wafted onto the street, and it was Italian. Alison chose giant ravioli in a creamy mushroom sauce and Nick didn’t skimp on the garlic bread either.
It was different from any other date she’d been on because there was neither awkwardness nor ease, or rather there was, just not in the usual rhythm.
There was ease to the conversation, it was the table between them that made things awkward—just watching each other’s mouths as they ate, that made them tense.
‘Is everything okay?’ The waiter checked when, plates quickly cleared, Nick asked for the bill.
‘I’ll get dinner next time,’ Alison said when he paid, and it was as assured as that, for both of them, that there would be a next time.
‘Your wine.’ The waiter handed them their half-bottle and Nick smiled at the little differences around the world, because till a few minutes ago they could have been anywhere. Walking out of the restaurant with wine in hand, they saw the show of the ocean endlessly unfolding, the night warm, the sky thick with stars. Yes, it was late, but too early to end their evening, and a walk on the beach was cleansing after the noise in the restaurant. ‘Do you want to come back for coffee?’ Nick said, and then he winced a bit. ‘I do mean coffee.’
Alison would have loved to because she wanted more of him and a coffee would be nice too, except she couldn’t.
‘I really have to get back soon.’ She hadn’t dared check her phone. ‘I’ve got loads on tomorrow.’
So instead they sat and Nick had a mouthful from the bottle and so too did Alison and, yes, she was home, but it felt like paradise.
She stared out at the stars and there were millions of them. The more she looked the more she could see, and she wished she could read them, wished she could point to a constellation, and she told him that. ‘I’m going to do an astronomy course one day.’
‘Never interested me,’ Nick admitted, ‘till I came to Australia. I’ve never seen stars like it.’
And they lay back on the sand and just stared, and she could have lain there for ever, but she really did have to get back and she told him, well, not quite the truth but a little bit more than she had previously—that her mum would be starting to worry.
‘Why don’t you ring her if she’ll be worrying?’ came Nick’s practical suggestion, because for most twenty-four-year-olds a phone call would suffice.
‘And tell her what?’ Alison dodged the issue. ‘That I’m lying on a beach and I’m worried that he’s going to kiss me, because I really don’t think I’ll be able to stop?’
‘I’m worried this time too,’ Nick said, and her heart twisted as they spoke their own shorthand, that he remembered her words as she remembered his.
‘I have visions,’ Alison admitted, turning from the stars to his lovely, lovely face, and for some reason she felt free to be just a little more honest. ‘Of me at forty, or fifty, and I’m a lot larger than I am now, I’ve got a big shiny red face and I’m a virgin, and it’s Tuesday and Mum’s serving me dinner at the table—beef stroganoff…’
And he didn’t leap from the beach and run. He just smiled and rolled over on his side and his hand moved and toyed without thinking with the bottom of her skirt, because her admission brought only one question.
‘And are you a virgin?’
‘No,’ Alison said, ‘but in this vision I’ve lied for so long, I think I’ve turned into one.’
That unthinking hand was at the side of her knee. She could taste his breath and they were still talking and not going anywhere.
‘Why would you lie?’
‘It’s just easier to with my mum.’ And it was impossible to explain, so she didn’t try to—impossible to tell this gorgeous, free man about the tentacles that were tightening ever more firmly around her, impossible to admit what he could never understand.
‘Do you get them?’ She broke the silence.
‘What?’
‘Visions of a possible future.’
‘No.’ His mouth found her cheek and then slid to her ear and she was terribly glad she’d cleaned them.
‘Never?’ Alison checked, trying to talk, trying to breathe, trying very hard not to kiss him. ‘Don’t you see scenarios, like if you don’t do this, then that might happen?’
He nibbled at her neck while he thought about it. ‘At work.’ Nick stopped in mid-nibble with his answer. ‘Sometimes when I’m looking at an injury I know if we don’t do that or prescribe that, then this might happen.’
He got it.
‘And in your life?’ Alison asked, rolling into him, feeling his jean-clad sandy legs in between her bare ones, feeling his long, tanned fingers circling her nipples through her T-shirt, and she wanted to rest her breast in his palm, just kissing and lying and talking, and her body was the most alive it had ever been.
‘No.’ But Nick did think about it as he played with her breasts and what she loved the most was that he did think about it. ‘Actually, I did have one.’ His hands moved from her breasts and made lovely strokes through the cotton on her skirt down her stomach as he spoke. ‘When I was having my supposed premature midlife crisis.’ He could see her teeth as she smiled. ‘I was on call and the baby was screaming, the nanny had the night off and we were rowing because Gillian was working the next day…’ He blinked at his own admission. ‘I get it.’
‘What was the nanny’s name, then?’ Alison asked.
‘My visions aren’t that detailed,’ Nick said. ‘Helga?’ he offered, but she shook her head. ‘Svetlana?’
‘Better,’ Alison said.
And he got it and that came with reward—her lips, unworried, met his and he kissed her mouth and pressed her into the sand. She felt the damp salt of the ocean on his shirt and she tasted it on his mouth.
She felt the press of his leg and the roam of his hands, the sand in her hair and the slide of his tongue, and the dangerous beckoning of his loaned flat, and the pull of her home, all tightening in her stomach as his mouth pursued.
It was a kiss that struck at midnight, and she turned, but only in his arms, a kiss that had her hips rise into his groin, and it could never be enough.
A kiss that had her breast slip out of her bra and though encased in fabric still fall into his palm.
A kiss where you didn’t have to go further to enjoy it, but for Alison it was already too late to stay, though it was Nick who pulled away, because if he kissed her for a moment longer, he would forget they were on a beach!
‘I ought to go,’ Alison said.
‘Yes, you ought to,’ Nick said, and she let him help her up, and then he did the nicest of things—he dusted her down.
It was the nicest thing.
The stroke of his hand on her body, the attention to detail,
