Afterwards, Mannix removed the blindfold and untied me and my limbs fell heavily onto the petal-strewn bed. Stunned and floating in weightless bliss, I lay on my back and, for endless time, stared up at the ceiling, at the wooden beams …
‘Mannix?’ I eventually mumbled.
‘Mmmm?’
‘I read in a magazine about a swinging bed …’
He laughed softly. ‘A swinging bed?’
‘Mmmmm. It’s not for sleeping in, just for … you know?’
He rolled on top of me, so we were face to face. ‘For … you know?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re full of surprises.’
Languidly, I ran my hand along the taut muscles on the side of his body. ‘What do you do?’
‘“Do”?’
‘To exercise.’
‘Swim.’
‘Let me guess. First thing in the morning. Fast lane in the pool. No one gets in your way. Forty laps.’
He smiled, a little uncertainly. ‘Fifty. But people get in my way. I mean, I don’t mind if they do … And sometimes I go sailing.’
‘You have a boat?’
‘Rosa’s husband, Jean-Marc, he has a sloop. He lets me take her out. I love the water.’
I didn’t; I was afraid of it. ‘I can’t even swim.’
‘Why not?’
‘I don’t know. I never learned.’
‘I’ll teach you.’
‘I don’t want to learn.’
That made him laugh. ‘So what do you “do”?’
‘Zumba.’
‘Really?’
‘… Well, I did it a couple of times. It’s hard. Complicated steps. I don’t really “do” anything. So tell me things. Tell me about your nephews.’
‘I’ve four. Rosa’s boys are Philippe, who’ll be ten next month, and Claude, who’s eight. And Hero has Bruce and Doug, also ten and eight. They’re great fun. You know what boys are like – rough, uncomplicated …’
‘Not always.’ I was thinking of Jeffrey. ‘Oh God!’ It had suddenly struck me that I’d better call Betsy and Jeffrey. ‘What time is it?’
‘When? Now?’ Mannix stretched so he could see the old-fashioned ticking clock on the wooden bedside cabinet. ‘Ten past nine.’
‘Okay.’ I began to wriggle out from under him.
‘Are you leaving?’
‘Got to call my kids.’ I scooped my handbag up from the floor and into the bed.
‘I’ll give you some privacy.’
‘… You don’t have to.’
He froze, half in and half out.
‘If you promise to stay quiet.’
‘Of course.’ He seemed almost offended.
‘It would upset them if they knew I was calling from … with you.’
‘Stella … I know.’
I rummaged and found my phone. Jeffrey, as usual, didn’t pick up. But Betsy answered.
‘Everything okay, hun?’ I asked.
‘I kinda miss you, Mom.’
Score! ‘I’m always here for you, sweetie,’ I said, lightly. ‘So what did you have for dinner?’
‘Pizza.’
‘Great!’
Some shouting kicked off in the background. It sounded like it was Ryan.
‘Everything all right?’ I asked.
‘Dad says you’re to stop checking up on him. That he’s been a parent as long as you have.’
‘Sorry, it’s just –’
‘Laters.’ She hung up.
‘Okay?’ Mannix was watching me.
I handed him my phone and he dropped it into my bag, and I said, ‘Make me feel better.’
He looked into my eyes and took my hand. ‘My sweet Stella.’ He kissed my cracked knuckles with exquisite tenderness. Still holding eye contact, he moved his mouth up my arm and into the hollow of my elbow and I exhaled and let it happen.
I woke to the sound of the sea; the sun was starting to come up. Mannix was still sleeping so I slid out of bed and into the pyjamas I’d brought, as if I’d been going to a Betsy-style sleepover.
I made tea, then wrapped myself in a blanket, got my copy of One Blink at a Time and went outside to the porch.
The day was cold but dry and I looked out to sea, past the marram grass and white sand, watching the sky fill with light. It was like living someone else’s life, perhaps a woman from a Nicholas Sparks film. Just to see what it felt like, I wrapped both my hands around the mug, something I would never normally do. It was pleasant enough, at least initially, but you couldn’t do it for too long, you’d burn your fingers.
Furtively, I opened One Blink at a Time. They were my words, but I barely knew this version of me. It was strange, and probably not healthy, to see myself via someone else’s eyes.
I flicked through the pages and memories of my time in hospital flooded back with each phrase I read.
‘Stella?’ It was Mannix, naked except for a towel around his waist.
‘God! You gave me a fright.’
‘You gave me a fright. I thought you’d gone. Come back to bed.’
‘I’m awake now.’
‘That’s what I mean. Come back to bed.’
At work, Karen greeted me by saying, ‘You need to get this shit out of here.’ She meant the box of books. ‘I’m tripping over it. There isn’t room.’
‘Okay, I’ll offload them today.’
She looked at me properly. ‘Jesus Christ! No need to ask what you were doing last night.’
‘Wha-at?’ How did she know?
Her gaze moved to my wrist. ‘Is that blood? Are you bleeding?’
I followed her eyes. ‘It’s a … rose petal.’ They’d got everywhere. Even though I’d had a shower and washed my hair, I’d be peeling them off me for days.
‘Oh my God.’ She was almost whispering. ‘I can smell it. Roses. He did the rose-petal thing. You know there’s a company that sells them? A big bag of petals, plucked from the stems? Don’t go flattering yourself thinking he spent hours making them himself. All he had to do was tip the bag over the bed. It would have taken five seconds.’
‘Okay.’ I hadn’t known but I wasn’t getting into an argument.
‘So?’ she said. ‘Was it … sexy?’
I didn’t know what to say. I was bursting to talk about it, but afraid of her judgement.
‘Don’t!’ She held up her hand. ‘Don’t tell me. Okay, tell me one thing. Was there bondage?’
I considered it. ‘Yes. A little.’
Karen’s face was a picture of conflicting emotions.
I wondered if I should show her the red mark on my bottom, but decided I couldn’t be that mean.
I had no clients between ten thirty and noon, so I left the salon and distributed One Blink at a Time to nearby friends and family. I was trying to show everyone that Mannix Taylor was a good man who did good things.
Reactions to the book varied. Uncle Peter was bemused, but positive. ‘We’ll find a lovely spot for it in the cabinet. Don’t worry, there’s a key; it’ll be safe in there.’
Zoe was impressed. ‘Wow.’ Her chin went wobbly and she had tears in her eyes. ‘That’s one big sorry, in a different league from lilies and truffles. Maybe he’s a good guy, Stella; maybe there are a few of them out there.’
Mum was anxious. ‘Could you be sued? People who write books are always being sued.’
Dad nearly burst with pride. ‘My own daughter. The author of a book.’
‘Dad, are you crying?’
‘I am not.’
But he was.
However, later in the day he rang and complained, ‘It doesn’t have much of a story.’
‘Sorry, Dad.’
‘Are you going to show it to Ryan and the nippers?’
‘I don’t know.’ I’d been agonizing. Showing them the book might make things miles worse. But keeping it from them might also go down badly.
On Wednesday evening, Betsy rang me. ‘Mom? I saw the book? That Dr Taylor did for you? Grandad showed us.’
br />
‘Yes?’ I was gripping the phone hard.
‘It’s like, really beautiful. He likes you, right?’
‘Well …’ I might as well be honest. ‘He seems to.’
‘Mom, could you buy us some food?’
‘Like what?’
‘Like granola and juice and bananas. Just stuff. You know. And loo roll. And I think we need a cleaner.’
‘I can come and clean.’
‘I don’t think Dad would be comfortable with that.’
‘Oookay.’ The thing was, I wanted Ryan to fail as a sole parent. But I still wanted the kids getting proper food and wearing clean clothes and keeping up in school. So I needed to be supportive.
But not too supportive …
On Thursday morning, before work, I bought everything I thought the kids and Ryan might need. Praying that they had already left for the day, I rang the bell, and when there was no answer I let myself in. Their house was filthy. The kitchen, in particular – every surface was grimy and covered with crumbs and abandoned food. There were strange sticky spots on the floor and the bins were overflowing.
As I filled the fridge and set to disinfecting the worktops, I reflected that this was utter madness: they had left me, yet here I was doing their shopping and cleaning their house. But I knew that the time was fast approaching when it would all go belly-up for Ryan, and the kids would be mine again.
… And I had to admit that I almost didn’t want them back. Not yet. I wanted this time alone.
Except I wasn’t alone. I was with Mannix.
Every day since Monday, as soon as I’d finished work, I drove out to the beach house, where he was waiting for me, the candles already lit, the wine already poured and the fridge full of lovely food that we mostly didn’t eat. The minute I stepped through the door he was on me. We had so much sex that I was sore. We did it everywhere. He undressed me on a rug in front of the fire, then ran ice cubes around my nipples. He carried me outdoors, where, despite the astonishing cold, we tore into each other on the sand. One night, I woke in the darkness with such a longing that I stroked him until he was hard enough to be straddled – only when he was inside me, did he wake up.
Every morning, before we left for our jobs, we did it at least once.
Even so, by midday on Thursday, I was so horny that I didn’t think I’d last until the evening, so in a gap between clients I drove home and rang him.
‘Where are you?’ I asked.
‘At my clinic.’
‘Are you alone?’
‘… Why?’
‘I’m not wearing any knickers.’
‘Oh Christ,’ he groaned. ‘No, Stella.’
‘Yes, Stella. I’m lying on my bed.’
‘Don’t tell me. You’ve never had phone sex before?’
‘First time for everything. I’m touching myself, Mannix.’
‘Stella, I’m a fucking doctor! I have to see people. Don’t do this to me.’
‘Go on,’ I whispered. ‘Are you hard yet?’
‘… Yes.’
‘Pretend I’m there. Pretend I’ve got you in my mouth. Pretend my tongue is …’
I kept up a steady stream of low talk as I listened to his breathing become faster and more ragged.
‘Are you … touching yourself?’ I asked.
‘Yes.’ He hissed in an undertone.
‘Are you … moving yourself?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do it faster. Think of me, think of my mouth, think of my boobs.’
He moaned at that bit.
‘Are you going to come?’
‘… Yes.’
‘When?’
‘Soon.’
‘Go faster,’ I commanded.
I kept talking, until he made a noise halfway between a grunt and a whimper. ‘Oh Jesus,’ he whispered. ‘Oh God. Oh God.’
I waited until his breathing slowed down. ‘Did you …?’
‘Yes.’
‘Really?’ I squealed.
Phone sex! Me? Who knew!
I was getting by on maybe four hours’ sleep a night but I was never tired. At some stage Dr Quinn rang to say that my bloods had come back and everything was normal, but I already knew that: my chronic knackeredness had totally disappeared.
These few days were like a holiday from myself, and when Mannix and I weren’t having sex, we lay in bed and talked – long, meandering rambles as we tried to catch up on two entire lives.
‘… So for five summers in a row I worked in a canning factory in Munich.’
‘Why didn’t your dad pay your university fees?’
‘He didn’t have it. He paid the first term of the first year, then asked for the money back.’
‘God! Why?’
‘Because he needed it.’
‘One day in hospital, you told me you became a doctor to please your dad. Is that true?’
‘It was more to protect Roland. I thought Dad would leave him alone if I did it.’
‘But you like it?’
‘Yeaaah … I probably haven’t the best bedside manner – but you knew that. People expect miracles just because I’ve been to university, but I can’t give them miracles and that makes me depressed. Working with stroke victims, like I do, or people with Parkinson’s – at best, I help them manage their condition. I don’t cure anyone.’
‘Right …’
‘But you were different, Stella. There was a chance that one day you’d be fully cured, that you’d be my miracle. And you were.’
I didn’t know what to say. It was nice to be someone’s miracle.
‘Why be a neurologist?’ I asked. ‘You could have been another kind of doctor?’
He laughed. ‘Because I’m squeamish. Really. I’d never have made a surgeon. And the other options? There was ophthalmology. Eyes. Eyeballs. The idea of working with them every day … Or brains … God … Or colons. I mean, would you?’
‘So what would you have preferred to do with your life? Instead of being a doctor?’
‘I don’t know. I never had a “thing”. I know it’s not a job-job but I’d have liked to be a dad.’
There. He’d said it – the issue we’d spent days deliberately skirting.
‘And now, Mannix?’ I asked, delicately. ‘Do you still want babies?’ We had to face this head-on.
He sighed and shifted himself, so he could look me in the eyes. ‘That ship has sailed. After Georgie and I, all the disappointments … It went on for so long, so much hope, then so much loss. But I’m at peace with it.’ He sounded surprised. ‘I’m never at peace with anything. But, yeah, I’m at peace with it. I love my nephews. I see them a lot, we have fun, and it’s enough. What about you?’
I was so mad about Mannix that the idea of a baby version of him gave me shivers; even the thought of being pregnant with his child gave me a powerful thrill.
But I knew the reality – babies were horribly hard work. Lots of women were having babies at my age and even later, but my maternal urges had been satisfied by the two children I already had.
‘I don’t think babies are going to be part of our story,’ I said.
‘And that’s okay,’ he said.
I fell silent. I was thinking about my children, about how I’d broken up their home, and how they’d never forgive me.
‘They’ll come back,’ Mannix said.
‘The timing couldn’t be worse. Only a few days after finding out Betsy is sleeping with her boyfriend … I should be there for her.’
‘You can’t if she won’t let you. And it’s all going to be okay soon.’
He was probably right. Relations between Ryan and the kids had deteriorated to the point where Jeffrey was now refusing to speak to Ryan.
‘You know,’ I said, ‘I actually, genuinely, can’t believe Betsy is sleeping with her boyfriend.’
‘But you were sleeping with your boyfriend at seventeen?’
‘Of course! Were you at it at seventeen? Don’t tell me. I don’t even have to as
k. You love it, don’t you?’ I said. ‘Sex.’
He pushed himself up and gave me a look. ‘Yeah. I’m not going to lie. I … want you.’
‘And you want other people?’ I needed some idea of how much of a player he was.
‘What? You want a list?’
‘The last person you had sex with? Before me? Was it your wife?’
‘… No.’
That shut me up. I didn’t know if I could handle knowing any more. Had there been lots?
‘No,’ he said, reading my mind. ‘Anyway, you love it too.’
It all came crashing down at eleven o’clock on Friday night with a phone call from Betsy.
‘Come and get us. We’re moving back in,’ she said.
‘Right now?’
‘Totally right now.’
‘… Er … of course!’ I shifted my naked body away from Mannix’s.
‘Dad has no sense of parental responsibility,’ Betsy said. ‘We’ve been late for school every day. And now he says he can’t drive us to the places we need to go tomorrow. It’s unacceptable.’
‘Is … ah … Jeffrey coming home too?’ He still wasn’t answering my calls.
‘Yeah. But he’s seriously peed-off with you and I’m not even joking.’
‘I’ll be with you in forty-five minutes.’
‘Forty-five? Where are you?’
I hung up and rolled out of bed.
‘Where are you going?’ Mannix looked anxious, almost angry.
‘Home.’
‘So what happens now?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘When will I see you?’
‘I don’t know.’
As I drove up the dark, empty motorway towards Dublin, I was forced to confront thoughts that I’d kept boxed off all week. There was a right way to do things: a freshly separated mother of two proceeded with great caution with any new relationship. The man’s existence was kept secret until the woman was certain that he was a decent, reliable type who was willing to make the effort with her children, and that this thing had the potential to last the distance …
I’d done it all wrong. But everything had been fast-tracked by Jeffrey’s classmates spotting me with Mannix on the pier. And that unexpected, magical time in the holiday cottage had done for me.