his cheek. And that’s what Siobhan saw when she walked in. And that was the moment Caroline clocked the two glasses of wine in front of Xander. She grabbed her pint and look a long drink. ‘Bloody hell – you’re on a date!’
‘Xander?’ Siobhan was here.
Neither Siobhan nor Caroline had ever known Xander to redden nor heard him tongue-tied. Caroline thought it most amusing. Siobhan didn’t.
‘I’m Caroline,’ and she offered her hand, slightly wet with beer, to Siobhan.
‘Siobhan,’ Siobhan said, declining to take it.
‘Siobhan – Caroline, Caroline – Siobhan,’ Xander said, wearily. Caroline was beaming sunnily at Siobhan, as much as Siobhan was staring unimpressed at Xander. Caroline was just about to ask Siobhan a checklist of questions when one of the other mums called her to take her seat at the table and suddenly Xander didn’t know whether he’d rather she stayed rather than went. Or whether he’d rather he and Siobhan went rather than stayed. He drank his wine and couldn’t think what to say to either of them.
‘Right, well, I’ll be leaving you two lovebirds to enjoy your evening then,’ Caroline said and slipped off the bar stool, offering it theatrically to Siobhan who took the seat without acknowledgement. As Caroline backed away, she pointed from her eyes to Xander and then back again. She winked lasciviously and made a telephone gesture with her hand and, with a big grin, joined her party.
‘Old friend,’ said Xander, though Siobhan hadn’t asked. ‘Best friend, really.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘Married, two kids, lives in the village.’
He’d never mentioned Caroline to Siobhan. He didn’t think he’d mentioned anyone in his life to Siobhan, not by name. And, just then, he thought perhaps that was disrespectful – not to Siobhan as much as to Caroline. And then he thought, I’m not here to think.
Siobhan had lasagne with garlic bread and Xander had cottage pie. He’d quite fancied a pudding but the innuendo of spotted dick put him off and he wasn’t keen on anything else. The two of them always arrived and left separately, which made the whole thing slightly detached and clinical but part of their dynamic. No banter in the car, no hand on leg, no sudden eye contact, or sensing the other person’s physical presence. Just a quick look, every now and then, in the rear-view mirror to check that they were still together. And, six months on, together they still were in this ever so liberal, coolly casual way.
They parked and then walked together to Xander’s house in separate silence, Siobhan behind while Xander unlocked the door. She could sense detachment in him – a physical detachment which was not what this whole game was about. The emotional detachment, yes – but hitherto that had enhanced the physical side. Tonight, though, something was different. Usually, they’d be all over each other before the door had closed behind them. Though they always made it into the bedroom, it was having romped and humped their way there from the sitting room, up against all the walls en route and usually a bit of doggy-style halfway up the stairs. But tonight, Xander walked ahead, going straight through to his kitchen, keeping his back to Siobhan, filling a pint glass with water and drinking it down in agitated gulps. He hadn’t let the tap run and the water was unpleasantly tepid. Siobhan stood self-consciously on the boundary of the sitting room and the open-plan kitchen, as if unsure of what came next in this change to the script. Was there to be dialogue? A scene change? There were no stage directions and she felt a little stuck. He was still standing there, his back to her. Did she want a glass of water, she asked herself? No, she didn’t think so. At that moment, it struck her how unnatural all of this was and, just then, she didn’t like the way it made her feel.
Still drinking, Xander turned and faced her and they looked at each other silently. He offered her the glass and she stepped forward to take it. She took a dainty sip and then, locking eyes with Xander, she trickled the rest down her neck where it reached her silk top and spread quickly like ink on blotting paper, turning the silvery tone into gunmetal grey and causing the fabric to cling to her body, her nipples to harden and stand proud. Xander knocked the glass out of her hands and onto the floor where it landed on the rug with a muffled thud. He nudged it away, where it rolled off onto the wooden floor and knocked against the skirting board. And then all was silent again and Siobhan had moved up close to Xander, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt as she reached for his mouth with hers. His hands moved across her body, feeling her flesh through the silk, wet or dry. She was rubbing at his groin where his erection was tantalizingly restricted. Falling onto her knees, she unbuckled his belt, hoicked down the zip and pulled sharply on his jeans and his boxers in one fell swoop. He could feel her breath hot above his cock and could sense how agonizingly close her mouth was, trying to stand steady while the sensation of her caressing his balls with one hand and tracing the crack between his buttocks with the other threatened his balance. And then he was between her lips, deeper into the sucking wet cavity of her mouth; it felt as if she was swallowing him whole.
She pulled away and looked up at him beseechingly. ‘Do you want to come in my mouth? Or my cunt?’
He pulled her to her feet and pressed his tongue into her mouth where it met hers. He grabbed at her skirt and delved his hands up her thighs, foraging through her knickers and into the slippery promise behind. And then he thought, she absolutely reeks of garlic. And then he thought, I don’t have any condoms. And then he thought, oh God, I’m losing my hard-on.
‘In your mouth,’ he whispered as they folded down onto the rug, clawed away the remaining clothing and settled head to toe, tonguing and sucking at each other until they were sated.
Don’t stay the night. Not this time.
‘I’m exhausted,’ Siobhan said. And she headed off to Xander’s bedroom before he could suggest otherwise.
He looked around the sitting room. Strewn clothes. A severely rucked rug. A discarded glass on the floor with a crack now visible. A woman’s shoes – one here, one there. His shirt, in a scrunch and flung onto the kitchen like a wiping-round rag. What had seemed such a good idea had left him with an odd taste in his mouth – akin to feeling nauseous but unable to pinpoint the offending food. Pulling his boxers back up from his ankles, he went to sit in his leather tub chair, taking the phone from his jeans pocket. Two texts. Both from Caroline.
So … you dark horse. Dish the dirt – who is she?
She’d sent another, about ten minutes ago.
Want to come to dinner Fri? With your lady friend?
How to reply? His closest friends – who’d always supported him, who wanted only the best for him and who’d been there for him when his relationship with Laura came to grief. Xander knew, quite categorically, that he didn’t want them to be part of this – this thing – with Siobhan. And that in itself made this thing with Siobhan not quite right.
Chapter Ten
Stella arrived back at Longbridge Hall at two minutes before eleven o’clock and sat in her car listening to the radio for the pips on the hour. She imagined that, for people like the Fortescues, it was considered as impudent to turn up early as it was decreed discourteous to turn up late. She rang the bell and gave a lively knock at precisely eleven o’clock.
‘You’re back?’ Mrs Biggins said, as if Stella might not be of sound mind.
‘I’m expected,’ said Stella, taking off her coat and giving it to Mrs Biggins.
‘One moment,’ Mrs Biggins said and Stella thought she could detect a glint of approval.
