shook his head. ‘Are you ticklish?’
‘What? No… What are you doing?’ she demanded, confused by the sudden change in subject.
He didn’t bother to answer but got down on one knee, soaped up his hands and picked up her foot.
She drew in a sharp breath as he smoothed his hand over her heel. ‘Does that hurt?’
‘It stings a bit.’
She lied.
With his fingers sliding over the arch of her foot, around her ankle, she was feeling no pain.
‘Ally has started moaning about the wallpaper in her room,’ she said, doing a swift subject change on her own account in a vain attempt to distract herself from the shimmer of pleasure rippling through her, an almost forgotten touch-me heaviness in her breasts, melting heat between her legs.
‘Ally?’
‘Alice Louise,’ she said. ‘After her grandmother.’
‘Oh, right,’ he said, and she knew he’d seen the photographs, put his own interpretation on her daughter’s name.
‘Apparently she’s grown out of the fairy stage. It’s hard to believe that she’ll soon be eight.’
‘Is eight too big for fairies?’
‘Sadly.’
‘So, what comes next?’ She was mesmerised by the sight, the feel of his long fingers as they carefully teased the grit from between her toes. They were covered with small scars, the kind you got from knocks, scrapes, contact with hot metal. A mechanic’s hands… ‘Ballet?’ he asked, looking up, catching her staring. ‘Horses?’
‘Not ballet,’ she said quickly. ‘She loves horses, but I can’t afford to indulge her. To be honest, I don’t care what she chooses, just as long as there is a stage between now and boys. They grow up so quickly these days.’
‘They always did, Claire.’
‘Did they? I must have missed that stage. Too much homework, I suppose.’ And not enough freedom to hang around the village, giggling with the other girls, dressed to attract the boys. Not that they’d have welcomed her. The girls, anyway. She’d received sideways looks from the boys, but no one had been brave enough to make a move… ‘The local girls my age seemed so much more grown up.’ So much more knowing.
‘You appear to have caught up.’
She shook her head. ‘You never get that back.’ She’d still been hopelessly naïve at eighteen, believing sex and love were the same thing. Not wanting to think about that, she said, ‘I’m taking Ally to the DIY store at the weekend to look around, see what catches her eye.’
‘Shouldn’t you wait and see what the new owner has in mind before you part with more hard cash on a house you don’t own?’
‘A few rolls of wallpaper won’t break the bank.’ And decorating would keep her mind off it. ‘When he sees what a great tenant I am,’ she added, ‘he’ll probably beg me to stay.’
He didn’t comment, but instead turned another chair to face her, covered it with a towel and rested her dripping foot on it.
‘Shouldn’t you be at work?’ she asked, as he tipped the dirty water down the sink and rinsed the bowl before refilling it with clean water to which he added antiseptic. Anything to stop thinking about the way his hands had felt on her foot, her ankle. How good it felt to be cared for.
The big hole that was missing not just from Ally’s life, but her own.
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