I thought I wasn't going to be able to finish this chapter until after my next exam but happily my muse turned up again, LOL. There won't be another chapter for a few weeks now though--for definite this time. I'm sorry, but I really need to get stuck into my studies for now. Don't worry--I
will
finish this story, I promise! But in the meantime, thanks for being patient with me!
Lily
-x-
*
'What a difference a day makes'--Words & Music by Maria Grever & Stanley Adams (recorded by Dinah Washington, 1959)
*
Melissa could still hear Matt's voice even though she was now in Charlie's bedroom and he was pacing up and down the hall. He'd been on his mobile for the whole time she'd been in the bath and although she'd tried not to eavesdrop, it had been only too clear things in Singapore weren't going well. Not that he'd ever lost his temper, she noticed, secretly impressed by the way he was handling the call, the third of that evening. Though as he'd explained earlier, there wouldn't have been any point. There was no longer any doubt he'd have to fly out there sooner than he'd hoped, but she knew he was doing everything in his power to ensure that it wouldn't have to be within the next couple of days.
Pulling her towelling robe more securely around her, she crossed to the window and peered out at the darkening sky. Never before had she been so conscious of the words of the song, 'What a difference a day makes'. Those twenty-four 'little' hours had certainly turned her world upside down, she thought, picking up the clay pot she'd made Aunt Suzie all those years ago and twisting it around in her fingers. Though until now she hadn't had much of a chance to dwell on them. Just as they had every other day that week, they'd spent hours working on the house, systematically trawling through each room, emptying cupboards and boxes, checking the contents lest they miss hidden treasures before ultimately, as happened more often that not, dumping their uncle's long held possessions in the skip outside.
But unlike those other days, they'd worked together. Somehow, they'd made an unspoken agreement not to leave the other's side, as if they'd both realised they'd already spent far too long apart. So it had been a day of fun and laughter, a day of recalling almost forgotten memories and a day of long, lingering, meaningful glances. Yet that was all there'd been. Even though she knew very well that Matt had bought condoms when they'd called into the village that morning, it wasn't as though he'd thrown her on the bed on their return and made love to her all afternoon. Though she'd half-expected he would. Scrub that. She'd
hoped
he would. But Matt had seemingly had other ideas.
Maybe the unexpected arrival of the vicar in the pharmacy had had something to do with that, she mused, wincing at the memory. There she'd been, standing by the counter, surreptitiously reading a leaflet about the morning after pill and trying to decide whether she really needed to take it when Reverend Michael Wright had appeared. She was fairly certain he couldn't have had any idea what she'd been reading, having managed to shove it into the back pocket of her jeans the moment she'd spotted him, but he surely must have wondered why she'd promptly turned as red as a beetroot. It hadn't helped that Matt, who'd already made his purchase, had then proceeded to watch their encounter from a safe distance just outside Michael's line of sight but very much within Melissa's, grinning hugely throughout their entire conversation.
She felt her lips curve into a rueful smile. The rotten sod. But she'd virtually decided not to buy the emergency contraception anyway. Not only was she unsure she needed it--as she'd told Matt earlier, her period was already overdue--but the cost had taken her breath away. Twenty-six pounds for one little pill. Doubtless Matt would have given her the money but the blurb on the leaflet had stated it could be taken for up to seventy-two hours from the time of unprotected sex. Which gave her until Saturday evening to either get it from the doctor or the family planning clinic in Mickleton if necessary and both would apparently prescribe it for free. The wait and see approach seemed logical enough, especially as she'd be going home tomorrow.
Tomorrow. That meant they only had one more night and one more day together. Against what had at first appeared almost insurmountable odds, they'd managed to clear the bungalow in four days. The only thing left to do was to sort through the jumble in the loft. They'd already arranged for the local branch of the Salvation Army to collect the more serviceable items of Charlie's furniture tomorrow afternoon. And then...
Melissa blew out a breath.
Then what
?
"Ooh." The sound of Matt's voice behind her made her jump. "Big sigh." He grinned as he she half-turned to face him, sliding his arm around her as he drew level. "What were you thinking about?"
"Oh..." Acutely conscious she was naked beneath her dressing gown--should she have got dressed again, despite the lateness of the hour?--she pretended to think, buying herself time. It probably wasn't a good idea to tell him she'd been trying to decide where their relationship was going for most of the day. If it was going anywhere. "This and that. Nothing much. Who was that on the phone?"
Matt gave her a disbelieving look. "Mike. He's arranged to have a formal meeting at the site later--well, tomorrow for us. Depending on the outcome, I'll either get to stay here for another week or two or I'll be on the next plane out."
"Mike? But--" Melissa lifted his forearm to inspect his watch. "It must be the middle of the night in Singapore."
"Actually, it's around five in the morning. He's always been an early riser. And you're trying to change the subject." Putting his other hand on her upper arm, he twisted her around to face him before peering down at her, his eyes warm. "You okay?"
She gazed back, experiencing the rather uncanny sensation he could see straight into her soul.
Could
he read her thoughts? "Yes, of course," she answered as lightly as she could manage. "It's just been a long day, that's all."
Matt nodded, not breaking eye contact for a moment. "You know," he began, his tone equally light, "if you like, I can sleep on the settee--"
"Oh, no!" she interrupted before blushing furiously, the broadness of his sudden grin alerting her that her protestation had been rather too vehement. "I mean--oh God." She swallowed hard. "I mean--"
"Ah, right." He nodded again, laughing now. "You meanyou'll sleep on the settee? Well, that'd be great, thanks."
"Hey!" He wasn't serious, was he? Or was he?
"Lissy." His voice softening, he raised a hand to brush back her hair, his knuckles grazing against her cheek. "I just didn't want you thinking I'd made any assumptions. Or that I had any unrealistic expectations."
Relieved, Melissa released the breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding. "Even though you bought a packet of twelve condoms?"
"Oh hell, you saw that?" He rolled his eyes, his grin returning. "Just so
you
don't have any unrealistic expectations, that doesn't mean we're going to do it twelve times, okay?"
Oh boy. The mere thought of doing it once made something contract low in her belly.
And clearly aware of the impact of his words, his gaze turned mischievous. "I bought another twelve to be on the safe side."
"Matt!"
He laughed anew at the outrage in her tone, dipping his head to kiss her. "I'm kidding. Even if I was capable of that--and believe me, I'm not sure any man is--there's no way I'd be so rough on you. In fact, I'm not so sure we should even do it once. You're still pretty sore from last night, aren't you?"
Oh God... How the hell did he know? Had she been walking bow-legged or something? Conscious of the heat flooding into her face yet again, she stared at him in alarm. "I'm fine," she hastened to assure him. "Not that sore at all, really." Not so sore that she wasn't longing to feel him inside her again, to experience that exquisite stretching, that bittersweet friction that was pleasure bordering pain. That overwhelming sense of completion she'd felt as he'd driven into her again and again... "That bath was great," she went on quickly in case he really
could
read her thoughts. "I left you the water, actually, in case you wanted it. I didn't think there'd be enough hot water left for you otherwise. You know what that immersion heater's like. I pressed the boost button, but..." She trailed off, aware she was babbling. What had made her think he'd even want to share her bath water? There was something much too intimate about the notion, even if it had been something they'd done frequently as children.
But he was smiling, his face once more descending towards hers. "That sounds good, thanks," he murmured, kissing her again before reaching across to put down his mobile phone on the bedside cabinet and beginning to unbutton his shirt. "Care to join me?"
"Um." Even more flustered now, she looked at him helplessly for a few seconds. "I--er--"
"It's okay." Matt grinned. "It'll probably be quicker if I go by myself. Besides, the water's probably not hot enough any more. But I can dream." And kissing her one last time, he released her with a wistful sigh. "I see you've been reading."
"What?" Still picturing herself in the bath with him, and now rather wishing she'd agreed, Melissa was caught off balance. "Oh." Her gaze followed his to the letters strewn across the bed. "Not really. Not properly. Just bits and pieces. God, some of the stuff I wrote... It's pretty embarrassing."
He smiled at her across his shoulder, already halfway to the door. "You were fourteen when you wrote me those letters, Liss. Cut yourself some slack. Believe me, yours aren't that bad. Try mine if you really want to read something cringeworthy."
He'd read them? As he headed out into the hall, she stared after him in surprise. When had he found time to do that? And oh, what must he have thought? She moved towards the bed and scooped up the pages of one of her own letters, grimacing at the oh-so-neat handwriting. But every one had been a labour of love, each declaring her love in embarrassingly flowery prose. At least, the first few had. Having sorted through them and put them into order, she saw that as time moved on, those earlier letters remaining unanswered, the tone of her later missives had adopted an increasingly frantic note.
Did I say something wrong?
The words sprang at her from the page as she perched on the edge of the bed to read.
Because if I did, please tell me what it was. I'd hate to think I'd done anything to upset you. Or am I just being silly? Maybe you haven't had time to write. I know how busy you must be this term. But I don't need you to write me a great long letter, really. Just a couple of lines, so that I know you're okay?
Melissa winced anew. She'd only written once more after that before giving up, convinced that he must've changed his mind, that he hadn't really been in love with her at all. And she'd blamed herself, decided she must have come across as too needy, too clingy, when all along, he
had
sent her letters too. Admittedly, not as many; she'd written twenty-one to his twelve, and where hers often ran to four sides of notepaper, his had barely covered two. Though she knew that if she'd received them, she wouldn't have cared a jot. She would have treasured every word.
