"Get up." Mimi breathed the words into Sven's neck, the thought of that summer evening that now seemed a lifetime ago pulled back to the surface by his hand on her leg. "Please." I don't want this.
"What?" he rolled over, smiled at her. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," she beamed back at him. She didn't want to ruin it for him, he was in a good mood and the last thing she wanted to do was make it about her and her fucking hang ups. "I'm just going to get a drink. Sorry, I think I laid out at a funny angle," she lied.
"Oh," the surprise was clear in his voice. "I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?"
"No, sweetheart," Mimi said. "You didn't, I'll be back in a moment. Do you want anything?"
"I'll have whatever you're having," he called, twisted up and peered at her over the back of the sofa.
In the quiet, cold kitchen she poured them both a measure of vodka from a bottle she'd found stashed behind a couple of boxes of cereal and, at the last moment, thought she had better bring some tonic water, too. Housesitting had its perks.
Sven laughed, "I see. Are you trying to get me drunk?"
"I'm trying get me drunk," she said, instantly regretting it "What can I say? It's been a busy week and I don't want to do it alone."
"I'll drink to that," he said, adding tonic. He passed the bottle to her and she conceded, took it.
"I think that I want to decide what happens tonight," she said, "If you'd like."
"Happily," Sven said. "It's been a while. I felt like I should have said something but I didn't want to sound like I was nagging you; I know you've been tired. We've both been busy and now we really do have time totally to ourselves up here in the wilderness. I'm looking forward to -"
Mid-sentence she pulled him closer, kissed him, pitching forward, sliding her half empty tumbler onto the coffee table.
"What's got into you?" Sven said, "One minute you're complaining, the next you're all over me. I mean, not that I'm complaining."
"Don't ever forget how glad I am to have found you. I know I'm not very good at romance. I know I can be a bit withdrawn and that I've been very focused on my work recently but, just for tonight, please, please let's go back to how things were at the beginning. Like when we had just met and found each other. Like when there was that crazy electric."
"Of course." He said, "You're drunk."
"I'm happy." Mimi explained. "I haven't been this happy in so, so long and now I have it and I have you I am absolutely committed to making sure that it is - that we are - functional and comfortable and...I don't know. Just better, somehow."
"You are so hopeful." Sven said, "Don't see that old passion as gone forever just see it as changed. We're more of a fine wine than a...Lambrini now."
Mimi laughed, and stretched out, the vodka beginning to remove the edge of the day. She thought of her father and his hospital bed, of Paris and doctors' appointments and B vitamins and the awful thought of her mother's teary face and slid the glass away.
"I want you tonight," she said, shaking off the past and the shadows, "I want to have you because I can."
"You know there's very little that makes me more happy." Sven grinned. "If you're offering then, tonight I am definitely willing. You have no idea."
He leant over, kissed her bared shoulder, grazed her jaw with his mouth.
"Good," Mimi smiled, "Perfect, wonderful, thank you, sweetness."
She stood as if nothing had happened and cleared away the glass, left his, stood and stretched and sent a silent votation of thanks to the heavens.
"I'm going to take a shower first if you don't mind." she said.
"Not at all. Whatever you need." Sven sighed, relieved and happy and thankful that she'd initiated it before he'd had to. Glad that she wasn't as distant or as sad as he'd worried. He presumed that it was work making her tired and the long drive to her mother's that day. Catherine had left them the house for a week on the condition they took care of her rapidly ageing Grate Dane, Lola.
After nearly six months working on what would become one of the biggest successes for Farnham Advertising, Sven had found himself promoted to an Account Executive alongside Jim. Much to his amusement, he was only vaguely annoyed at himself for joining the ranks of the suits he used to mock in art school. The rise in pay certainly helped to ease the burn. Lola trotted in and joined him, her huge body pushed against him.
"Darling, as much as I love you Lola, you were not the company I was expecting this evening. Still, beggars can't be choosers can they?"
He un-muted the television, flipped through the channels until he found some politician from a party he hadn't voted for complaining about striking bus drivers and wondered what had caused the sudden change in Mimi's demeanour. They had met up at the house and enjoyed dinner at the local pub before returning home in driving rain. Over their meal and into the evening after it, Sven hadn't mentioned Mimi's mood, preferring instead to keep things light, and amiable for the duration of their time away. He'd put up with enough shouting from work for the past few weeks for him to want to deal with any more in his private life. Still, the second Mimi had shot up when he touched her, as though he'd burned her shocked him. He didn't push it, knew better than that, that sometimes, there were things she preferred to fix on her own.
* * *
The house was quiet and warm. Outside, the rain poured heavily, evolving slowly into beads of hail. It was just after eleven in the evening when the crop fell across his chest, her hands curled around either end, pushing him into the seat. His eyes didn't leave the television.
"Come to bed," she purred.
"I presume that given the way you're brandishing that crop you've no intention of sleeping." His response was flat, disguising the flare of heat in his chest.
Her mouth was inches from his ear, "And I presume that by the way you're talking you're fully prepared to find out."
"I'll just finish watching this." Beneath his sweater, his heart was pounding, the blood rushing south. "I'll be coming to bed in a moment."
"Suit yourself." The lightest of nips landed on his jaw and he smiled, sure that this was the best kind of foreplay, his heart leaping like it hadn't in months. Finally.
By the time he switched the TV off and wondered upstairs he saw she had changed into an oversized sweater and was swaddled in a blanket, reading. His bare feet were freezing on the bare floorboards and he longed to be beneath the sheets, curled up with her, a million miles away from everything.
"Good book?"
"I've read better," she said. "Good programme?"
Now, it was her turn not to look up. He watched her ignore him and felt the flicker again, that piquant neediness that he had spent too long trying to fight.
"Okay," he said,pulling off his sweater. "I see you've returned the crop to its new resting place." He eyed the crop hooked on the back of the door, sighed heavily, wondered how much more foolish he could have been to have picked Question Time over her.
"I have," she looked up at him, "I want to watch you bring it to me."
"Of course," He turned, reaching for it. "Ever the sadist."
"Wait." Her voice was delicate, a blooming flower with a thorn beneath it, "Strip first. Get naked and then bring it to me."
