‘I love you too.’ Her voice was muffled by the warmth of his chest, her heart bruised as she listened to the steady thump of his. ‘But love isn’t just a feeling, Mo. It’s a verb. We have to be able todoit. And I don’t think we can. Not yet, anyway.’
He squeezed her tight and buried his face in her hair. Netta felt tears prick at her eyes, the floor falling away, leaving her floating. Alone. She gripped him tighter, wanting so desperately to be absorbed by him, to sink deep and fill the hole she knew was consuming him. But she knew she couldn’t. All that would happen was that she’d be consumed too.
‘I don’t think I can let you go,’ he whispered.
She wrapped her arms tighter around his body, her hands pressing into the reassuring solidity of his back, her head still heavy against his chest. ‘Don’t then,’ she said. ‘Stay tonight.’
He drew a deep breath. ‘And then?’
‘And then we put the cake back in the oven.’
She took his hand and led him to the bedroom. They stood at the end of her bed and she raised her face to his. As his lips finally met hers, she closed her eyes, urgency vibrating between them. Kissing him, feeling his hands in her hair, felt like endless sunshine and her heart’s last beat all in one. Its sweetest moment before it inevitably crashed to the floor and shattered.
She slid her hands under his shirt, navigating the warm terrain of his torso, the rise and fall of his chest, aching to feel her skin against his one last time. She slid her top over her head, and he groaned softly at the sight of her, his thumbs tracing the underwire of her bra as he wrapped his fingers around her ribs. She fumbled with the zip at his waistband and he moved his hands to his buttons, slowly opening his shirt. His shorts dropped to the floor and he stepped out of them as Netta pushed his shirt back over his shoulders and down until it too was gone and he was standing in his underwear, even more beautiful than she’d remembered. She traced her fingers down his back as he held her jaw tenderly and kissed her deeply, like a man taking his last breaths before being submerged by a giant wave he knew he couldn’t outrun. Netta’s breasts pressed against him as his hands stole beneath the waistband of her cut-offs, sliding into her knickers to pull her against his hips, showing her how much he wanted her. Netta unclipped her bra, tossing it to the side.
‘Oh God, Netta—’
She halted his words with her mouth, her tongue gently pressing against his, their kiss like levitation, before he broke away and dropped silently to his knees, his hands on her waist, tugging her shorts off. He kissed her hip bone and ran his tongue down along the valley that followed it, the heat of his breath alone enough to bring her close to the edge. She pulled him up and wrapped her arms around his neck, pinning the length of her body to his. He wrapped one strong arm around her back and scooped the other under her knees, lifting her onto the bed.
The past and the future ceased to exist and Netta’s world shrank to this delicious, terrible, bittersweet moment.
There were no more words. Just this night. This one last night.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
NETTA
Two years later
Netta rubbed her fingers against the little foot-shaped protrusion, spellbound. ‘Look at this,’ she said to Freya. ‘Look at that gorgeous little foot trying to get out.’
Freya ran her hand over the silver-laced skin, the baby’s heel pressing even harder against its cocoon. ‘He definitely wants out, that’s for sure,’ she said.
‘I want him out too,’ said Netta, wistfully. ‘But I think he’s a little too comfy in there, somehow.’
Freya pulled her top down and huffed. ‘I’m a week overdue and Istillhaven’t got my head around having another baby. How did this even happen?’
‘Well, when a mummy and a daddy love each other very much—’
‘They get accidentally pregnant.’ Freya puffed out her cheeks and widened her eyes as Jed thundered on heavy little feet down Netta’s hallway, Kit hot on his heels. ‘And then they live exhaustedly ever after.’
‘You’ll nail it, Frey,’ Netta said. ‘You’re Supermum. Look at these beautiful little people you’ve made.’ Maisie had followed her brothers into the dining room and the three of them stood together in a height-tiered row, staring longingly at the cake on the table, a wonky ‘42’ iced onto its top.
‘Is it nearly time to sing happy birthday to Auntie Netta, Mummy?’ Maisie’s once squeaky voice had turned into an adorable little girl’s lilt.
Freya glanced at a message that had flashed onto her phone screen. ‘Er, almost, honey. Go and play and I’ll call you when it’s time.’
‘Daddy’s gone to sweep on Auntie Netta’s couch,’ announced Kit. ‘He’s snorwing like a fucking animal again.’
‘Kit!’ Freya’s eyes popped. ‘That’s not a very nice word!’
‘But you say it, Mummy. I heareded you telling Daddy he snored like a fucking animal when he waked up this morning.’ Kit’s expression was accusatory. He was not one to be admonished without explanation.
Freya sighed. ‘Well, I shouldn’t say it either,’ she said. ‘It’s not nice.’
The kids vanished back to the lounge and Freya rested heavily in her chair. ‘Supermum, huh? My four-year-old has a mouth like a dirty toilet.’
Netta laughed. ‘At least he’s using it in context. It’s actually pretty impressive.’
