Dear Madam,

Thank you so much for sending me such a wonderful variety of bath products. Unfortunately, I will be unable to use them as I don’t bathe. The leader of my cult believes in the power of the smell of sweat. Plus, I like to think I’m doing my humble bit for the environment.

Kind Regards,

 

 

On our last full day in Cornwall, Billy wakes us up early, and we decide to drive to Polperro. The tiny fishing village is a maze of tiny lanes, running here and there. Houses cling higgledy-piggledy to the sides of the cliffs, but at this time of the morning it’s deserted, with only a few lights burning in their windows.

For a while we wander along, peering into shop windows and listening to Jude spinning stories for Billy about the magical people who live secretly in the village. Shop doors start to open as their owners get ready for the day, and we find a small bakery whose owner is cleaning the wide front step.  Heavenly scents are escaping out into the air around us, so we stop in, ordering coffees and pastries which we take down to the sea front, eyeing the boats bobbing on the water.

We find a large rock and perch on it, looking out to sea by mutual accord. The sky is a clear, cool blue, and although it’s summer, the early morning still has the faint chill lingering from the night and I’m glad we slung on our hoodies over our shorts and t-shirts. The sea provides a soundtrack to our desultory conversation, slopping and sucking at the weathered old steps.

Billy finishes his croissant and snuggles down onto Jude’s lap, nestling into him with a sigh of contentment. His eyes are drooping, and within a couple of minutes he relaxes into the laxness of sleep.

I chuckle lightly, and Jude looks enquiringly at me. When I nod at Billy his face softens and he reaches up one long fingered hand and strokes his hair. His sleeve falls away revealing the scarlet and blue friendship band he’s wearing. One rainy day last week he and Billy got hold of some embroidery silks and painstakingly made a few bands. Now, we all wear them, and I look down at mine which is a sapphire and green swirl of colours nestling next to my Breitling watch. I both love it and can’t bear to look at it, because it’s a physical reminder of how much simple joy Jude has brought into my son’s life.

I sip my coffee and stare out to sea determinedly. Not just my son’s life. He brings so much to mine - someone to laugh with, someone to talk to, someone to – I hastily push away the thought of our favourite occupation at the moment, as my shorts are becoming tight.

I sneak a look at him. He’s sitting placidly, staring up at an abandoned house sitting on the rocks looking out to sea, and already I can see his busy mind formulating stories about its owners. The breeze ruffles his crow black hair, the strands silky and shining, almost blue in places. I know he hates it, but the haircut he was forced to have makes him look almost too gorgeous. I sneak another look at him. His full lips are quirked in thought, and as usual, look a second away from breaking into that impish grin I’ve seen so much of since he found us.

I sit quietly, enjoying the opportunity of seeing him dreaming and content, and relishing the way we can just sit in the stillness linked by invisible thoughts. He takes a last bite of his croissant and shakes his fingers carefully free of the crumbs so as not to wake Billy, and then chews meditatively, still looking at the house.

I chuckle. “Waiting for Poldark to emerge?”

He found a DVD of the first series at the cottage, and insisted on watching it all the way through last night, despite my attempts to lure him upstairs. The gorgeously shot drama had found a natural home with Jude, who doesn’t totally manage to cover up his real love for melodrama and romance.

He turns to me and gives me a mock scowl. “I still think you could oblige me by mowing the lawn with your shirt off. If I can’t have Aiden Turner with a scythe, I should be allowed to have Asa Jacobs and a Flymo.”

I snort. “I feel rejected and objectified at the same time. Good work. It’s not easy to do.”

He grins widely with a smile that manages to look both sly and impish, and without fail makes me want to fuck him hard. “Stop griping and take your clothes off. When you look like you do, it’s practically your civic duty to be naked.”

I shake my head. “Breaking into your increasingly seedy sounding lines, what shall we do with the rest of the day? It’s the last full day, so make it good.”

He looks down at my child in his arms. “I think Bill wants to go crabbing.”

I stare at him. “It’s not Bill’s birthday, Jude. It’s your present. You get to pick the activity.”

I well remember one year when Phillip threw the biggest tantrum because we had to take Bill away with us on his birthday weekend when Peggy’s sister fell ill, so I’m trying not to make that mistake again.

To my surprise Jude shakes his head. “We’re all away so we all get a say. Billy bravely slept through Frenchman’s Creek and my recap of the plot, so he gets crabbing.” I smile, and he carries on. “You sat patiently through Season One of ‘Poldark’, so you get a treat.”

“What sort of treat?” I ask, my voice hoarse with the images dancing behind my eyes.

He covers Billy’s ears just in case, and gives me a salacious smile. “Your treat, so you get to pick. You get … carte blanche.”

I clear my throat and jump to my feet, pulling my hoodie down to cover my groin. “Okay, let’s go.”

He laughs loudly. “Okay, Speedy Gonzalez. I hope this isn’t indicative of how quickly it’s going to be over.” He pauses and smirks. “Doesn’t matter anyway. Season Two of ‘Poldark’ is in the cupboard back at the cottage.”

I groan and Billy stirs and sits up yawning. “Can we go crabbing now?” he asks for what must be the hundredth time this morning.

Jude laughs and hugs him. “Of course we can, Billy Jacobs. We’re all yours for the whole day.”

Billy cheers and jumps off his lap, and Jude takes the opportunity to sidle closer to me, and say under cover of Billy’s chatter, “Then, I’m all yours later.”

He laughs and walks off with Billy clutching his hand, leaving me staring after him.

All mine – I wish. I stand stock still, hit with the sudden knowledge that this is exactly what I do wish. I want him to be mine. I want all his warmth and joy and kindness in my home and my bed. I want him.

Realisation hits me again like a brick in the face. I shouldn’t be doing this. We made a deal, and he’s only here for the summer. I should be keeping my distance and enjoying my fling with a beautiful man, but something about him attracts me as if I’m made of iron and he’s a magnet.

He looks so much like Phillip, but I know in the same way I know my son’s eyes are brown, that Jude is different. He may have a reputation for being fickle and too light hearted, but he isn’t. I sense the kindness in him, the steadiness he shields with a flippant wit, and I can sense a deep and enduring loyalty.

I know he isn’t going to stay, but maybe this time I can just be happy with a part of someone, without trying all the time for the full percentage. Maybe it’s the best way for me, because trying to keep Jude would be like trying to harness steam. Painful and pointless.

The realisation is startlingly unpleasant, but not enough to stop me.

On the last morning at the cottage I come awake slowly. For a minute or two I lie in the comfortable bed, tracing the path of sunbeams on the floor. Then I stretch, and the aches and pains in my body, the soreness of my lips and the bruises on my hips, all remind me of Asa.

The time here has been wonderful. During the day we’ve packed in activities, taking Billy crabbing, borrowing bicycles and cycling the narrow Cornish lanes, overgrown and sweet smelling. We caught the ferry over to the other side of the river, Billy hanging over the side anchored by Asa’s and my hands, and we devoured fish and chips from greasy wrappings sitting on the beach with salt on our lips and faces flushed from the day’s sun.

At no point during the day has Asa given any clue that we’ve changed. He has been the same as ever, warm and funny and one of those rare people who completely engages with everything he does. At first, I was taken aback by this behaviour, despite him actually adhering to the rules I set. I was astonished and alarmed by the huge wave of relief I felt when he entered my bedroom that night, locked the door and proceeded to drive me out of my mind with the best blow job I’ve ever had. It’s safe to say Asa’s love of life and being in the moment definitely extends to sex, to the advantage of his partner. We haven’t had full sex yet but it’s definitely going to happen. We’re so hot for each other, there’s no way he won’t be in me at some point.

It’s surprising to me in a way, because I’ve always just gone straight for sex with my hook-ups, wanting to get it out of the way. I always know each encounter will never be long lasting, so why prolong the inevitable. Get it done and move on. Asa is a revelation to me. I’ve never known anyone so dedicated to my pleasure, who sees no point in rushing even a second. That night he brought me to the edge so many times, that when I finally did come I had tears in my eyes.

What irritates me most is the fact that even if we don’t touch during the day, I still feel fucking close to him. Ugh. Usually, if I’m not fucking someone, I don’t give time to them. I’ve been called a charming wanker one too many times, but it’s the only way I can get through things. I’m never mean because I hate to think I may upset people, so I deflect everything with humour and light heartedness. With him however, I have some sort of deep awareness and connection which bugs the living shit out of me. I know where he is all the time. I’m becoming obsessed with seeing a happy look on his face, and I have to drive him out of his mind in bed, not from pride, but because it’s him and I need to see the satisfied, slack look on his face. When he comes, it’s like a badge of honour.

Sudden little footsteps on the landing make me smile, and within seconds, I hear a surprisingly loud knock. Billy has no control on the volume of anything he does.

“Yes,” I call out in a high, fluting voice. “Who is it who dares to knock on my bedroom door?”

I can hear stifled giggles, and smile. “It’s Billy, Jude.”

“Ah, well I’m afraid if you wish to enter my domain you have to guess the password.”

More giggles, and I smile involuntarily and widely when I hear Asa’s deep voice. Ugh, shit, the smile is making my teeth hurt, and I reach up and smack my face lightly. Get a grip.

Finally, Billy’s voice comes. “Is there poo in the password?”

“Good grief, how on earth did you know that?”

He chuckles. “I guessed, Jude. It was easy.”

“Okay, but the second word is trickier.”

“Oh, there are two words,” he says disapprovingly.

“You started this trend,” I shout, and hear Asa laugh. I relent. “I’ll give you a clue. He’s big and loud and reads a mean story at night.”

“Daddy!” shouts Billy loudly. “It’s daddy poo.” Then he breaks into giggles.

Finally, the latch clicks and Asa enters, swinging Billy by his feet. He swings him about a couple of times before tossing him gently onto the bed. Billy shrieks with laughter and Asa takes the opportunity to give me a slow, heated look.

I stare back and then smile mischievously, stretching my arms out and showing my biceps off in their thin cotton covering.

He shakes his head and smirks. “I’m leaving him with you,” he instructs me. “I’ll make breakfast if you can pack up here. We have to be out by eleven.”

I pout dramatically, and his eyes catch on the swell of my bottom lip and seem to darken. Then he laughs. “Okay, minx, I’m going.”

“What’s a minx?” Billy asks, snuggling down against me and handing me the obligatory copy of ‘Kipper’s Snowy Day’.

“Someone very naughty,” Asa throws over his shoulder as he leaves. “Who’s going to get his comeuppance later.”

“I don’t think that’s a good thing,” Billy says judiciously, and pulls my arm around him as I open the book.

A few hours later we load the last of our gear into the boot, and Asa produces his phone. “Last selfie, boys.”

Billy and I groan because Asa seems to have had his phone surgically attached to his hand during the last few days, taking so many pictures I’m surprised we haven’t got retinal damage from the flash.

“Not again, Daddy,” Billy grumbles, and I nod. I’m a model, and even I’ve never had so many photographs taken of me.

Asa just laughs. “Humour me and pose.” We instantly cuddle into his side and smile widely as he clicks away. He looks sideways at me. “I just want to remember this time away.”

Melancholy seizes me and I look around the woodland and listen to the birds singing loudly. “It’s been the best time,” I say softly. “Thank you so much, Asa. I’ll never forget it.”

He smiles shyly. “Bit of a departure from Fiji and mojitos and men on tap.”

I shake my head robustly. “Better,” I say stoutly. “I’ve never enjoyed myself like I have done here.”

“Really?” he asks, a flush on his cheeks. He looks almost vulnerable.

I catch his eyes and smile. “I wouldn’t switch these few days of hiking and fish and chips and Frenchman’s Creek for any stupid, boring, luxury hotel.” I throw my arms around. “This is the best memory.”

He smiles suddenly and blindingly. “I’m glad. I was a little worried, to tell you the truth, because you hate your birthday so much.”

“So why did you do it?”

I’m curious, because he doesn’t work the way everyone else does. He seems to sense things about me that few people do, apart from Dylan. He never once questions me the way others do about why I hate my birthday, but paradoxically, this calm acceptance has brought me nearer to telling him. I feel I can tell him anything.

He shrugs. “I just had a feeling it would be fine.”

Suddenly it feels too much, this closeness, and I step back. “Well, it’s back to the real world,” I say casually, and he says nothing, just smiles at me, calmly and knowingly.

Reality intrudes within seconds as we get to the bottom of the drive. As if on cue, phone reception comes back and our phones start to chime. I click on a few buttons. Mine are mostly Facebook notifications and sarcastic texts from Dylan and other friends. I read a few, smiling, before realising Asa’s phone hasn’t stopped chiming.

“What the hell, Mister Popular?” I smirk, and he groans, pulling the car onto a verge and stopping.

“I’ll have to answer it. Otherwise the bloody thing will drive me mad.” He swipes the screen. “That’s funny.”

“What?”

“Fifty calls from Max and twenty-five subsequent voice mail messages.” He clicks the button and looks at me. “I’ll listen to them first so I can mentally prepare myself for an actual conversation.”

I smile because Max is his agent and he’s Cockney and loud. I loved him as soon as I met him. My smile dies at the dread creeping across his face while he listens. “What’s the matter?” I ask, but he shakes his head violently and gets out of the car, pressing buttons and lifting the phone back to his ear. “Max,” he says, “you’ve got me. What the hell?”

The car door shuts, sealing Billy and I inside. Billy sits in the back, tunelessly humming and playing with a Green Goblin figure, and I watch with a sense of dread as Asa paces back and forth, dragging his hand through his hair. He’s talking quickly and in a low voice so I can’t hear anything, and I try not to stare, but it’s difficult. He looks so drastically different from the relaxed man I’ve come to know, with pursed lips, a furrowed brow, and anger written over every inch of him.

Eventually he clicks off the phone and stands for a second staring out over the rolling, gentle hills. Then he throws back his head and I jump as he shouts fuck so loudly I can hear him through the window. I look involuntarily at Billy, but he isn’t paying attention, being deep in his game.

I hesitate, wanting to go to him but not knowing if I should. Then he looks up and his eyes lock on me and he makes an almost pleading gesture, and I’m out of the car quicker than a greyhound on the tracks.

“What is it?” I call as he comes nearer. “What’s the matter?” I go to touch him, and stand stunned with a pain in my chest as he jerks away from my touch as if I’ve got leprosy. I curl my outstretched hand into a fist and lower it slowly into my pocket, feeling as though the limb is made of lead.

Sorrow flashes over his expressive face, then I watch as he literally shutters his face of all expression, and his body language changes to an almost bored stance. It’s my first taste of him as an actor, and it’s surprisingly sour.

“There’s a story about to break,” he says in a monotone. “I’ve known it was coming, and Max and I tried to buy him off, but the negotiations fell through and he pressed the kill switch.”

“Who did?” I whisper, somehow knowing the answer, and his mouth twists bitterly.

“Phillip.”

“Shit, I’m sorry, Asa.” I hesitate. “Is it bad?”

He shrugs. “Could derail everything. He was with me for four years.”

I start. Four fucking years. I feel a surge of incapacitating jealousy sear through me. “Surely there isn’t anything that bad to know about you.”

He shrugs in an almost bored fashion. “Who knows what will be bad to the general public? I met him on a shoot. He was a model before he gave it up to live off me. We had some pretty wild times together which I’m sure will make it into the story.” He hesitates and then speaks in a rush, avoiding my gaze. “I was with him the night Eve got pregnant. We were in a threesome. I was a bit wild at that point, so there will be stories about the threesomes and loads of men. We were in an open relationship, but it will look terrible.”

I nod. I could never have an open relationship with him because I’d have to murder people. I shudder at my extraordinarily possessive thought.

Asa sighs and recalls me back to the real world. “Once Eve had Bill, I cleaned up my act and wanted monogamy, which we largely had, apart from Phillip slipping up a few times.” I start in surprise. Why would anyone want to cheat on Asa? It gets worse then, and I grit my teeth as Asa’s sad words continue. “He knows worse things like all my fears and dreams. He knows everything about me,” he says tonelessly. “I never held anything back from him. I let him see everything in me because …” For the first time, he falters.

“You loved him,” I say through numb lips. Then a surge of blinding rage fills me.  “And the fucking cuntbucket repays this by selling his story like a whore. Don’t you fucking dare let that wanknugget see you’re upset.”

A flicker of a smile crosses his impassive face, but then it’s gone, chased out by the cold front. He shrugs. “Nothing I can do about it now. The whole world will be reading in-depth details over their toast and marmalade of how I take my tea and the best way to rim me.”

“A thumb and plenty of spit,” I say glumly, and incredibly he suddenly laughs loudly.

“Fuck!” he says, scrubbing his fingers over his face. “How can you make me laugh at a time like this?”

I smile. “It’s a gift. When the fairies waved their wands over children’s cots some people got wealth and connections. I got a weird sense of humour, shared by you, Dylan and Gabe.”

I stare at him. “Can I do anything?” I ask tentatively, and for a minute he stares at me which seems to stretch as if he’s looking inside me. Then he nods, and I feel a blinding relief because he still trusts me in some way. I guess I now have the answer of why he hated me at first sight. I not only look like that twat of an ex-boyfriend, but I’m also a model. It’s a wonder he even let me over the threshold a second time. I feel a sense of dread this is going to stop us, but then I mentally kick my arse because the man’s in pain and I know I’ll end us soon anyway.

“I’ll do anything,” I say calmly and clearly. “Tell me what you need.”

He nods as if coming to a decision. “Can you take Billy for me?” I jerk, but he continues quickly. “I can’t take him home. Max says the house is surrounded by the fucking press. I don’t want that scum anywhere near him. I need to do some serious damage limitation. Max has already lined me up with a couple of interviews to try and mitigate things.”

“Can this hurt your career? Surely not,” I say tentatively. “You’re known for being bisexual. Surely people have cottoned onto the fact there can be two men in the equation.”

He sighs. “You’d think, but it’s a slightly different proposition when it’s in your face.”

“Said the actress to the bishop,” I say morosely. Then I grab his arm as he starts to pace in agitation. “Calm down,” I say soothingly, feeling the tremors running through his body, and repressing the urge to find Phillip and knock his fucking teeth right down his throat. “Let’s do this little by little. Focus on Billy first.”

He stills at my touch as though I’ve gentled a nervous horse, before nodding firmly. “Okay. I think the best thing would be for you to take him out of the country, somewhere safe away from the press.”

I stare at him. “You trust me to do that? Are you sure you don’t want someone else, like Peggy? You’ve only known me for a few months.”

He shakes his head fiercely. “Only you. I know I can trust you with him.” His Yorkshire accent is strong now, which I’ve noticed happens when he’s feeling strong emotions.

I still and make myself nod calmly. “Okay. So, where?”

“Mallorca. I own a villa there. I’ve had it for years and the press don’t know about it. It’s just outside Ca’n Picafort, but it’s very private and isolated. Maybe it’ll be too isolated for you and -”

He’s rambling, and I rub the arm I’m still holding. “Asa,” I say softly. “Focus, babe.”

He takes a deep breath. “Okay. I’m okay.” I nod and he starts talking again but calmer this time. “Take him there. You’ve got a passport, obviously?” I nod, not wanting to remind him I’m a model at this point. “Take him there, and the two of you can stay until things calm down at home. I’ll ring the housekeeper and tell her to get it ready, and I’ll make sure you’ve got a car. Shit. Can you even drive abroad? Have you got a driving licence?” He falters.

“I can drive,” I say calmly. “I’ve driven abroad many times, and you know I’ll be careful, don’t you?” He nods. “Okay, how about we book the flights now? I’ll take a taxi to the villa from the airport, and maybe you can get a car delivered?”

He nods, clarity and relief running through his face at the thought of having clear cut tasks to do. “That’s a good idea. I’ll get Peggy to pack Bill’s stuff, and Amos can meet us somewhere. I’ll drop you off at the airport.”

I think hard. “I’ll ring Dylan if that’s okay. I’ll get him to dig out my passport and some more clothes, and take them to the house. Most of my stuff’s in his spare bedroom anyway. Is it okay if I tell Dylan what we’re doing?”

He nods. “Of course it is.” He shrugs. “The world knows everything by now, I suppose.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” I say tartly. “Not the world, just the same people wanting to know details about you as they will about Justin Bieber when it’s his turn again.” I look him up and down. “You’re really not that famous.”

He gives a shout of laughter which seems to surprise him. “Thank you,” he chokes out. “It’s good to know I’m actually insignificant in the grand scheme of things.”

“You’re not insignificant,” I say fiercely, humour dying as he stares at me.  “But the details Phillip has given are insignificant, because they don’t reach the real you. Nobody gets that. A few threesomes – pah! That’s nothing! I think the only person anyone will see clearly is him, a pathetic whore who has betrayed a very good man.”

He stares at me, looking touched and worn thin at the same time, and I give in to the urge to reach out and pull him into a hug. At first he’s stiff, but then he folds into me and I hold him tightly as we stand in the narrow Cornish lane, feeling the sun on my face and breathing in the sweet coconut of his shampoo while recognising the absurd fragility of this big man. Finally, he pulls away.

“Thank you,” he says, grabbing my hand. “In answer to your question, I do trust you with Billy, and that’s a huge thing. I don’t know why I do, and I don’t want to trust you, but somehow, at the moment I still do.”

I smile at him sadly, noting the words at the moment. “I won’t let you down,” I say firmly. “I’ll keep him safe while you do your thing, and then you can come and find us. We’ll be waiting for you.”

***

A week later, I stand on a beach, ankle deep in the soft, blue depths of the Mediterranean. The sun beats down on me making even my pink patterned board shorts feel like a pair of cords, and the water is as warm as bath water. The breeze blowing off the sea catches strands of my hair and blows them into my mouth.

“Okay,” I say briskly. “It’s sun cream time.”

Billy who has been digging sandcastles in the damp sand near the water’s edge, makes a moue of disgust, as if I’ve offered to coat him in gravy granules. He hates sun cream with an absolute passion, to the extent I had to make a trip with him into the seaside town of Ca’n Picafort, where I cannily bought a tube of sun cream which came out purple. We now have to spend half an hour drawing on him, but at least he’s happy and sun proof.

At first after Asa left us at Heathrow, I was very nervous. I was travelling with a small child who didn’t belong to me, in an immense act of trust by his father. The ways in which I could fuck this up were legion and varied. However, once we were on the plane and he fell asleep on my lap, I had the sudden, blinding realisation that this wasn’t just some random child. This was my Billy, and I loved him. I also had the feeling Asa knew this all along, the canny bastard. The revelation was startling in its simplicity, but I didn’t have time to freak out as there was so much to organise.

We got on the plane in the cool sunlight of a British summer, and emerged at Palma Airport into the full glare of a Spanish summer. I looked for a taxi, but a friendly man called Pedro was waiting for us, holding up a sign bearing the name Jean-Benoit Aubéry. I smiled in a bittersweet way at the name of the hero of ‘Frenchman’s Creek’. He piled us into an old Mercedes to travel to the villa. Billy chattered happily for about ten minutes before falling asleep again, worn out by the activities of the last few days. With Billy asleep, I looked out of the window at my mother’s birthplace. Mallorca in summer is all sun-washed roads, with tans and greens and burnt orange like a forest themed paint swatch.

We reached the villa by a shady, narrow lane lined with poplar and cypress trees, and when we drove down it for the first time, the utter stillness felt like we were interlopers. I glanced back and saw the cloud of dust dissipating into the air as it returned to stillness, and felt reassured the press wouldn’t find us here.

Eventually, we drew up at a high brick wall broken up by a huge arched door painted purple, and hung over with bougainvillea. Pedro got out and produced a key, and carrying Billy, I followed him through the door and into a cobbled courtyard standing in front of a low-slung sandstone Mallorcan villa.

We were greeted by Valentina, Asa’s housekeeper, who it turned out spoke very little English. She was dressed all in black, like so many of the old ladies around here, and looked very stern. Luckily, I speak fluent Spanish with enough of the local dialect courtesy of my mum, and on hearing it, she graced me with a wide smile and proceeded to question me extensively on my relations. She proved to be an amazing cook, and Billy and I have eaten really well this week.

We’ve done very little, preferring to explore the pale green water of the swimming pool at the back of the house, or stepping carefully down the path to the private beach. The path runs from the huge veranda that wraps around the back of the house, and offers panoramic views of the Mallorcan coastline.

Billy has grown brown as a berry, as have I, which is a bonus as I hate the fucking instant tan I have to put on sometimes. I have typically Spanish skin, and I tan very quickly.

I crouch down next to Billy and start filling a bucket shaped like a castle. “This is fantastic, Bill,” I say heartily. He woke up missing Asa this morning. I phoned him in London and they chatted for a long time. I watched Billy grow animated, but the brief spark has gone now, and he looks slightly sad. It’s no surprise really, because he and Asa are each other’s special person. Asa is everything to him.

I upend the bucket and let Billy give it a couple of good taps with his spade. We say the obligatory magic words, and when I manoeuvre it up, the perfect sandcastle sits jauntily. Billy oohs and aahs despite the fact we’ve made hundreds of the things this week.

“You alright, mate?” I ask, and he immediately puts his spade down and scrambles into my lap.

“I miss Daddy,” he says, breathing hotly into my throat, his tiny arms a stranglehold around my neck.

“I know, sweetie. I know.”

“Do you miss him too, Jude?”

“Of course, baby.” Sudden emotion clogs my throat, because the terrible answer is that yes, I do miss him. I miss him being the third to our little duo. I miss his deep voice and big laugh, and without him, things seem muted somehow.

I’ve rung him every night as per his request, and after speaking to Billy he’s asked for me, and we’ve talked late into the night. He sounds sad and tired, and I wish passionately I could be there to help him, but I know I’m doing something which gives him peace of mind.

The story had broken with all the fanfare Asa had dreaded, and the press seized on every salacious detail. Feeling terribly guilty, I Googled it on my tablet one lonely night, and my punishment was a seemingly endless photo reel of the couple’s long relationship. I felt sick seeing the two together at parties and holidays, and worst of all at the pink palace.

They looked happy and in love, and I examined the bastard’s face as if under a microscope. Phillip in the photos is gorgeous, and I’ve a feeling I worked with him a couple of years ago on a shoot in Croatia. He was stunning and had more action passing through his arse during that shoot than the Dartford Tunnel. If I recall rightly, he shagged the photographer and two assistants, and even came onto me. I feel sick because he was with Asa at the time, but also profoundly relieved I didn’t fuck him. It would have truly put the cherry on that cake of shit. I refused him because I disliked him. He was cold and patronising. I don’t ask for much in my bed mates, but I do require a sense of humour and for them to be a decent person.

The article was horribly compelling to read, and my heart aches for Asa having to read that utter betrayal from someone he trusted completely. It went into a great deal of detail about sexual encounters and made Asa’s house sound like the set of the Roman Empire.

I know Asa was worried about Social Services reading it and deciding he’s an unfit father, but he was assured by his solicitor yesterday that it wouldn’t be a problem. Nevertheless, he’s had to do several high-profile interviews which seem to have stemmed the tide and turned it in his favour.

I watched one and he was amazing – self-deprecating, charming with an air of sadness. No wonder today’s headlines have been more about the betrayer than the betrayed. Apparently, Phillip hasn’t been seen since the first day, and the press are looking for him.

Billy snuggles into me, bringing me back to the present with a start. “You hungry, mate?” I ask and he nods, rubbing the silk of his curls against my chin and then turning to give me what he terms a crusher hug. They’re tight and quite often uncomfortable, as he has a knack of hitting you in the windpipe with his elbow, but they touch something inside me I wasn’t aware still dwelt there. Protectiveness, and a deep, unselfish love for this sturdy, kind little boy.

“Come on, monkey. Let’s ask Valentina if she’s got any ham and we’ll have French bread with it. Yes?”

He nods, and holding him tight I climb to my feet and turn, and stand stock still, shock holding me immobile as I look at the man ambling across the beach towards us.  Dressed in blue checked board shorts, a white t-shirt and barefoot, with his hair pulled back into a bun, he looks solid and warm and here. Really here. My breath catches and Billy turns curiously.

“Daddy,” he shrieks, and I put him down as he wriggles like a little eel. I watch him race across the sand and into Asa’s open arms. Asa rises from his crouch and swings him round a few times and then clasps him close, hugging him and covering his face with kisses as Billy chuckles and wriggles.

I stand looking at the two of them and suddenly a wave of loneliness sweeps over me, because I am not needed here. This tight knit pair are the real family, and I’m just a guest. Soon, it will be time for me to go or overstay my welcome, and I know, eventually, a third person will join them and find his home, and it will not be me.

Swallowing hard, I move quietly past them, intending to give them some peace, but before I can move two steps, Asa’s arm shoots out and stills me.

“Wait. Where do you think you’re going?”

“Giving you some family time together,” I say, smiling so hard it hurts my face. I know it doesn’t touch my eyes, so I push my sunglasses down.

Undeterred, he removes them neatly from my face and slides them into his pocket. I huff and he smiles, and it’s a real smile which reaches his warm, brown eyes, turning them almost golden.

“I don’t want you to go. Stay with us, please,” he says in a low voice, and other words seem to run alongside them, an invisible dichotomy I can’t parse. Then I gasp as he draws me into their embrace, and I stand in the circle of his massive arms as Billy winds his tiny arms around me like a little, tanned, sandy octopus. He gives me a sticky kiss on the cheek.

“I want to keep Jude,” Billy says to Asa earnestly. “Can we, Daddy, please?”

“We can’t keep people, baby,” Asa says in a deep voice, looking into my eyes. “They’re not pets and they choose for themselves to go or stay. We have to leave the door open, because otherwise we’ve trapped them, and that’s a terrible thing to do to a human being.”

“Jude wouldn’t mind, would you?”

I shake my head, unable to answer, and Asa smiles and kisses Billy’s cheek.

“Jude can’t stay, baby.”

“Why can’t he?”

“Because he has to go. He has a life out there away from us, and at the end of the summer, he’s going back to it.”

I think of the empty existence I’m going back to - the mindless shoots and vacuous conversations. No more warmth, no laughter, no real kindness. No sticky hugs from his son and hot steamy nights with him. Suddenly I want to throw up. I want Asa to bar the door and take the choice away from me. I know he won’t. He’s too good a person. Instead, he will watch me batter against the window like a moth, until eventually he’ll open it and let me fly away, and today, for the first time, I don’t want to.

Asa watches me with those clever, tired eyes, as if he knows everything I’m thinking. For a brief second his grip tightens around me, and then he shrugs and smiles sadly, and we walk back to the villa along the empty beach.