"The second time was no accident. That doesn't necessarily mean it wasn't a mistake."
- Jude
I kept my night with Jude a secret. I knew our friends and family wouldn't understand. They would have been hurt, thinking that I'd moved on too soon, or been worried, citing casual sex as a symptom of my "going off the rails". I was surprised to find that I felt no guilt when I woke up in Jude's bed the following morning. We'd exchanged numbers so that I could "Give him a call whenever I needed a distraction", but I wasn't so blasé about what had happened between us to intend to make a habit of it. You might think badly of me – what I did was wholly inappropriate – but I didn't sit about our flat feeling like a cheat. I didn't regret having an evening of respite from loneliness and depression. I could even think back on the whole experience with a certain satisfaction, because sleeping with Jude had felt good, and did make me feel a little less bereft. I was only concerned about what other people would think; about being judged by everyone, by you. Would you all think that I was a bad widow? That I couldn't possibly have loved you, after falling into bed with another man so soon? And your family; God forbid if they ever found out what I'd got up to that Friday night.
"WHATEVER GETS YOU THROUGH THE DAY, MERRY. SCREW WHAT EVERYONE ELSE THINKS. ONLY YOU KNOW WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE MY WIDOW. WHO ARE THEY TO JUDGE?"
But what about you? Do you judge me?
"NO. EVERYONE NEEDS A NIGHT OFF ONCE IN A WHILE."
Exactly! I tell you, nodding in triumphant agreement. I knew you'd understand.
Still, as I had no intention of my liaison with Jude ever becoming common knowledge, I shrugged away my concerns about widows and casual sex, and tried to plough on with my life. Work kept me busy by day, and Tabby and Luke kept me busy by night, popping round for shoddy microwave meals or over-boiled pasta. Sometimes they dragged me out to bars in order to "get me out of the house". It was just a shame that Luke always monitored how much I drank, managing to tell me – without fail – that he thought I'd had enough after two glasses of wine.
'I'm a big girl, Luke,' I told him, suppressing an irritated scowl; I knew he was just trying to look out for me. 'I can hold my drink, and besides, I know my own limits.'
'But you've barely eaten,' he reasoned.
"PERHAPS HE HAS A POINT, BABE? YOU'RE LOOKING A BIT... GAUNT."
I ignore you. I'm well aware of what I look like, but right now, I don't care. I focus on the condensation on my glass of chilled white wine.
'Why bring me to a bar if you don't think I should be drinking?' I challenged, trying not to question the wisdom of my drinking on nothing but fruit salad and a rice cake.
'It's not that you shouldn't be drinking,' Tabby explained gently, in an attempt to placate me. 'Just that you shouldn't be drinking too much.'
'I'm not a drunk,' I told her. I wasn't. I didn't drink at home. I hadn't been out since my night with Jude, and that was almost a fortnight ago. 'This is my third glass. I've not had a drop since Rhian's exhibition opened.'
'I still don't know why you went alone,' Luke grumbled. 'I'd have come with you if you'd asked.'
'I know you would have,' I nodded. 'But I wanted to go alone.' There would've been no chance of my going home with Jude, had Luke and Tabby been in attendance. There would have been no reprieve from grief.
'It's not really the quantity of alcohol which concerns us,' Tabby said. 'It's the speed with which you're drinking it.'
'Teamed with an empty stomach,' Luke chipped in. I looked from one to the other, my eyes narrowing in frustration.
'Have you two been talking about me? Plotting an intervention?' I asked, my hackles raised.
'Not at all,' Luke rushed, holding up his palms in a gesture of innocence.
'But you did just down a glass of wine,' Tabby warned. 'And you are stick thin. You probably can't hold your drink as well as you used to.' Luke scowled at her, before turning to me with a soft look.
'You're not "stick thin",' he sympathised. 'You've just not got much appetite, and that's totally fine,' he told me. 'You still look beautiful. But...' He pressed his lips into a grim line. 'Perhaps drink a little more slowly.'
"THEY'RE RIGHT, YOU KNOW. YOU CAN'T DRINK THAT MUCH IF ALL YOU'RE GOING TO EAT IS A HANDFUL OF CHERRY TOMATOES AND SOME WHEAT CRACKERS."
'Fine,' I sighed, pushing the cheap, paint-stripper wine away from me. I'd only gulped at the stuff because it tasted so ghastly that I didn't want it to touch the sides on the way down.
"LIAR!"
I scowl at you.
"YOU DO WANT TO GET DRUNK, ADMIT IT."
But only because Tabby and Luke are so infuriating! Not because I can't cope without you.
Tabby and Luke were exasperating. They meant well, but I very much doubted that their constant attention was benefiting any of us. 'I might head home,' I said. 'Work tomorrow... y'know?'
'I'll see you back,' Luke nodded, slipping from the bar stool.
'Let's all go; the three of us,' Tabby agreed. I wanted to roll my eyes, but I wasn't that ungrateful. They were only trying to look out for me, after all.
'There's no need,' I said. 'I'm going to get the bus.'
'I think it's best I come with you,' Luke frowned. Does he think I'm that drunk? I wondered. But Tabby seemed to agree that I needed an escort, because she handed me my coat, before slipping on her own.
'Come on,' she said. 'We can have hot chocolate and marshmallows.' I sighed. Hot chocolate and marshmallows had been a hideous, nightly ritual she'd inflicted upon me during those few weeks she'd stayed at ours. When Tabby had her heart broken, she was very much a chocolate and hot cocoa, PJ's and fleece blanket, kind of a woman. Me? I was a lay in the dark, silent tears trickling down my face, whilst surviving on merely Placebo's "Without you I'm Nothing" and caffeine.
My soul was inky black. Tabby's was pastel pink. I was cold marble. She was toasty chenille. My morbidity dragged her down, no matter how valiant her efforts to stay positive. Her constant upbeat enthusiasm, and her childish belief that a hot drink and bit of soft fabric could soothe my ills – that I ought to want comfort food and PJ days whilst indulging in Hugh Grant films – was frustrating. Chalk and cheese; she couldn't give me what I needed, and nor could I, her. The nurturer in Tabby needed to fix me, and the dead lump of muscle in my chest could never be revived.
But she'd lost you, too, and I wasn't self-obsessed enough not to realise that I had been a lousy friend of late. That I owed her a modicum of satisfaction. So I smiled and linked arms with her as I slipped on my fingerless gloves.
'Perfect,' I said. 'I haven't had marshmallows for ages.' She "tsked" me, as though it was no wonder I was still a state; I hadn't been taking my medicine!
Tabby busied herself in our small, open-plan kitchen, making her "specialty" hot chocolate. As far as I could tell, it was just regular hot chocolate; the "just add water" kind, which has a milk powder mixed in with the cocoa. She cranked it up a notch by adding hot milk in lieu of the water, and then sprinkled on tiny pink and white marshmallows for pizazz. Luke and I simply let her do her thing, whilst he picked up the TV remote and channel hopped.
'I love this film,' he said, stopping on some kind of X-Men film. 'Have you seen this one?'
'No. I'm not big on superhero films,' I told him. 'But feel free to watch it. Rhys used to watch all that Marvel stuff all the time.' He frowned; whether it was because I'd mentioned you, or whether it was because he was shocked that I didn't like comic book films, I wasn't sure.
'Let's watch something else,' he said, magnanimously. He clicked onto a re-run of a topical panel show and forced an interested smile. I breathed a sigh of relief. If he got engrossed in whatever it was that Wolverine was doing, he'd be sitting on our sofa all night long.
'Here you go,' Tabby said, carrying over three precariously-balanced mugs. She'd retrieved her fluffy polar bear slippers from the storage cupboard in the hallway. They'd inexplicably remained after she moved out, and now they were a staple feature for any of her visits to our place; visits which were almost daily.
'Thanks,' I smiled, trying to muster some enthusiasm for her sweet concoction. I scooped some melted, foaming marshmallow onto my teaspoon and slurped it. A hit of sugary sweetness. If I'd simply had a bad day at work, it might've hit the spot.
'You like?' she asked.
'Perfect,' I said. She was off again, into our bedroom to pull the blanket off the bed.
'Now it's perfect,' Tabby said, plonking herself in between Luke and me, and spreading the blanket over us. It wasn't perfect. It could only be perfect if you were there. But you weren't, and you never would be.
Our two best friends were happily watching TV, sipping their drinks as they snuggled up under the blanket, and I was sat, wishing they would go. It didn't feel like a spontaneous movie night with friends. It felt forced. It felt like we were all trying to pretend that what we were doing was normal, when it absolutely wasn't. Normal would be me, home alone with you. Normal would be Tabby and me; a girls' night in while you were off out with the guys. When did Luke become such a constant feature in my life? In yours, yes, but mine?
"IT'S ONLY BECAUSE HE CARES ABOUT YOU."
It felt as though he'd adopted me. As though I was a responsibility he was duty-bound to honour. And Tabby's slippers – her things in our flat; it was all so wrong. When you were alive, she wouldn't have dreamt of keeping her novelty slippers in our closet. She wouldn't have dared to walk into our bedroom to take a blanket from the bed.
"NO, BECAUSE WE MIGHT HAVE LEFT BODILY FLUIDS ON IT."
Shut up. I'm being serious here. I'm trying to explain how I feel.
"SORRY. GO ON... I'M LISTENING."
They had invaded my life. Tabby had taken over our home. Luke had claimed an authority over what I drank and what time I ought to go to bed. I felt like a child, and – for all that they cared about me – I resented their interference. That resentment brewed as our friends slurped on their hot drinks, and it stirred up a selfish, careless kind of rebellion. Without any qualms or thought of you, I found myself pulling my phone out of my pocket and peeking at it beneath the blanket.
"Are you busy?" I typed. I bit my bottom lip, my phone telling me that Jude was texting back.
"Not particularly. Why, what's up?" he replied.
"Any chance I could come over?" I asked him. He didn't reply for a few minutes, and I began to feel a fool, but then I saw a little blip on the screen, telling me that he was writing.
"Are you at your place?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Shall I come to yours – save you the trip? It's late..." But I didn't want Jude in our flat. In our bed.
"I'd rather come to you, if you don't mind?" Another pause. I could see Luke frowning at me, suspicious as to what I was doing. Tabby was engrossed in her hot chocolate, laughing at something a comedian was saying on TV.
"Only if you message me when you're about to get on the Tube. I'll come and meet you at Clapham North. I don't want you walking on your own."
If Luke had sent me that message, I'd have been annoyed. I've have stated my ability to travel across London by myself of an evening, but Jude was different. You don't sleep with someone you think is fragile, do you? Not if you're a decent human being, anyway, and I suspected that Jude was. I took his instructions as a form of pre-sex chivalry. Not yet another demand from an officious friend.
"Will do," I told him, before forcing a loud, dramatic yawn.
'I'm beat,' I announced to the room. 'I think it's the hot chocolate,' I said, smiling at Tabby in an attempt to allay her fears. I wanted her to think that she'd cured me. If only it was that simple. She winked at me, smiling.
'My hot chocolate soothes the soul,' she said. 'I know just what my girl needs.' Luke, on the other hand, was giving me a look. He was not convinced that the hot chocolate had sorted me out.
'Who were you talking to?' he asked. 'On your phone?'
'Just my mum,' I said. 'She was checking that I'd been eating properly.' I rolled my eyes for effect. It was bad, but I was becoming an accomplished liar. I'd have believed me, had our roles been reversed. It wasn't carelessness on their part that caused Luke and Tabby to dutifully rise from my sofa and head towards the door, retrieving their shoes and coats as they went. They simply didn't realise how devious my grief had made me.
'Same time tomorrow?' Tabby asked, staggering slightly and grabbing hold of Luke to steady herself, as she crammed her foot into a fleece-lined boot.
'Sure,' I agreed, with a forced smile.
'I could bring some pizza over?' Luke suggested, eliciting a frown from Tabby.
'It's meant to be Girls' Night,' she said. 'We don't want you here.' Luke looked offended, but what Tabby said was true.
'We're going to trawl more online dating sites for Tabs,' I said. 'No boys allowed.'
'Fine,' Luke grunted, zipping up his jacket with far too much force. 'I'll see you at the weekend, then. You working Saturday?'
'Sadly, I am,' I told him, because the hotel had yet another wedding.
'Sunday, then,' Luke mused. 'Perhaps we could get the guys together for a session on the river? I don't mind standing in for Jamie until you find a permanent replacement.'
'Sounds good,' I nodded, because I missed being out on the water.
'Great,' he smiled, his white blonde hair hanging messily in front of his eyes. 'I'll give Skip a call. See if he can round up Owen and Tom.'
'You sort out dinner,' Tabby told me, 'and I'll bring the chocolate. See you tomorrow,' she called, barrelling Luke out the door. I waited for their footsteps to die away and then hurried into the bedroom, bundling a change of underwear into my handbag. I threw on a pair of jeans and slipped my trainers onto my feet. It wasn't sexy – not for a late-night rendezvous with someone who wasn't my husband – but I had a ten minute walk to the Tube station.
***
'Hello,' Jude said, as I stepped out into the darkened street.
'Hi,' I blushed, feeling a bit odd about meeting a man for sex. Last time, it'd been a spontaneous thing. This time, my crime was premeditated.
'Tough day?' he asked, as I fell into step beside him.
'Why d'you ask that?' I challenged, defensively. I watched his eyebrows rise in a little gesture which led me to suspect he was quietly laughing at me.
'Well,' he said, at length, 'either that, or you just really, really wanted to see me?' And he let his words hang there, creeping and disloyal.
'I had a tough day,' I agreed quickly. 'Tough evening, actually,' I sighed.
'Want to talk about it?'
'Not really.'
'Fair enough.'
'What about you?'
'Me? I'm fine. I didn't dial 0800-pick-me-up,' he quipped.
'No, but you answered the hotline!' I scoffed, not liking the feeling of being judged, laughed at. But he did laugh at me then. A tiny, muted laugh, which manifested itself only in the upward kick of his lips; in the shining of his eyes.
'What can I say – I'm a modern-day knight in shining armour.'
'How're your kids?'
'They're fine,' he said, the warmth to his voice fading, somewhat.
'And your photography? Flogged any extortionately-priced snaps lately?'
'One or two. Conned any foolishly loved-up couples out of their hard-earned savings?'
'One or two,' I smiled. I knew for a fact that his photo exhibition at Rhian's gallery had gone down a storm. He was being very modest. 'Tell me,' I said, as we rounded a corner and turned off into a darker road. It had a slightly threatening feeling to it, and I subconsciously found myself inching closer to Jude as we walked. Without word, he reached out his left arm and wrapped it around me, tugging me closer to his body.
'Tell you what?' he prompted.
'Why do arty photos cost so much when there's not really any such thing as an "original"?'
'Well,' he frowned, his Adam's apple bobbing enticingly in his throat. 'It depends how many copies you're going to print. I mean, if you only ever made one copy, it would – to all intents and purposes – be an original.'
'I get that,' I agreed, 'but with a painting... I can see the man hours that've gone into it. I know that it's a one-off. That is can't be reproduced without reducing it to a picture of a picture. A photo's not the same, is it?'
'It's not,' he agreed. 'Would that make you pay less for it? If it was something you really liked?' I pressed my tongue to my cheek, mulling it over.
'If it was a photograph of something very spontaneous – not something you're likely to ever see again – or something that takes blatant skill and perfect timing to capture... then yes, I probably would pay full whack, but I've seen Rhian hang photographs of beach huts on her walls, and ask for more than four grand!'
'Art's very subjective,' Jude mused, quietly. 'You pay – or at least, I pay, based upon how a photo or painting, sculpture, print – whatever – makes me feel. I don't value a picture for the artist's name; for what it'd fetch at re-sale, or for how ambitious it is. Art should always be about emotion; certainly if you want to get the most out of it, anyway.'
'So you don't have a problem with – say... hanging pictures from the market hall section of Ikea, in your home?' He smirked.
'Not if I happen to like the picture.' I nodded wryly.
'But I bet you don't happen to like their pictures?' I asked, knowingly.
'Probably not.' He pressed his fingers into my side, pulling my body flush with his, as a shady-looking chav rolled past us on a tiny little BMX. Jude's concern for my wellbeing certainly wasn't officious. I wrapped my own arm around him in reply.
'You need a hat,' I told him, well aware of his body heat. 'Surely your head's cold?'
'I've got a beanie,' he said, 'but I think my son's stolen it from me. I've not been able to find it since he was using it to Velcro his trainers to his head.' I found myself blinking in silent incredulity. Are kids really like that? I wondered.
"OF COURSE THEY ARE. YOU KNOW WHAT THE KIDS IN MY CLASS WERE LIKE; THE TALES I'D TELL!"
'How old are your children?' I asked.
'I don't really want to talk about my kids, Meredith.' Jude's tone was short. Curt. I was surprised to find that I was actually a little bit offended, when really, I had no right to be. We might have had sex, but we weren't actually friends.
'Sorry,' I mumbled.
'That's okay,' he said, fishing in his trouser pocket for his door key as we slowed towards his flat. 'So,' he said, releasing me from his hold and gliding up the front steps to his top-floor apartment. 'Why did you want to see me this evening?' His amber eyes looked at me piercingly, stealing my voice, before he nonchalantly turned away to unlock the front door.
'I think it's quite obvious why I texted you,' I said, with false bravado. Jude held the door for me, waiting for me to step inside. Then I heard the key turn behind me. The chain sliding into place.
'I prefer not to make assumptions when it comes to sex,' Jude said, tossing his keys on top of a small shoe rack.
'Fair enough,' I agreed, taking off my coat. He reached for it, hanging it up on top of his. 'I texted you because I was hoping we could have sex again.' He nodded, kicking off his worn, brown leather boots.
'I take it you'd still rather I didn't kiss you?' he clarified. I bit my lip and nodded, feeling like a bit of a bitch. 'Are you sleeping with other people? Is it just me you're messaging late at night?'
'F*ck off!' I spat, recoiling from him as though he'd just slapped me around the face.
'Come off it, Meredith!' he said, impatiently. 'We're not friends. We barely know each other. I've got no idea what you get up to, and I've not spoken to you in two weeks. Anything could've happened.'
'Well, I'm not going round sleeping with a different person every night, if that's what you're thinking.' He frowned; two vertical lines appearing at the top of his nose as his brows tugged together. He was fast losing patience with me. It was a strange phenomenon. No one had shown outward frustration with me in months; not even when I knew I'd pissed them off.
'Look,' he said, bluntly. 'Cards on the table... You seem to want some casual arrangement which is limited to sex and small talk. That suits me just fine. I don't want the hassle of having to worry about hurting your feelings. Nor do I want to have to consult you whenever I go out, but if this is going to be more than a one off, I want to know that we're only sleeping with each other. If you meet someone, tell me, and we'll call it a day – no hard feelings – but whilst we're sleeping together I don't want you sleeping with anyone else.'
'I'm not the sort of person who'd call you up one night, another man the next!' I scoffed. Then my eyes narrowed as I looked at him intently. I really knew nothing about him. 'Are you that type of guy?' I demanded. Perhaps he makes a habit of sleeping with virtual strangers, I mused. Perhaps he's got a guilty conscience? ...Not that he'd really have anything to feel guilty about, I reminded myself.
'Clearly not,' he said, dryly. 'I'm not the one who started this. You did – both times.' I felt my cheeks heat. It was pretty shameful really. What would you think of me; falling into bed with a stranger for a second time? But before I could talk myself out of his flat, Jude grabbed hold of my wrist and tugged me into his chest, pinning me with both hands. 'Is that sorted, then? All agreed?'
'What, we're f*ck buddies? Exclusive ones?' I quipped, only half-joking. Jude didn't think me very humorous, though.
'You don't have to make it sound so sordid,' he said, gently pushing me away from him. It felt like rejection, and I was immediately remorseful.
'I didn't mean it like that,' I told him. 'I just meant... y'know...' I shrugged. 'Just that we could call each other or something, if we wanted to meet up... y'know?' I said, through lowered lashes as I peered up at him, mortified that I was negotiating casual sex with a man I would have swooned over, had I never met you.
'Sure,' he agreed. 'So... tonight, then?'
'Well, I'm here, aren't I?' I replied, confused. He shook his head at me.
'But what do you want? You have to tell me, or I won't know.'
'Umm...' Why the Hell are we going about it like this? Could it be any more awkward? But it could, because I had told him that I didn't want to be kissed by him – not on the lips, anyway. 'Last time was good. For me, at least.'
'For me, too,' he said, in a low, throaty voice, as he stalked closer, closing in on his prey. My heart thrummed in my chest. The blood rang in my ears. I felt a surge of excitement. But then his head – so clearly looming towards my face – dipped, and he pressed a kiss to my bare shoulder, where my wide-necked jumper hung loose about my bony frame. His lips trailed over my skin, my head falling backwards as my hands went straight to his head, trailing over his smooth scalp.
It was unnatural; the way the moment was so suddenly, instantly sexual. With you, we'd have kissed. The moment would have built. The point of ignition would have been evolutionary. With Jude, there was no such thing – only a verbal agreement. I didn't like it. It felt wrong not to be kissed – properly, on the mouth – and yet I could never let that happen. Not after you. Not so soon, and certainly never with a man like Jude; a man I didn't love.
'The bedroom,' I whispered, urging him to stop so that we could progress more quickly in the comfort of his bed. The sooner we got into the thick of it, the sooner I'd forget that this was wrong. Jude obeyed, leading me into the darkened room, before flicking on his bedside lamp and turning to face me. Grabbing my hips abruptly, he pulled my body flush with his, his eyes searching my face, before dropping to my breasts.
'Lose the top,' he demanded, pulling his own T-shirt over his head, to reveal his perfect, pale skin; lean muscles with a dusting of dark hair on his lower stomach. I obliged, throwing my top onto the floor, my eyes greedily drinking in the sight of the semi-naked man before me. I felt his eyes crawl over my body and I shivered under his inspection, as he licked his lips like a hungry carnivore about to satiate his appetite.
Dipping his chin, Jude stepped close to me once more, his long fingers instantly landing upon the button of my jeans. He flicked, and the button came undone; his fingers deftly lowering the zip to my fly. 'These too,' he murmured, pushing at the waistband of my jeans, so that denim bunched and concertinaed as it trailed sluggishly down my hips and thighs. He had the grace to see to his own jeans whilst I did the awkward foot and ankle bit on my own, and by the time I was finished, he was stood before me in nothing but black, loose-fitting Calvin Klein's. He looked so sexy and powerful. So alive.
I wanted to get lost in him. I was impatient for him to touch me. But he didn't, he just stared – his eyes caressing my imperfections; my plain T-shirt bra and boy short knickers. I ought to have changed into something sexier, I told myself, feeling underwhelming in the face of his obvious male beauty.
'Tell me what you want,' Jude said, his voice thick and throaty. 'The same as last time?' I nodded.
'Whatever you want,' I told him.
'Whatever I want?' he queried, in surprise. And I was surprised to find that although I'd spoken those words to do away with the need to say things myself, I did actually mean what I'd said. I wanted him to please himself. To make me feel good by making me feel sexy and desirable through the loss of his own, studious control. Jude seemed keen on the idea, too, because he bit his bottom lip, wetting it with his tongue, as his caramel eyes blazed at me in contemplation.
Slowly, one hand reached behind my back; a quick twist of the fingers and my prim bra sprung open, the shoulder straps instantly slipping down my arms. He tugged the offending garment away with impatience, letting it fall to the floor without concern. 'What I want,' Jude murmured, grabbing hold of my knickers – fingers dipping beneath the waistband and pushing, 'is to have you writhing beneath me, calling my name with need.' My knickers vanished, and I was stood completely naked, my breathing laboured as a result of his proximity, his scent, his voice. 'Say my name, Meredith.'
'Jude...' He grabbed my jaw – almost cruel – and held my face prisoner as he stared into my eyes.
'But you won't let me kiss you on the lips?' he asked in a sinister whisper. I shook my head as best I could; he didn't make it easy for me, holding me so tightly like that. I gulped down a knot of trepidation. You don't really know him... I warned myself. But his eyes, for all that they were probing and intense, didn't threaten. I felt his gaze fall upon my parted lips. He stared – considering me – and then pushed me away so that I fell backwards onto his bed. 'Lie down then,' he urged, his tone softening.
'The covers...' I fussed, not wanting to be on full display in front of the man.
'If you're cold...' he said, sliding off his boxer shorts. I wasn't, but I let him think I was, trying to ignore the pounding of my heart at I stared at his aroused body.
He knelt on the bed, throwing the duvet over himself, so that I remained hidden with no barrier between us, before dropping his head to my chest and latching a mouth to my nipple.
'I want to hear you,' he said. 'I don't want you to hold back.'
'Okay...' I sighed, squirming under his tongue.
'But don't insult my intelligence by shouting like a porn star, either,' he quipped, looking up at me with a flash of amusement in his eyes, before resuming his study of my breasts.
I obeyed. I writhed just as he wanted. I told him how good it felt, and I panted his name as I gasped my way through two orgasms, before pooling into a boneless puddle of satisfaction, as he tucked me into his warm body.
'Feel better?' he murmured. I nodded; my head causing the pillow to rustle. 'You should sort out some kind of birth control,' he said. 'If we're going to make a habit of this, I mean. Unless you're not keen on pills and things, that is. Do you mind taking the pill?'
'No, I'm fine with the pill,' I reassured him, because he suddenly sounded concerned; as though I'd feel forced to take something I didn't agree with. 'I used to be on the pill. I only stopped taking it because of Rhys.' Jude nodded without comment, his fingers trailing soothingly down my arm.
'Do you want to keep using condoms as well, or shall we get ourselves checked and then go without?' he asked, focusing on safe sex rather than you. I was glad that he was being so responsible, but it was a surreal conversation to have, especially when my mind and body were so relaxed; when Jude ought to be falling asleep like all men do as soon as they've finished having sex. Jude surprised me. He was different, and I couldn't work him out.
'Let's just keep using them. We're not in a proper relationship, so it's better to be extra safe,' I said, wanting to keep an extra barrier – both literal and metaphorical – between us. I felt him nod his agreement behind me.
'And this is still a secret?' Jude asked, brushing a smooth thumb over my stomach.
'It has to be,' I said, thinking of everyone's reaction if they found out what I was doing. 'Is that okay?' I asked, anxiously, because I relished the way he made me forget; the way he wanted something from me, like no one else did anymore.
'Sure,' Jude replied. 'I just wanted to check because I'm seeing Skip tomorrow, and he saw us leave together at the gallery the other week, so...' I frowned.
'You're friends with Skip?'
'Of course.'
'I thought you were friends with Rhian?' I challenged.
'I am,' he said, simply. 'But I was friends with Skip first.' I felt a simmer of trepidation disturb my post-coital bliss.
'How d'you know him?' I asked.
'We used to row together in an eight.' The simmer began to bubble.
'Oh?' I said, glad he was behind me and couldn't see my face. 'You row?'
'Mmm, but not anymore. Not really, anyway. I do a bit of single sculling every now and then, but I can't commit to a crew; not with the boys.'
'Where do you scull?' my voice hoarse with anxiety.
'I've just agreed to move my single to Bateman's,' Jude continued. 'Skip wants to rent it from me, and I don't get out half as much as I'd like, so I might as well.'
'I'm Skip's cox,' I said, swallowing thickly.
'I know,' Jude said, propping himself up on one elbow and peering down on me like I was mad for stating the obvious.
'You knew?' I demanded, rolling over to face him. 'You knew that I'm Skip's cox, and you're his friend, sharing a boat with him, and you didn't think to tell me?' I demanded. Jude merely blinked at me, a small frown marring his brow. 'Well?' I pressed.
'What's the problem?' Jude asked, his voice deep and serious.
'The problem,' I said, 'is that Rhys rowed at Bateman's. Everyone there knew him. Knew us. And now you're going to be hanging around, and I'm sleeping with you. That's what's wrong!'
'But no one needs to know about this,' Jude said, his hand gesturing to our naked bodies. 'I really don't see the problem.'
'Because you're a man!' I snapped, resolutely turning away from him, tugging more than my fair share of duvet with me in a pathetic form of retaliation. I heard Jude sigh in irritation, and then the duvet was rudely yanked away from me, his eyes darkening as he stared at me in frustration.
'Don't be ridiculous, Meredith. If you're too immature to handle my knowing some of your friends, then you're too immature to be in my bed.'
'Fine!' I hissed, leaping from the bed and lunging towards my discarded underwear. 'You really should have told me you were friends with Skip,' I admonished.
'I thought you knew.'
'I didn't. I thought you were only friends with Rhian. And as for the club...' My chest rose and fell with laboured breathing. I felt a sting at the back of my eyes. I was going to cry.
'What about the club?' Jude asked, expectantly. I looked at him, knickers on, bra in hand.
'It's where I first met Rhys. It's where he went the day he died,' I said, my voice cracking. Jude pursed his lips in thought, before wordlessly slinking from the bed and coming towards me, pulling me into his arms.
'And you don't want me there? Where everything reminds you of him?' he asked, in an understanding whisper.
'I don't know,' I shrugged, my cheeks wet. It was embarrassing to be so emotional in front of him, but he didn't seem to care.
'Talk to me,' he said, bluntly; not one ounce of sympathy or cajoling to his voice. If anything, it was an order. 'I never met Rhys. I'm not emotionally involved like your friends are. Talk to me. It might help.'
'It's like it's our place,' I told him. 'The boathouse. I can feel him there. I know it sounds stupid, but I honestly can. This – the sex – I can deal with this, because it's separate from the rest of my life. I'm not sure I can deal with it if you start showing up in places which belong to Rhys and me.' I sniffed, hastily brushing away errant tears, but Jude pulled my hand away to stop me mid-swipe.
'Your tears are beautiful,' he whispered; his tone reverent. 'As for seeing me at the boathouse...' He sighed. 'You'll just have to get used to it, Meredith. You say you can deal with us sleeping together, but if you can only manage that by compartmentalising your life into places and things you shared with Rhys, and places and things you can share with me, then you're not dealing with it. You're coping, and you're only managing that by being in denial. I'm not going to help you stay in denial.' He kissed my temple and knelt to retrieve my top, handing it to me. 'Now, do you want to stay the night and try and deal with this, or do you want me to call you a cab?'
Denial, I said to myself. I was in denial. Denial about everything. I kept telling myself that I didn't need Tabby and Luke, Mum and Dad constantly interfering, checking up on me. I did. I didn't want to need them, but I clearly did. I wanted to pretend that I was the model wife – the model widow – by keeping Jude a secret. I wanted to imagine that you were still with me, keeping special places as "yours" and "ours". I couldn't. You didn't own anything anymore. "We" no longer existed.
And Jude... for all that I wanted to use him for sex, I needed something more from him, as well. I needed someone to stand up to me and tell me when I was wrong; when I was being a fool, or a bitch. When I needed to get over myself and move on. I could go home and hold your favourite t-shirt to my face. I could cry again, and slowly stagnate in a cloud of grief while everyone around me moved on with their own life – no doubt, eventually leaving me behind – or I could be an adult. I could make the decision to grasp what little bit of happiness I could, and do it, unashamed.
"I KNOW WHICH OPTION I'D CHOOSE... THAT'S OPTION TWO, BY THE WAY, MERRY. THE ONE THAT INVOLVES GETTING OVER ME AND LIVING IN THE REAL WORLD; NOT THIS MADE-UP ONE WHERE YOU'RE HAVING A LITTLE SÉANCE WITH ME IN YOUR HEAD."
'I'm coming back to bed,' I said, taking my top from Jude's hand and throwing it back to the floor.
'Get those off then,' Jude urged, nodding to my knickers. I smirked, relieved that sex loomed and the turmoil of my own thoughts would stop. Balance was key, in everything. Grief, relief, contemplation, mindless oblivion; the recipe for my life needed it all. I just had to get the measurements right.