Chapter Forty
MO
Deep into the next morning, Mo woke with his lips on Netta’s shoulder, his knees tucked in behind hers, his body moulded around her like they’d been custom fitted. He couldn’t see her face, but her gentle, even breath told him she was still sleeping. Her softness was a balm he hadn’t realised he’d been missing his whole life. God, she was beautiful.
This was the point where he’d normally take the opportunity to steal away unnoticed, but with Netta, he was held there, happily, by a force he hadn’t experienced before. There were no clothes piled neatly by the door and he didn’t even know—orcare—where his phone was. He let his eyes close again and breathed her in. Something in him had opened last night. He’d never had sex like that in his life. That first, urgent, mind-blowing time on the couch, and then again, slower, softer, when they’d made it to bed. He’d wanted it to never end.
He gently brushed her hair from her sleeping face and kissed the tip of her shoulder. She stirred against him, her hips pressing backwards. She laid her hand on his hip, tipping her head back, inviting him to kiss the soft line of her neck, gasping as his mouth met her skin. She rolled wordlessly onto her back and Mo ran his hand over the curve of her waist and trailed his fingers along her leg, stopping at her knee to return, unhurried, along the soft skin of her inner thigh. She took his hand and guided it, closing her eyes as he stroked her.
They made love that morning. It was something way beyond sex—as far as Mo was concerned anyway. Deeper. They disappeared into each other, until the sheer force of their attraction exploded as he held her close, blown away at how he’d managed to live forty-one years without ever experiencing this feeling.
‘Happy Christmas,’ she whispered, eventually.
He squeezed her tighter. ‘Happy Christmas, Netta.’
She laughed, intertwining her fingers with his. ‘That’s the best start to Christmas Day I’ve ever had. Santa’s got no hope of impressing me,ever, from here on in. You’ve ruined me.’
‘And me.’ He rolled onto his back, scooping her over with him. Her head rested in the crook between his shoulder and his chest, her arm slung over his body, her fingers exploring his hip bone. A hollow rumble echoed from his stomach. ‘I’m starving,’ he said, stroking her hair. ‘You?’
Netta nodded. ‘There’s bound to be a pub around here somewhere doing Christmas lunch.’ She released herself from his embrace to reach for her phone. ‘Here,’ she said after a quick search. ‘The Castlegate.’ She turned the screen to show him. ‘I’ll head over there and see if we can get something take away.’
Mo smiled, gratefully. ‘I wish I could go for us, but—’
‘It’s okay. I know.’ She kissed him—on his lips, on his neck—before she got out of bed and walked, naked, down the stairs to the bathroom.
Mo heard the shower turn on and her shriek at the ice-cold water before the boiler took over. He chuckled and laid his head back into the pillow, all of him—body, mind and soul—content and completely present in the moment. Not ruminating about the past. Not worrying about the future. He allowed himself a couple of minutes to breathe, locking the memory of being with Netta into long term, then got up, dressed, made the bed and headed downstairs to reset the fire.
‘Okay,’ Netta announced as she emerged from the bathroom, ‘I’ll pop over there now. Hopefully won’t be too long.’
Mo kissed her at the door and waved her off as she drove away in Rhona’s Merc. He closed the door behind him and pressed his back against it, an unfamiliar feeling washing over him.Naked. She made him feel naked. Not in the literal sense—although that had been beautiful—but metaphorically. She made him feel like he couldn’t hide, which was saying something, given he’d spent most of his life doing exactly that. He’d built a wall around himself and, seemingly with no effort at all, she’d been knocking it down brick by brick.
The real kicker was that he was okay with it. In fact, the overwhelming feeling tugging at him now was to tear the rest of the fucking thing down himself. To finally let go. His biggest secret had brought her to him, and he was going to share it with her. It wasn’t even a choice anymore, it was a need. A ferocious, burning need to show her who he really was. He wanted her more than anything he’d ever wanted in his whole life. If she was going to want him back, he needed it to be for real. The only way to do that was to tell her the truth.
Chapter Forty-One
NETTA
‘Do you want more pudding?’ Netta offered the container to Mo over the table strewn with takeaway dishes. The smell of gravy and roasted vegetables mingled with the brandied scent of the dessert and the woodsmoke from the fire. The record player was playing Etta James softly from the lounge. This was as close to heaven as Netta had ever felt.
‘I couldn’t,’ he said, waving his hand. ‘I feel like I’ve eaten an overweight horse. Maybe two.’
Netta put the container down and rubbed her belly. ‘Me too. I really should’ve stopped at the third helping. Things got out of hand.’
Mo reached for the half-full wine bottle on the table. ‘Got room for another glass?’
Netta smiled and held out her glass as he raised the bottle and poured her a generous helping of pinot. ‘Let’s clean this up later,’ she said. ‘I think I need to lie down fireside and focus on digesting for a while.’
Mo stood and followed her. He sat on the floor in front of the fireplace and motioned wordlessly for her to rest her head in his lap. They stayed like that for a few moments, Mo stroking Netta’s hair, their easy, drawn-out silence perforated only by the crackle of the fire.
‘Netta?’ said Mo, eventually.
‘Yeah?’
‘I want to tell you about the diary.’ His voice faltered as he spoke, as though he wasn’t really sure he wanted to at all.
‘You don’t have to.’
‘I know. But I … I feel like Ineedto.’
