottoms chafing at her skin. Relief when Joseph returned and switched it off was replaced with horror when he guided her to a corner lined with floor mats and proceeded to demonstrate a series of exercises. She’d tried her best to copy his moves, painfully aware of every aching muscle and her inability to manage the ten to fifteen repetitions he urged her to do. ‘You’re doing great, Susan, keep going!’ he’d said in an almost-convincing tone.
In the changing room Susan had tip-toed around the women who were totally naked and chattering away as they smoothed in various body creams or towelled themselves dry. She found a curtained cubicle and slunk inside, desperate to change into her day clothes and make a hasty exit. She’d decided to shower at home, making do with aquick wipe around with a damp flannel she’d stuffed in her toilet bag. As she’d pulled on her underwear she heard laughter outside, followed by a muffled ‘Shush!’
‘Did you see the state of that one? Honestly, I’m amazed people let themselves get in that state then expect a miracle in the gym. Personally, I wouldn’t set foot in one if I was that size.’
Susan had struggled to do up her bra, her cheeks still warm from the exercise now red-hot with shame and embarrassment. Fumbling in her bag for her jumper she heard a second voice, fainter this time, but the words seared her as surely as if the speaker had yelled them in her face.
‘I know! She reminded me of thatStar Warscharacter. You know, Jabba the Hutt!’ And with another peal of laughter they were gone. Susan left minutes later, never to return.
It was nowa quarter to eight, the book club ladies due to arrive in the next fifteen minutes or so. Some – like Emily – were always on time whereas others drifted in late or sent last-minute texts apologising for not being able to make it. Although, so far, it looked like everyone was going to turn up.
Susan had laid out the customary nibbles on her tiny dining table. She’d tried her best in the last few days to cut down on her eating, spurred on by the appalling realisation that her clothes were becoming increasingly tight. Size twenty would soon become size twenty-two. Nowadays most of the major stores stocked large sizes but Susan always felt mortified rifling through the rails, pushing aside the tens and twelves and gazing in awe at the sixes and eights. Surely women who wore those sizes must be missing an internal organ or two?
