By 7 o’clock Gabriel and I have only managed to exchange a civil word here and there. I’m standing on the tips of my toes leaning over the sideboard, lifting the blinds to look out for Vivian’s black Focus. My plan had been to cook a nice meal for us all, but the defrosted chicken never quite made it to the oven. I haven’t enough time to cook it now, so it’ll have to be Larry’s dinner for the next few days.
We had pizza last weekend, so I guess it’s between Indian and Chinese. There’s no point me digging out the menus, as I haven’t got a clue what the woman likes; in fact, I know very little about her at all. Things were so much easier when Josh and me were together. I don’t miss him, and I couldn’t be happier with Gabriel, but I do miss Angela and Hughie. If they were coming over tonight I’d be getting excited, though the prospect of a takeaway would have been a certifiable nightmare. Hughie would only eat Indian; Angela would only eat Chinese. That wasn’t the end of the world, but Hughie would insist on using the Golden Dragon, an hour’s drive away, and by the time he finally returned his food was cold. Then the arguments would begin. He’d be spooning lumps of tikka masala onto a plate and putting it in the microwave, while Angela would holler into the kitchen that he couldn’t re-heat cooked chicken; his reply came back that it hadn’t killed him yet. Josh would snigger behind his hand, and I would roll my eyes. But they were happy memories. Oh, and not forgetting the games of Scrabble we’d play into the early hours.
As I mull over the good times I spent in Angela and Hughie’s company, my mind drifts to the invitation I received a couple of days ago, currently well-hidden beneath a pile of old bills and letters on the window sill. I haven’t broached the subject with Gabriel yet, as I can imagine his reply when I tell him we’ve been invited to Hughie’s retirement party. But with Vivian and Jase paying us a visit, going out tomorrow evening just isn’t going to happen.
I’ve got pins and needles in my feet and my legs are aching as I continue to gawp out of the window. I’m not surprised they’re late, since it’s a nightmare diving here from London and my guess is they’re stuck on the motorway.
I hear the hinges of a door and footsteps.
“I don’t know if you’ve put dinner on yet, but Jase just text to say they’re going to be at least another hour.”
“Can you smell it?” I say, turning abruptly.
He shakes his head.
“I’ve got no intention of cooking tonight.”
His lips crease into a smile, although I can see him doing his best to fight it. I place my hand on my hip.
“What’s so funny?”
“You, that’s what.” He laughs. “You know, I quite like your more serious side.”
My lip begins to twitch; I try to hide it, but it’s too late, he’s already seen.
“But on a serious note,” he pipes up, “are you cooking?”
“No, Gabriel, I’m not; your mum and Jase will have to make do with a takeaway.”
“Mum gets IBS and can’t stomach takeaways; her diet consists of meat and two veg.”
“Isn’t that something most women like?” I smirk, looking towards the crotch of his jeans.
He takes a couple of steps towards me, burying his thumbs in the front pockets of my trousers. I edge away, though his thumbs pull me back. It’s something he does that I normally love, but knowing where it usually leads, I pull away for a second time.
“I’m still mad at you,” I mutter, looking up at him from under my eyes.
“Well that makes two of us then, coz I’m still mad at you.”
“Look, I’m sorry, I just thought having another cat around the place would be nice. I haven’t said anything, but I’ve seen the way you glance down into Mr. Pooch’s empty bowl. I phoned the shelter, Belley needed another home and I thought you needed another cat.”
“Natasha, it was a nice thought and I’m sorry I overreacted, but like I said, Mr. Pooch is all tied up with Dad, with this house, and it just feels wrong. But again I’m sorry, and thanks for thinking of me.”
His thumbs slip out of my pockets and he turns away.
I raise my eyebrows. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To cook dinner of course, where do you think?”
Feeling kind of guilty I haven’t made more of an effort for Vivian’s first visit, I follow him into the kitchen. The potatoes are already chipped and the chicken isn’t particularly large, so I guess if he puts it on now and turns the oven up to the max, then they could have a late dinner.
He glances down at his watch. “We’ve got about half an hour to kill. Anything you particularly fancy doing?”
“I’ll leave you to it, grab Larry and see what’s on TV. When you’re done in here, why not come and join me? If you behave…” I titter, looking up, “I may even put the sports channel on.”
Not that we’ll watch a lot of sport. Remembering what happened when he tuned into the football last weekend, I pass him a cheeky smile, which he returns. My eyes follow him from the cupboard beneath the sink to the oven, where he covers the chicken in foil and places it inside.
“I think I may give the TV a miss and take a shower,” he says.
He undoes the buttons on his shirt as he walks towards me. As he passes I feel him brush my shoulder and hear him sniff, but it’s not like he’s taken a normal breath; it’s as if he’s making a point.
I nudge my elbow into his arm.
“I hope you’re not insinuating what I think you are?” I say with widening eyes.
“And what’s that?” he smirks, nudging me back with his elbow.
“You know exactly what, and as for a shower, I had mine this morning when you were still in bed,” I emphasise, smirking back.
“Well, if you change your mind and decide you’d like to freshen up, you know where to find me.”
I let out a loud snort and we say no more. I consider Gabriel going for a shower and the small window of time that we have. The stairs and floorboards creak as they take his weight. In two minds whether to join him or not, I stand between the kitchen and hallway. It looks like he’s expecting me, as if he’d chosen to close the bathroom door behind him I wouldn’t be able to hear water cascading onto the tiles and into the base of the bath. I guess after the day we’ve had a shower might be quite relaxing as my mind reverts to Vivian and Jase’s pending visit. The calm before the storm comes to mind as my feet make their way up the two bottom stairs. Damn, it’s impossible to avoid the creaks and creep up on him in this old house.
“Natasha,” he hollers.
I push myself back against the cold Artex wall. Gabriel knows the voices spoken by each room, by the staircase. I glance back down towards the hall and am still in two minds about whether to join him as I reach the landing. Another floorboard creaks and he appears in a gush of steam, wearing only a small cream towel around his hips and a rather sexy open-mouthed smile.
“Knew you wouldn’t be able to resist me,” he beckons.
“Actually,” I say, taking a step back, “I came up to change my clothes.”
“You’re not very good at telling lies, are you? Come on, don’t tell me you’re not tempted.”
I find my eyes following his hand as it moves towards his groin. As my eyes rest between his legs the soft towelling material is moved away from his thighs and I don’t have to look hard to see the outline of his penis standing proud.
My head really is losing the fight here, my teeth playing lazily with my bottom lip at the thought of his fingers, his tongue. As I fantasise, I find myself licking my lips. Quite suddenly he lifts his hands from his sides and lets the towel drop, leaving me staring at his impressive erection.
His eyes shine as they glance over me, his pupils dark and dilated. He doesn’t need to utter a single word for me to know how much he wants me. The look in his eyes tells me his thoughts perfectly.
“So?” he pipes up.
“So?” I mimic.
“How about we get showered?” he teases, edging his way back into the bathroom.
I’m all fingers and thumbs, fumbling with the button on my trousers. One leg at a time I slide them down past my ankles, discarding them onto the floor. My eyes don’t deviate from the open doorway as I unfasten my top, then reach behind and unclip my bra, which I drop on the floor to accompany my trousers. Taking tiny steps, I lose myself between the rising steam as I step in to join him.
“You’re beautiful, so beautiful,” he murmurs.
Gabriel always manages to put me at ease, making me feel like I’m the most beautiful woman in the world. He holds out his hand, which I take, stepping under the hot running water.
“Now close your eyes,” he tells me, sliding his fingers over my lids, throwing me into total darkness.
I stand in apprehension, my imagination running wild. Closing my eyes is something I often do when we are about to make love. On more than one occasion I’ve suggested to Gabriel that I blindfold him, thinking I could massage melted chocolate into his skin, sit astride him and pour warm scented wax onto his chest, or smother him in baby oil. Before he got his sight back he’d preach to me about his heightened senses and how he’d notice things that most people would miss, yet in the bedroom his senses seem dormant, something he doesn’t seem ready to explore. But I’ve never shied away from a challenge; let’s just say I’m working on him.
I breathe in a floral scent and groan, feeling a warm creamy bar of soap caressing the nape of my neck and very slowly circling my shoulders. My nipples are pert and attentive as he washes my breasts in a figure of eight. There’s a thud and my eyes shoot open. Gabriel’s dropped the soap and now it’s the tips of his fingers slithering over my stomach. Holding tightly onto my arse he edges my legs apart, and I whimper as his tongue works its way around my clit, which he slowly begins to massage. I drag my hands though his hair, digging my nails into his scalp. He blinks water from his eyes as they work their way up my body, tracing my face. I lean into him, leaving a trail of soft kisses across his cheeks. I can’t see his hands but I can feel them slip beneath my arms. My breaths are taken as unexpectedly I’m lifted off my feet and whisked around, my back and shoulders pressed against the cold wall tiles. Lathered in soap I’m slipping, sliding down Gabriel’s chest, so I jump up, clamp my legs around his waist and hold on tight. His wet hands cup themselves around my arse. I reach down between us; he’s so incredibly hard as I take him in hand, then he’s thrusting himself between my closed palm. I want to feel him inside me.
“Fuck me, Gabriel,” I murmur, pushing my thighs up to meet him.
My groans are taken by his lips as he begins rubbing the tip of his penis against my moist folds. He’s pounding my ass against the tiles; fuck the cold, coz this is amazing. His eyes are closed, so he has no idea I’m looking at him in the way that I am, at the way the water sprays onto his face like an accumulative cascade of the tiniest diamonds, becoming fast-flowing streams forging their way down his chest to where our bodies meet.
Riding his cock, I’m bounced up and down, held up by the strength of his biceps. His groans come in soft waves as he bites and sucks at my neck. He’s pummelling himself inside me at such a fast pace I don’t feel his release, but as his breathing ebbs and he pulls away from me, I feel the remnants of our love making as it trickles down the inside of my legs, before being washed away by the warm scented waters.
Gabriel’s got one leg in his boxers when we hear the doorbell ring. I’ve never seen anyone put a pair of jeans on quite so fast.
“Fuck’s sake!” he cusses, rushing round the bathroom, towel-drying his chest and spraying himself with deodorant.
“Stop fretting.”
He shakes his head. “How can I? Mum and Jase are standing outside; they’ve been in the car for hours, so are bound to need the toilet.”
I can’t help but smile as he grabs a handful of tissues from the Kleenex box, frantically wiping condensation off the tiles and the mirror, but instead of making things better he’s leaving a soggy residue in its path.
Four times now the doorbell has chimed and Gabriel still proceeds to clean. Larry’s downstairs barking like crazy, and I can’t let them in since I’m not dressed.
“Sod off, go and get the door. I’ll open the window and have a spray round.”
He throws his shirt over his right shoulder, kisses my cheek and rushes out of the bathroom. I wrap myself in a towel, open the window and then slip my way across the landing into our bedroom. I finger-dry my hair, feeling it fall past my ears. I sink down on the bed, thinking back.
During the chemo I did everything I could to avoid brushing my hair, and each morning I’d cry at the long strands strewn across my pillowcase. My new look didn’t bother Gabriel in the slightest, and he told me not to wear a wig because I was beautiful without it; if it made me feel better, he said he’d shave his head. I wasn’t embarrassed or ashamed of going out the house without my wig, I just didn’t like anything that drew attention to me. I guess this stems from when I was a child, with all the pageants mum pushed me into taking part in. It’s daft really, because most little girls love being dressed up like a princess, but I wasn’t one of them. I used to stand on stage and tremble, sometimes even wet my pants. I don’t think my heartbeat returned to normal until I was back in the car being driven home. I hated attention of any kind, and all I really wanted was to be the face in a crowd that other people would walk past, allowing me to disappear.
It was a good few months ago, on Valentine’s Day, when I packed my wig away. Gabriel had booked a table at one of our favourite restaurants. I ran the brush through the small amount of hair I had, then applied my make-up. I walked into the restaurant with confidence and I didn’t get one glance; to be honest, I don’t think anyone even noticed me. I thought all eyes would be on me and I’d withdraw into myself, becoming that little girl standing on the stage, but the hang-ups I’d carried around with me for so long had all been in my head. I was just a face, just a girl sitting at a table having a meal with her boyfriend.
“Natasha.”
I swivel round on the bed, hearing Gabriel’s voice hollering up from the hallway.
“Are you coming down?”
“Hang on while I throw some clothes on,” I holler back as I search through my wardrobe, pulling out a knee-length floral dress; not too over the top, and the small lemon flowers give it a summery feel.
I take one final glance in the mirror and smile.
I haven’t even made it downstairs and I can already pick up the strong smell of tobacco. Painting on a welcoming smile, I waltz into the kitchen.
Gabriel grins, then mouths me a kiss. He’s got the wooden chopping board out and is slicing some cucumber and tomato to accompany our meal. I can only imagine what the bloody chicken will taste like when it comes out the oven, probably as tough as a pair of his old boots.
My eyes divert upon hearing Jase clear his throat.
“Alright?” he pipes up, filling a Rizla with tobacco.
Vivian turns slightly but doesn’t speak, just raises an eyebrow and takes a long draw on her half-smoked cigarette. I smile towards her, though there’s no smile back, and for a moment I feel like a complete dick. It’s almost impossible for me to do, but somehow I stop myself from rolling my eyes and so the inclination doesn’t pop up again. I glance down at the work surface and gasp. I’m clenching my fists so tightly that my nails are digging into my palms. The beautiful fan-shaped shell I brought back with me all the way from Mexico is being used as an ashtray and she’s standing there as large as life, using it to flick her ash into. It’s not like Gabriel would have given it to her, so she must have had a smoke in the conservatory and brought it in. I guess it’s too late to say anything now, but things will be very different when the twins come along.
Jase and Gabriel are waffling on about sport, mainly football. I glance towards Vivian, feeling I should say something, but as our eyes meet her expression is like a wall of awkwardness between us, so I turn away and fill the kettle to make a drink. To avoid looking at her I rummage round in the dishwasher for the best mugs I can find and lay them out by the sink.
“Sugar, anyone?”
“Not for me, thank you,” Vivian replies.
Jase isn’t forthcoming, so I turn around and ask again.
“Sugar?”
He lifts his eyes but just stares across the kitchen. I shrug my shoulders, prompting a reply. He blows out a large ring of smoke and with his left hand, which has been wedged in his trouser pocket, flashes two fingers.
“Oh, no sugar for me ta.”
I screw up my face and frown.
“I saw that, Jason,” Vivian butts in. “I have got eyes you know.”
I pick up a trail of sarcasm in her voice.
“Don’t you listen to what your father tells you? I thought by now you’d know the effect sugar has on your teeth. It’s not like you have one or two hot drinks a day.” She stubs out her cigarette in the base of my shell. “You’re both a chain tea drinker and a chain smoker.”
I try not to laugh when I count at least six nubs they have stubbed out between them. Unbelievable, considering they’ve only been here for half an hour. The woman should take a leaf out of her own book. Doesn’t she know the effects of cigarettes, the stains they leave behind? Though I guess with her husband being a dentist it’s no great shakes for her. He gets the tooth whitener out and she smiles.
I’m standing here pressing the life out of the same teabag as Vivian’s lecture continues. So now I’ve worked out why Jase was staring; he must have been able see her out of the corner of his eye and had been waiting for an opportunity to tell me without her noticing.
“Looks like no sugar it is, then,” he says, walking towards his mother, stubbing his cigarette out, which now makes a grand total of seven.
“Unless you want to stand up drinking your tea, it’d probably be a good idea if we all made our way into the dining room or conservatory.”
“Leave my tea on the side,” Jase says, scooting past me. “I’ve just got to nip upstairs for a slash.”
I can’t help but smile towards Gabriel, who passes me a cheeky grin.
“I think I’ll pop into the conservatory with mine and keep that little dog of yours company,” Vivian says, taking the handle of her mug.
The way she hovers in the doorway I can only assume she’s waiting for me to join her.
I smile out of politeness. “I’ll be with you in a sec,” I say, grabbing the oven glove and standing with my hand poised next to the oven door.
When we’re finally alone I actually feel able to breathe again. As Gabriel seasons the salad with salt and pepper, I slip my hand out of the oven glove and slake it across his ass.
“Cheeky.” He winks, pulling it out of my hands. “Didn’t you get enough of me earlier?”
“Shhh, they’ll hear us,” I say, placing my fingers over his lips.
He smiles, taking my fingers between his teeth and pretending to bite them.
I take a step back.
“Hey, your mum got me thinking. I had no idea Jase was your half-brother. It’s kinda strange considering you’re so alike.”
He rubs his hand over his chin. “He’s not my half-brother.”
“But I thought your father passed away.”
“Our father, yes, he did pass away.”
“So, why’s your mum referring to her husband as Jase’s dad? I thought Jase hated the bloke.”
“He does … we do.” Gabriel smirks. “Jase and I, we both call him many names, the main one being wanker.”
He leans in front of me, opens the sugar canister and spoons two heaped spoons into Jase’s mug.
“Let’s just say we placate Mum. Don’t get me wrong, she’s got a heart of gold, she’s just one of those people who likes to be heard, likes things her way. My spin on it is to keep our old dear happy, and, like Jase’s tea,” he adds, stirring clockwise with a teaspoon, “what she can’t see won’t hurt her. Believe me, neither of us needs the agro.”
I leave my teabag to brew for a couple more minutes, then give it a final press before chasing it round my mug with a spoon, catching it and binning it.
“Best join your mum, I guess.”
Gabriel grins. “Yeah, best you had.”
I manage to force a smile, though it doesn’t linger for long. I wander through the hall, hear the toilet flush upstairs and sigh, knowing Jase will soon join me; if conversation does dry up, at least I won’t feel quite so awkward. As I walk into the conservatory, Vivian is sitting at the far end on one of the wicker chairs. My eyes drop to Larry, who looks so sweet lying curled around her feet. She obviously hears me enter, as she swivels round and glances up, the light from the large windows playing across her face and hair. Her skin has a yellow tinge, probably due to the number of cigarettes she puffs her way through daily. The dark circles under her eyes add years to her true age, and her permed silver hair knitted together has no kind of movement; I’m sure my wig looked more natural.
I tilt my head slightly, taking her in at a different angle. Life has been cruel to her; she might have been a looker once, but in the looks department I feel the two brothers must resemble their father.
“Squeeze in!” Jase calls out, pushing past me, his arms laden with plastic carrier bags in the most garish colours.
“Just a few odds and ends I picked up last weekend,” Vivian tells me as she leans towards Jase, taking each bag one at a time by the handles. “I’ve got to make sure those granddaughters of mine are kitted out when they arrive.”
Guilt makes me lower my eyes; I can’t look at the woman. It would be so much easier if Gabriel would just sit her down and tell her the truth instead of leaving me with this unenviable secret, which at some point is bound to come out.
She’s clicking her fingers in the air as she looks up at me, beckoning towards the wicker settee for me to sit down.
Baby clothes are now stacked so high on my lap, the only way I can see Vivian is to tilt my head and peer round the side of the immense tower of outfits. I can’t begin to imagine how much money she’s spent, but knowing the prices in the shops around London I’d have to guess a small fortune. But am I really that surprised? Gabriel’s told me many times she loves a dose of retail therapy, and although she doesn’t like parting with her cash, she’s quite happy to throw it all onto one of her, or should I say her husband’s, credit cards. It seems what he earns in one hand she burns in the other.
As I fold the pile of the clothes and place them back into the bags to put away later, Vivian’s reeling off girls’ names and then in the next breath the names of high-performing schools in some of the more upmarket areas of London. I’m twiddling my thumbs, wondering how to tell her that we’re staying put and have no intention of moving to London or anywhere else for that matter.
Gabriel’s voice calling us from the dining room ends the conversation.
The table is set perfectly, and he has clearly gone all out to impress; he’s even dug out the best cutlery and plates. The chicken isn’t nearly as tough as I imagined it would be, and the chips and salad accompany it perfectly. My hope was for a nice family meal, more for Gabriel’s sake than for anything else, as it’s not often he gets chance to see his mum, but it’s awkward from the onset. Jason seems more interested in browsing on his phone than eating, and makes no attempt to strike up a conversation. Gabriel can’t seem to settle, and rather than eating with us, he’s up and down from his chair and in and out of the kitchen. I let out a long sigh; I’m already losing my appetite. I glance to the far side of the table, where Vivian’s throwing food down to Larry. I made it more than clear earlier when I told her that due to his weight, the vet had put him on a special diet. I’m biting hard on the inside of my cheeks to stop myself screaming, but what’s the point? She’s so full of her own importance she only seems to hear what she wants to.
Gabriel finally closes the kitchen door and sits down to join us. I feel his hand brush my knee under the table, and when I look up he winks. I roll my eyes.
“So, what have I missed?” He smiles, crunching his way through a lettuce leaf.
“Adrianna,” Vivian pipes up, her brows drawing together, “she can’t have many weeks left. I was just wondering, how is she? I thought you might have invited her round to join us this evening. Oh, by the way, how are things with Logan?”.”
I feel Gabriel’s eyes burning into mine, though can’t bring myself to look at him. I take a large gulp of wine and leave him with the unenviable task of changing the subject.
Vivian rests her knife and fork on her plate and leans forward, planting her elbows on the table.
“I can’t quite get my head round the surrogacy thing,” she says pointedly, staring at Gabriel. “I mean, what if the girl were to change her mind? Hormones are such funny things; believe me, I know. After having you boys my emotions were everywhere. Of course, I’m not saying she will,” she adds, almost as an afterthought. “But every eventuality needs to be considered in a complex situation such as this. Just on the off chance, you know, if a problem were to occur.”
Gabriel rocks back on his chair. “Mum, what are you trying to say?”
“Well, it’s just that Frank knows many professionals. Bob, or should I say Mr. Cooper, he’s a solicitor; they knock around at our local golf club most Sundays, so I could always get Frank to ask his advice.” She looks to me. “Because you do know if she were to have second thoughts, having given birth to them she’s looked on as their mother, their legal guardian.”
I shake my head. “Adrianna would never go back on her word, she’d never let us down.”
“Under normal circumstances I’d be inclined to agree, but with all this to-do with Logan, you just never know.”
Gabriel frowns, and his eyes shift from Vivian to me. I blink back my tears, but I’m sure he’s seen.
“Mum, that’s quite enough!”
I jump as Gabriel snaps; he can be a sarcastic arse at times, but he’s usually quietly spoken, the sort of person who sits back and observes rather than getting involved in heated or lengthy debates.
“But they are my granddaughters, my family and, well…” She shuffles back in her chair. “Well, you couldn’t say their situation is exactly the norm. Not the best environment for a couple of young girls growing up.”
Gabriel stabs his fork into his chicken breast and drops his knife, which chinks against the side of his plate. Even Jason looks up from his phone.
“Neither of us is homophobic. You’ve surprised me, Mum, because I never thought you were either. Adrianna has been good enough to carry our babies and Danielle has been good enough to allow it, and when you think she’s expecting herself…”
“But Danielle isn’t carrying a grandchild of mine!”
“No, Danielle isn’t carrying your grandchild, but neither is Adrianna.”
“What do you mean? I don’t understand.”
“Mum, I can’t put it much plainer. I always told you I wouldn’t father children of my own. Yes, the girls are mine and will grow up with me as their dad, but as for their biological father, he’s an unknown, a sperm from a sperm bank. So, if you don’t like the situation, you know what you can do.” He says nothing more and just stares towards the door.
Picking up his fork he begins to tuck back into his dinner, whilst Vivian drops her knife and fork and seems at a total loss for words. Her jaw drops, leaving her mouth hanging open. She pushes her chair away from the table and gets to her feet. I watch her snap the clasp of her handbag together, concealing the list of schools that half an hour ago she was so excited to show us.
“Jason,” she snaps, “stop looking at your phone, we’re leaving; we’re leaving now.”
It seems Gabriel isn’t going to hang around for their big exit. He bends down, picks up Larry and slips out of the room.
Nobody knows where to look, and I keep my eyes in my lap, only glancing up when I hear a screech from the door handle.
“And just for the record,” Vivian shouts, clearly upset, “I’m not homophobic, never have been. Some of our closest friends are gay. What I was referring to was the situation with Logan, and your sister and Danielle’s financial worries.”
I throw my serviette into the middle of table, leaving the plates and glasses since I have neither the energy nor the inclination. It hurts thinking about Logan, but I can’t avoid Danielle and Adrianna forever.
I flounce out of the dining room, slamming the door on our disastrous evening. The glare of Vivian’s headlights catches my eyes through the glass in the front door. In my rush to get upstairs to Gabriel, I brush against the window sill and knock the pile of letters to the hall floor. I go to pick them up, but decide they can wait until tomorrow like the rest of the mess I’m leaving down here.