Something in his honesty, and the catch in his voice, touched Kate deeply. Suddenly she realised that, no, this wasn’t just about Stephen. She didn’t just see Stephen in him, alike as they were. She was attracted to him, Paul, and the rush of adrenaline and sudden lust would have knocked her off her feet, had she been standing.
She hugged him tighter to her and, at that moment, Jack snored and rolled over so he was facing the wall. Thanks, Jack, she thought, as she gently lifted Paul’s face up towards her and kissed his lips. They tasted salty with tears, and felt so soft.
He responded immediately, wrapping his arms around her waist. To her immense relief, it wasn’t like kissing Stephen. And it certainly wasn’t like kissing Vernon (kissing Vernon, as she recalled, had been more like being caught in the spin cycle of a washing machine). This was an entirely new and entirely lovely experience. She immediately wanted to rip off all her clothes, and jump on him. It was lucky Jack was in the next bed, otherwise she probably would have done, she thought, sighing with pleasure as Paul touched her breasts with the same light finger with which he’d stroked her arm.
They didn’t talk about Sarah, or the CRU, or Stephen, for the next hour and a half. The wine got finished, and Kate got stubble rash on her chin, but somehow, miraculously – particularly since they were already lying on a bed – their clothes for the most part remained in place.
‘This is so wonderful,’ Paul whispered at one point, their tears forgotten.
Kate nodded. ‘Wonderful – but very weird.’
A thought struck her. ‘I don’t know much about you, apart from who your twin was. You aren’t married, are you?’
He smiled and shook his head. ‘Nope.’
‘Divorced?’
‘No.’
‘Girlfriend?’
‘Broke up with her six months ago. Been on my own ever since. You have nothing to worry about.’
‘I’m married, though,’ she said sombrely, picturing Vernon’s face, twisted with rage at the realisation that she and Jack had gone. For some reason, she saw him standing in the doorway of Jack’s abandoned bedroom, looking with fury at the neat Red Sox duvet cover, perhaps hurling it across the room. Perhaps sobbing, with rage and frustration. Oh god. She had a horrible feeling that the fallout from their flight hadn’t even begun.
Paul merely smiled again. There was something so calming about being with him. ‘Yeah, but you won’t be for much longer, will you? I mean, isn’t that what all this is about; you being over here?’
Kate nodded.
‘Well then. What’s a bit of pre-emptive infidelity between friends?’ He kissed her again, and she somehow managed to forget about Vernon. For now, at least.
When Kate opened her eyes the next morning, her first fleeting emotion was faint disappointment that Paul wasn’t in bed with her. But then, as the click and beep of Billy the robot being switched on announced the awakening of her son, she realised that that would have been impossible. Or, at least, extremely inadvisable. To her shame, she found herself wondering how on earth she was ever going to get any time alone with Paul. She dismissed the selfish thought immediately. Jack absolutely had to come first.
Although, now that she thought about it, perhaps it was time for Jack to go and spend a few days with his British cousins? Selfish reasons aside, it really couldn’t be much fun for him, getting dragged around with her and Paul in their quest for answers. Her sister lived in the Cotswolds. Surely she’d be happy to have him to stay for a while? Miranda didn’t even know that they were over here.
Kate decided that she would ring her today . . . and not just so that she could sleep with Paul, either. She probably needed to reassure Miranda that they were OK. They had never been close sisters, and Kate had held off calling her so far, knowing that this would be the first place Vernon would try to track her down. She didn’t want Miranda to have to get involved. Better that she knew nothing. At least Vernon wouldn’t be aware of Miranda’s new address – their family had moved house a few months before.
‘Hello Billy, hello Mummy, I love you both,’ Jack said sleepily, stumbling out of his bed and into hers – the one he’d started out in last night. They cuddled, Kate pressing the top of Jack’s head against her lips, kissing his soft hair, and Jack wrapping one of his little legs around hers. He smelled delicious.
‘We love you too, Jacket,’ she said, using his old nickname.
‘Mum-mee, don’t call me that, it’s silly.’
‘Alright, Potatohead.’
‘That’s even more silly!’
‘Sorry, Mr Smellypants.’
Jack punched her in the ribs, surprisingly hard.
‘Ow! That hurt!’
‘Then stop calling me silly things,’ he said, on the verge of sudden tears.
Kate had forgotten how sensitive he was sometimes. She supposed it was unsurprising, under the current circumstances.
‘Sorry, Jack,’ she said, hugging him closer. ‘Hey, listen, how would you like to go and see Amelia and George?’
‘Who?’
‘Your cousins, you remember them? They came to Boston once. They’ve got blond hair and big green eyes. George is a year younger than you, and Amelia’s a year older.’
‘And their parents is Auntie Miranda and Uncle Pete?’
‘That’s right. You haven’t seen them for a while.’
Miranda, Pete and the kids had flown out to visit them in Boston about eighteen months earlier. Vernon had made the visit as uncomfortable as he could. He may as well have placed a ‘Piss Off’ mat on the front porch.
Jack shrugged. ‘OK. I don’t mind. I might let George play with Billy, but only for a few minutes.’
‘Good boy. Now go and have a wee, and we’ll find Paul and go for breakfast.’
‘Today’s task,’ Paul said, as the two of them attacked greasy scrambled eggs and rubbery toast in the hotel dining room, ‘is to track down Sarah. Can you remember where she lived?’
Kate, who was watching Jack playing with the curtain pulls – he appeared to be trying to lynch Billy – racked her brains again. She glanced up at Paul, who was chasing a clump of egg around his plate. He caught her looking, and gave her a little, but very meaningful smile, and her stomach did a small flip. She thought of the silky smoothness of his skin from the previous night, and how she couldn’t wait to spend some more time kissing him.
She forced herself to concentrate and pointed towards Paul’s laptop. ‘You know, I’m sure she lived locally. I have this feeling that she told me she could see her house from the Unit. Can’t we trace her on the net? Evergreen shouldn’t be too difficult; it’s not a terribly common name, is it?’
