Page 73 of Just for the Season

It takes me about five attempts, but finally we’re in, and through the room and out the back and going up the stairs.

‘Night,’ calls Simon as we go past his front door.

‘Night,’ I say.

‘Goodnight,’ Marcus says.

‘Be wise,’ Simon says.

I really, really want to tell him to shut up, but instead I say, ‘Ha.’

Marcus says nothing.

When we get to the door to my flat, I’m all thumbs again as I try to undo the lock, conscious the whole time of Marcus standing politely behind me. Normally in this kind of situation he’d be joking about my sudden key-related incompetence, but he’s saying absolutely nothing, which is very unnerving and really not helping my fingers to work better.

Eventually, though I manage it.

‘Success!’ I say.

‘Well done!’ Marcus replies.

And then we stand there, just inside the door, and I begin to feel a little miserable. After that amazing evening are we now just going to sit and drink coffee and make excruciatingly polite conversation for fifteen minutes to keep the local busybodies happy and then just say a formal goodnight?

‘Tea or coffee?’ I ask miserably.

‘Frankie…’ Marcus reaches a hand out in my direction, and I find myself moving closer to him, like I did earlier, at the party.

And then, suddenly, I don’t know how, I’m in his arms again, and this time it isn’t for show because there’s no-one here.

He’s holding me like he did at the party, but kind of harder, so that we’re very close together. I have my hands on his shoulders and am looking up at him. The expression in his eyes is so intense that I can hardly breathe.

‘Frankie…’ he repeats.

And then he lowers his head and kisses me, and I feel as though this is what I’ve been waiting for forever, like this kiss is the one thing that my whole life has been aiming for until now.

It’s tender but urgent. It’s soft but hard. It’s all-consuming but I’m still able to think that I love this. And it feels completely right and not at all inappropriate but also so unbelievably naughty.

We kiss for a long time. Just kissing. Exploring, enjoying, loving. Loving… something.

Eventually, one of us – I’m not sure who – moves back a little.

I unwind my hands from where they’ve been buried in Marcus’s gorgeously thick hair, and he relaxes his hold on me, and then he steps away and holds his hand out, and I take it, just like I’ve been doing all evening, and then he leads me over to the sofa, sits down and pulls me onto his lap.

We start kissing again, and then Marcus begins to kiss along my jaw, down, into my neck, and then he traces along the neckline of my dress. I’m almost juddering with anticipation now, wanting so much more. Suddenly, as his thumbs caress me through my dress, I reach and pull his shirt out of his trousers.

He lifts his head and looks a question at me, and I smile. And then – suddenly more confident than I’ve ever felt in my life before – I slide off his lap and unzip my dress. He stands as it falls to the floor, and then I take his hand and lead him into my bedroom.

* * *

On Sunday morning I wake slowly, feeling unbelievably relaxed, contented, safe. As I reach full consciousness, I realise that I’m in my bed, wrapped in Marcus’s arms, sharing a pillow with him. I wriggle a little, and with one finger he moves my hair away from my face, before kissing me very tenderly on my cheek.

And in that moment, I know.

Well, I already knew. But I hadn’t allowed myself to acknowledge it, even just to myself.

But now I’m thinking it.

I love him.