Don't get maudlin, Cora,I remind myself as I text him an update. Dana and Fiona and Max care too, although they're probably worn out from disinfecting every surface that Effie has touched, in an attempt to stave off the contagion Effie hasbrought into their home. They know the risks with stomach bugs as well as I do.
Effie wakes twice more in the night, stomach heaving. Even with her in a different room, I'm still tuned enough to hear her and go to her. The first time she manages to get all of it in the sick bowl; the second time nothing comes up. I take that as a sign that she may be nearing the end of the first phase.
We wake the following morning, neither of us feeling perky. Effie is complaining that her stomach hurts from the inevitable cramps. Her eyes open wide as she asks me, “Am I going to die?”
After reassuring her she will be alive and well tomorrow, I improvise a wheatie using a sock and some pearl barley from the kitchen cupboard. For breakfast, by some miracle, I persuade her to accept a banana and watered down apple juice.
We spend the day together, curled up on the sofa, watching back-to-backHow to Train Your Dragonmovies. Soon I’ll know the script by heart. Anders offers to come over and help but I warn him off, telling him I’ll refuse to open the door. But the offer is another mark in his favour.
Effie is feeling much better by bedtime. A good night’s sleep and she will be completely recovered. Unfortunately, my stomach is not happy. An hour later and I’m becoming well-acquainted with the toilet bowl. It’s a bad night.
When I drag myself out of bed in the morning, I’m confronted with an effervescent Effie who is rested and raring to go. The worst stage of the bug has passed for both of us but I’m exhausted. Two nights of broken sleep on top of the usual grind of single motherhood leaves me desperately tired. But Effie isn’t.
She’s bored with television. Eventually, I fetch her dress-up doctor’s kit and some toilet paper, and we play doctor and patient. As the patient, I get to lie on the sofa even if I can’t go to sleep while Effie mutters to herself and wraps my appendages in loo roll.
I send a message to Mike threatening holy hell if he doesn’t turn up for his scheduled access today. When the doorbell goes and he’s standing there, for the first time in five years I could kiss him. He gives me a look like I’m fresh from the crazy farm, which is when I remember I’m dressed head to toe in white tissue. Effie skips off happily and I make it back to the sofa where I fall into a coma, still wrapped in toilet paper.
Monday morning, I emerge from underneath the duvet like a mole scenting the spring air after a long winter. I went to bed at the same time as Effie and I’ve slept for twelve gorgeous, wonderful hours solid. I’m ravenously hungry but I feel like a new me. Until I remember I’ve got to go into work and see Anders, having abandoned him on the date to which I’d invited him.
Effie is happy though, talking endlessly about her afternoon with her dad. It rankles that he has to do so little for her love while I have to do so much. But in the end, I’m happy she’s happy and I keep my resentment to myself until I drop her at school. Then I allow myself to rant to Stormfly. I get an odd look from a passenger in a car next to me at the traffic lights, so I must seem slightly deranged, but I feel better.
Anders’s door is shut when I get into the office, but I can hear voices. His calendar shows he’s meeting with Scarlett. It must be the one postponed from last week.
I’ve only just returned with coffee when the door opens and both of them appear. Scarlett puts her hand on his shoulder. “Thanks,” she purrs. Her hand strokes down to his elbow before she walks away.
I’m left blinking. What is going on between the two of them? Did he propose to me and when I refused, hedge his bets withanother to Scarlett? But then, why the gifts? Why rescue me? Why go to dinner with me? Talk about mixed messages.
“Cora,” he says brightly. “Feeling better?”
But I brush his enquiry aside. “What the hell was that?”
“What?” His face reflects his confusion.
Stepping closer to him, I mime the way she fondled his arm. But I keep two inches of space between his skin and mine. I don’t dare touch him in case my body reacts. “Are you sleeping with Scarlett?”
A mask drops over his features. “Come with me.”
His hand lands on my elbow, and he tugs me into his office. He shuts the door before he wheels to face me.
“What the fuck? You can't just ask me that!”
But I see red. “Of course I can! It's a simple question. Are you sleeping with Scarlett?”Men. Lying, dirty, cheating scumbags, the lot of them.“There's obviously something going on between you.”
Finally, he answers my question. “There's nothing going on between me and Scarlett. She’s just touchy-feely around me.”
“Oh, come on! You can't be that naïve. You've got to know it's more than that. She’s obviously flirting with you.”
“So what? Plenty of people flirt with me. Have you seen me reciprocate?”
I take one step closer to him. “No, but you don't stop her either.”
“And what is that to you? What is going on here, Cora? You're acting like we're in a relationship and we haven't even kissed.”
“Is that it?” I sneer my challenge.
Putting my hand in the centre of his chest, I push until he backs up against the wall. I reach onto my toes and smash my lips against his. The shock of the contact takes my breath away; the fire and heat, and passion. It’s explosive. Pressed up against him, I can feel every part of his body respond. It's not my tonguethat invades his mouth but his that invades mine, tangling and twisting.
His arms move. One slides around my waist, the other cradles me, pulling my chest hard against his. I'm completely lost in the smell and taste and feel of him. I don't ever want this to end.
