Page 16

First dates

I scrubbed desperately at my skin as if it would rub my stress away, going through the motions of showering as my mind became overwhelmed with noise again. Sam had looked so different. I couldn’t believe I’d been so na?ve, talk about showing your true colours. I’d realised by now how pathetic he was, but to try and take a photo? To sell? I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised, but that just made it hurt more.

Climbing out of the shower, I let my hair down and started on my make-up, putting extra blush on my cheeks to hide the lack of colour, more concealer around the remaining bruises, and pink eyeshadow to match the cord miniskirt I’d ordered – I’d paired it with a cream camisole and pleather jacket. I tugged at the sleeves once dressed, staring into the mirror, running my fingers through my hair as it fell softly to my mid back. My cleavage was plumped in my new pale pink bra. I could pass for someone going on a date, but not with Ben.

I heard a knock on the door. “Ready to come apologise excessively to me over dinner?”

“Good one,”

I said, opening the door, trying to look confident even though my legs were shaking, although it could have been from any number of things that had happened.

He stared at me, his brown eyes moving slowly and purposefully.

I fidgeted awkwardly against his gaze. “What?”

He smiled. “Nothing”

I scowled. “You’re grinning at me, it’s unnerving.”

Ben laughed, passing me the crutch. He looked amazing in his stone chinos and a smart, navy, long-sleeved shirt, the top two buttons undone.

“I’m not going to bombard you with compliments right now, I still remember last time, so just imagine me thinking them all instead. Or, you know…”

He stepped closer, so our chests were barely separated, trailing two fingers up my arm and tilting up my chin. “I could tell you right now, whisper them all into your ear. Then, when I’m done watching your whole face flush from my words, I could run my fingers through your hair and kiss you until you moan my name?”

I had no words, no verbal response. The only responses I had were entirely physical, including the immediate, inevitable heat flooding my cheeks, and a few other places. I didn’t feel like I was standing, or breathing. I was entirely his, totally captivated, completely under his spell.

I retreated fiercely, twisting and taking a deep breath, feigning looking for something by my bed. The dates I’d been on before had been achievable; I’d gone for easy wins, whether I’d needed some polite conversation or physical intimacy. Doubt spiked as I thought about how different I felt now as I thought about him kissing me.

At least the fear cooled me down.

“Your bag is on the worktop,”

he offered from behind.

I winced, looking away, improvising and grabbing the wrong shade of lipstick, waving it at him and heading straight past him to put it in my bag. “Thanks, good to go.”

Or maybe we should just stay in? It had been a while, no, it had been a long time. My body knew it; it was mad at me, like it felt that it had to remind me what it wanted, blatantly. I focused on not looking at him, not trusting myself as I took the crutch from him.

Sitting in the leather seat of the Audi, my eyes went straight to the harsh cast against my skirt. I longed to simply be a girl in a car with a sexy man. That wasn’t my life. I wondered if it ever would be, especially now. Had it all been too much to set my path straight? Probably, I thought, resenting the sudden surge of self-pity.

He said he was going to kiss me. I’d been so swept up in everything else I hadn’t thought about what going on a date meant. Of course, I’d thought about it, kissing him, imagined it, but never about what it would be like after. In a short amount of time, Ben had come to mean many things to me, things I felt like I needed, things I suddenly wasn’t sure would be the same.

He turned briefly to me as the steering wheel spun through his hands. “I’m glad you still chose to come, but if you’re too tired, or you want to come back, you just say, alright?”

I licked my lips to disguise my expression as my heart thumped. “Thanks, although it feels backwards leaving your apartment together. Very un-date like.”

“Want me to ask you twenty questions? Or you can sit at the table and I can come back in after a couple of minutes?”

I forced myself to relax. “Death row food? Super power? Favourite book?”

He tapped the steering wheel. “Lasagne, Bernard’s Watch, Fantastic Mr Fox, you?”

“Interesting. Now I feel even worse for burning that lasagne I made. The time thing I get, because you’re a workaholic, but Roald Dahl? I was expecting something non-fiction, if I’m honest.”

I tugged my skirt down, watching the streetlights flash past.

“My dad used to read it to us, and I respect the ingenuity of the fox. It’s a classic. Why, what’s yours?”

I licked my lips, thinking. “I really like Milkybar chocolate, flying seems like an obvious choice, and probably The Hunger Games. I, um, found the set at a charity shop and have read it too many times to admit.”

“Better?”

I smiled. “Yep.”

I looked around as he flicked the indicator on; I hadn’t cared to ask where we were headed.

“We can talk about earlier, if you’d like, about anything,”

he offered.

“Not on a first date, please.”

We pulled into a small car park in one of the neighbouring towns. “You sure?”

“Unquestionably. Honestly, I’d love to just feel like a normal human girl for a bit.”

He nodded. “Nothing serious again, hey?”

I smiled, at first, before his words sunk in and I realised he was referencing that night at Rose Cottage. The butterflies in my stomach flexed their wings. I thought back to that night, how complicated I thought things were then – it was laughable.

The restaurant was a slick Italian that Ben had been to before. We walked in the door and were led to a perfectly tucked away booth by a smartly dressed waiter. Ben asked if he could order for us, which I welcomed – no decisions, just amazing, authentic food. The pasta was light, creamy, and perfectly seasoned; it was almost refreshing.

“How many girls have you taken here, exactly?”

I asked, half joking, half probing.

He looked up, raising an eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”

He was such hard work sometimes, too often giving a question for a question.

“So I know how hard I have to try,”

I answered, twisting pasta on my fork.

“Try at what, exactly?”

“At flirting. To flatter you. First date stuff.”

He grinned. “Do your worst. I haven’t taken anyone else here: a couple of colleagues, Lucy once for her birthday, if that counts, but no dates.”

I hid my relief, trying to stay coy. “So, Jessica? What exactly is your type? She seemed a bit… highly strung?”

“I don’t have a type because I don’t like dating. I find it tedious.”

I nearly coughed out my pasta. “Okay, noted.”

I wondered if he knew how blunt he was, whether he did it on purpose.

He laughed. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

“How long were you guys together? Have you had many serious relationships?”

I questioned, not letting it drop, pushing him for once.

“Jessica and I knew each other from university. We were on and off for a while, then tried to make it work, but it never did. I thought it was what I wanted at the time, but then I decided it was more effort than it was worth.”

I exaggerated a grimace. “No wonder she was annoyed.”

“I saw a girl before Jessica that I’d met in France. The long distance worked for me – fun weekends, lots of personal space – but when she wanted more, I didn’t.”

“Have you not lived with a partner?”

“No, for one reason or another. Jessica had a place in London, so it made more sense to share our time between houses. Why didn’t you move in with Sam?”

I shrugged. “He kept putting it off. He lived with two of his friends in a house share and didn’t want to commit.”

“Have you had any other serious relationships?”

I wondered if he was just playing along with the ex-talk. “We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to.”

“I had my turn, apparently we’re doing this.”

“Okay, well, not really. I’ve had boys I liked, I’ve had flings, but whenever it got serious, past a few dates, the site just made it very difficult. Men weren’t usually welcome. Sam got away with it because he was so straight forward and we knew the vets where he worked. We were together properly for a year. I felt like he’d grown up, like maybe we could’ve taken the next step, like I could’ve gotten out, but I think they sensed that.”

“Did you ever date anyone from the site?”

Ben asked.

“No, they really didn’t like me. They were crass drunks, most of them. For me, when I did see men, it was mostly escapism. They tried to set me up with a guy from a different community once – introduced us at a wedding. He had this greased-back hair that stuck to his face and was instantly crude. I made my feelings clear when he got drunk and tried to dance with me. It didn’t go down well.”

“What did they say?”

I looked at him, pausing, considering how much he wanted to know. “When we got back, they told me they were ashamed of me and it got a little… physical.”

“Physical?”

He tightened his fingers on the edge of the cushioned seat.

“They were drunk, embarrassed; said I thought I was too good for them. Frank got cross and slapped me so hard I fell over, which they thought was completely hilarious. He told all the boys around that they could have me because I was a waste of his time.”

I saw the shock crease his face; guilt settled in my stomach.

His eyes intensified. “What did your mum say?”

“Ruby was worse than Frank, most of the time. Frank was just an idiot, but Ruby was purposefully mean. She ignored things like that. One of the men tried it on that night, but I managed to knee him in balls so hard he cried – it was a lucky shot. I told him to back off or I’d tell everyone.”

There was another, more awkward, pause.

“Bloody hell,”

Ben cursed. “And Sam let them treat you like that? Have you told the police officers all of this?”

“Some of it, when it comes up. Sam found it easier to turn a blind eye; he knew if he picked a fight, he’d lose. He just wasn’t the type, didn’t really ask. Once, I went to his with a burn – Marcus stubbed a cigarette out on me when I was working late with the horses – and Sam believed me when I said it was an accident. I could’ve been more honest with him, I just didn’t want to draw him into it… get him beaten up, or scare him off.”

I’d been speaking casually; it was my life, it sounded normal to me, but when I met Ben’s gaze, I saw his jaw tight with anger.

“They’re scum. Let me deal with them all.”

“What do you mean?”

I asked, alarmed.

“Get the whole place closed down.”

My eyes widened. “You can’t. It would cause too many repercussions. It wouldn’t change them.”

My body tensed at the thought, at the memories of the sleazy male police officers. How DS Dores had laughed when they would come to give details of complaints made, so the repulsive clan could serve their own justice. Details I hadn’t yet had the courage to admit, even to myself.

“You deserve it, you deserve the justice.”

Justice was an odd sentiment to me, a luxury reserved for others.

“Thank you.”

I meant it. I focused on grounding myself, touching the leather of the booth as Linda had suggested, noticing my own breathing. It did feel nice to hear him say that, even though it scared me. “Sadly, it wouldn’t help. It’s more complicated than you would think.”

Thankfully, the waiter interrupted with the dessert menu.

I changed the subject. “Tell me about your dad.”

“That’s definitely verging on a serious question.”

“A trauma for a trauma.”

His voice was unusually unsteady as he answered. “What do you want to know?”

“What was he like?”

I was desperate to know. I wondered if Ben was more like his mother, or his father? Though I couldn’t imagine him pulling someone from a burning building after what he’d told me.

Ben sighed. “He was a stereotypical ‘dad’. He taught me to ride a bike, to swim, shouted from the sidelines at my football games. He treated my mum like she was the only woman alive – called her his treasure. We would sit around and cook breakfast together on a Sunday morning. He would make ‘everything pancakes’, topped with everything we had in the cupboards: marshmallows, chocolate, honey. He made me feel like I could do anything. I always liked numbers, and even though he didn’t get it himself, he encouraged me.”

Listening to him, I could see hairline cracks appearing in his otherwise consistent fa?ade, like a buried truth that left its mark.

“And he loved his work?”

I pressed, admiring the square of chocolate desert that had appeared in front of me; the smell of fresh coffee and the texture of smooth cream.

Ben shifted in his seat, looking at the food. “He was addicted to it. It was so dangerous, I don’t think he could bring himself to do anything that wasn’t as exciting or risky. He would come home covered in soot, bruises, even blood, occasionally. I’d run up to him and hug him, but the smell would make me feel sick. I’d sip water and read to keep myself awake, waiting for him at night. I was so tired in the day I fell asleep at school, much to the entertainment of the other kids.

“The day he didn’t come home I watched every extra minute tick by until his colleagues came to the door. I cried for an hour in bed before my mum had even noticed I’d heard. I’d cried and begged him so many times to stop, he just never saw me. He thought he was bulletproof. He was so brave, far braver than I was… am.”

He swallowed, his jaw tightening as his eyes remained fixed on the table. I reached across and took his hand, looking at him, trying to swallow my own emotion.

“That’s why you didn’t want to sleep in the main cottage, that night? Because those rooms remind you of it all?”

He uncharacteristically fidgeted with his cutlery. “We would travel down to Rose Cottage with mum; he would meet us after work. It was even harder to sleep when he was further away.”

“He sounds like he tried his best to be an amazing dad,”

I offered, not sure they were the right words.

Ben squeezed my hand back gently, so I got up from my side of the booth and slid in beside him, needing to feel his body against mine.

He pulled over my half-eaten dessert so I could reach it still and dropped his arm around my shoulders. “A great dad wouldn’t have left us.”

My breath shortened with the insight. “You feel like he left you?”

“He did. He chose his work. I wish I’d been enough for him.”

His words hung in the air between us before I could fumble a reply.

“You were enough, Ben. His choices, his death, they’re not on you. If people went into those jobs accepting, truly understanding, the risks and the impact on others, they wouldn’t do it. They wouldn’t.”

“But he did,”

he murmured, a jerk of emotion in his voice.

We were both quiet for a while.

Sensing I’d pushed him enough, I tried to steer the conversation towards something easier. “Thank you for such an amazing dinner. It was so good, so nice to get out.”

His finger traced a circle on my shoulder. “You’re welcome. I was surprised you agreed to come with me.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“You undid my bra with one hand and took way too long pulling my tights on, you know you had me interested.”

He laughed, relaxing back into the booth. “I thought the one hand had gone unnoticed.”

“Oh, I noticed.”

“You were wearing a very nice bra. I hope you noticed how respectful I was.”

“Very respectful.”

After Ben paid the bill, we walked back to the car, two people completely engrossed in one another and nothing else for those few perfect hours. He helped me lower myself back into the seat more slowly than before, his hand lingering in mine.

“This is weird,”

I blurted out as we pulled back into the garage, the press thankfully having decided they had better places to be. “Not right. We’ve been on a date, a good date—”

“Good?”

he interrupted.

I raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, good,”

I repeated, trying to hide the nervous energy bubbling inside me. “But now what? We just walk back in together? Like, you invite me in and I say yes automatically? You shouldn’t go home with a man after a first date.” Well, not if actually you like the guy.

He turned the ignition off. “That depends on the date, surely?”

“Men like the chase. You never go back; you draw it out, build the tension. In fact, I should probably ignore you for at least twenty-four hours.”

He laughed, undoing his seatbelt whilst looking at me. “You’re kidding?”

“No, it works every time, men are primitive. Nothing worth having, and all that. My opportunities have always been scarce, so I’ve learnt to make the most of them.”

Ben climbed out of the car, walking round to open the door for me and reaching out his hand. I took it, nearly losing my footing as he pulled me out more quickly than I’d anticipated. Something in his eyes told me he did it on purpose, my hands falling to rest on his chest before I stepped back.

“I can help you, if you prefer?”

he offered, hesitating as he steadied me by holding my lower back.

I shrugged, stepping back. “Thanks, but… first date, you know?”

“I see.”

Allowing me to fall into the support of the crutch, he walked beside me towards the lift.

“So, you won’t be coming home with me?”

he teased.

I leant against the glass as he pressed the button. I noticed us in the mirror and it distracted me from the flow of our conversation. We looked like two people on a date – you couldn’t see my cast, and my bruises had mostly all cleared. It made me stand just a little bit taller.

I looked back to him as he settled opposite me. “I can go elsewhere. Maybe you’re right, I mean, if we are dating, it’s very inappropriate. Linda would have a field day.”

He shrugged. “She would. Tell you what, you can say goodbye to me at the door if it makes you feel better, and we can pretend to finish off the date. Then we can just go back to you in your bra… then out of your bra.”

The lift felt a size smaller, a degree warmer.

“It would be awkward if you ignored me for twenty-four hours. I’ve enjoyed having someone to talk to every day – don’t tell Lucy.”

I wished I could’ve sauntered out of the lift towards the door, but the creaking of the crutch put that notion firmly to bed as I rattled down the hall whilst Ben unlocked the door.

“Thank you, for a lovely night,”

I said, pausing in the entrance and freeing my arm from the crutch. As our eyes met, he entrapped me with a stare, looking deep into me through his dark eyes, his glasses glinting in the hall light. A few breaths passed seamlessly between us as we waited for the next move. After weeks of being drawn to one another like magnets, against a backdrop of pain and extremity, here we were.

A man and a woman in a doorway.

“So, do you feel like a human girl now, Elle? Was that enough of a first date?”

“Something like that.”

My eyes darted to his lips. “Although, even my name seems out of place now… Elle.”

Ben quirked his brow. “You want me to call you Maeve?”

I shook my head, gripping the door frame behind me. “No, I wouldn’t. That doesn’t feel right either.”

“Then what does?”

I swallowed. “Honestly? Just who I am when I’m with you.”

He blinked with soft surprise. “If we’re being honest, I want to kiss every version of you.”

I leant towards him, pausing a breath away, waiting, wanting, needing; beyond any shred of sensible control or inhibition.

Ben moved first, swiftly stepping forwards, knocking me off balance so he could catch me, the brief feeling of falling thundering in my chest. He cradled my weight easily, and it felt wildly perfect surrendering to him as he tipped me, both arms tightening around my back. I didn’t smile at him, my face was totally relaxed, just moving with my breath, feeling his hand run up my spine, fingertips across my neck, interlacing with my hair. He held me in his arms and his eyes. I savoured the fleeting moment between everything changing, looking back at him, taking in every drop. My body bowed to his control as he finally pressed his lips to mine. A long, deep, passionate kiss setting parts of me instantly alive.

It was electric.

It was perfect.

My eyes closed as our lips connected, everything else melting away aside from the intense, beautiful feeling of him. He carefully walked us inside, drawing away for a moment only so he could push the door shut. The wall felt cold as his body nudged mine into it. His fingers twisted softly through my hair, tilting my head to prolong the kiss. When he eventually drew away, I tightened my hands around his neck, desperate for more. He dipped down, his hands gripping my thighs, effortlessly lifting me as our kissing became frantic. I hadn’t even noticed we’d moved until I felt the sofa underneath me, him on top; bodies entwined, lips greedy, totally intoxicated with each other.

I pulled my lips away from his. “Ben, we should stop,”

I rasped as his knee dragged up my leg, nudging it sideways.

“You’re right,”

he breathed, as he stole his addictive kisses away from my lips, pressing them feverishly into the crook of my neck.

I groaned, my hands pressing into his firm chest in a weak attempt to dampen things as his belt buckle caught on the material of my top.

“Ben,”

I gasped, arching my chin up.

He breathed me in, drawing up as his hand stroked down from my forehead through my hair, his other arm tight around my waist.

He shuddered. “Saying my name like that won’t help.”

“We shouldn’t.”

“Shouldn’t what?”

My leg hooked over his as I started to move rhythmically against his body, my own limbs ignoring my rational words as they demanded more.

I pulled him closer, his heavy warmth invigorating every sense.

“You know what.” I pouted.

He seized my pout, his tongue slipping between my lips, twisting with mine. “Tell me.”

I gently took his lower lip in my teeth, taking back control. “We can’t.”

He stared into me, pressing up slightly. My lips still wanted to move with his, my body yearning to obey his touch.

“If we take off each other’s clothes, Ben, I want to do it properly. I want to be able to move and relax. Not lug around a useless leg.”

He danced a finger along the lace of my bra, brushing against the pink satin but not going further.

“I don’t care about your cast.”

“I do. Three weeks, Ben.”

Against my conscious control, my chin tilted in invitation, my rebellious body overpowering any self-preservation.

“Three weeks,”

he repeated, taking a deep breath.

I felt him hard against the inside of my leg. God.

“Urgh,”

he groaned, immediately pushing himself up. “I better get a glass of water or something, then.”

I lay there for a second, not wanting to move; to cherish the lingering essence of him. I sat up when I heard him speaking, pressing my fingers to my swollen lips.

“Ever since you fell into me walking back to the cottage, I’ve been thinking about kissing you.”

His words melted through me. “It was quite the swoon.”

“It was an accident, I can assure you. Although, I think I might understand why your exes are still banging on your door.”

He smiled, but not how I thought he would, not ready to return a line. Instead, he looked surprised. I heaved myself up, trying to style out my hobble, heading across the strip of hall to the bedroom before pausing to reply.

“When I fell on you by the river, even in all the drama of the wet mud, I was distracted by lying on top of you.”

He grinned, hungrily this time.

Retreating to the guest room, I put on my pink pyjama shorts and washed off my make-up, brushed my teeth, and headed to bed. The fabric felt particularly cool and silky against my skin as I placed my hair pins down on the dressing table.

Ben’s voice trickled through the door. “Would you like company?”

he asked, strolling across the room, now shirtless, placing a glass of water on the bedside table.

I leant back against the table to steady myself, and in a feeble attempt to maintain distance.

“I’d like your company, of course, but I can’t, I’m sorry,”

I spluttered, mustering my self-control.

It was tenuous.

Bending down, he pulled back the duvet, stepping away so I could climb in.

He looked at me, more tenderly than before; less like he wanted to devour me. “Stop apologising. I get it.”

“I have to build the tension anyway, with a man like you. I have to try and get that second date.”

He pulled the duvet over me, tucking it firmly down at the side before he leant in to kiss me again, drawing away before I could reciprocate. “Surely you realise that’s a given. Next Friday?”

Our faces were still so close as he stood over the bed that, if either of us moved, we would snap back together. He could just fall into bed and I could run my hands over his skin again. It would be easy, too easy. My body communicated my desire in every way it could think of.

“I’ll think about it and get back to you in twenty-four hours.”

“Funny,”

he replied, turning and walking away, closing the door behind him.