“Ooooh.” Ed lies down in the bed with his hand over his eye.
“Let me look at that,” I say, and try to prize his fingers off.
“It’s okay, Ali. It’s just a bruise. I don’t want you messing around with it.”
“I’ll get you some arnica.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s for bruising.”
“I don’t want any. I’ve put ice on it. It’s fine. Neil looked at it.”
“What does Neil know about anything?”
“He knows quite a bit about getting hit with squash balls.”
“You’ll have a black eye in the morning.”
“Will I?” Ed sits up and looks alarmed.
“Let me look at it.”
Ed leans forward. “Don’t poke it around.”
“I won’t.” Wearing my serious face, I examine Ed and try not to poke around as instructed. I have inherited a lot of things from my mother, and my inability to be gentle when faced with another’s pain is one of them. I use the bully-them-back-to-health method of nursing. It worked perfectly well for me as a child, and I’ve suffered no lasting harm from not being mollycoddled.
Ed’s eye is a bit bloodshot and puffed up, but there’s no cut, and I think he’s been quite lucky to escape with a bit of bruising from what Neil said about the force with which Ed hit the ball.
I smooth my finger over Ed’s eyebrow. “Oooh,” he says again. “It hurts.”
“Shall I kiss it better?”
“Mmm,” Ed murmurs and tilts his face toward mine.
I stroke his fringe away, which like the lawn needs cutting again, and move my lips lightly against his eyebrow.
“Oooh,” Ed moans, a mixture of pain and pleasure.
I kiss gently along his eyebrow and over his eyelid, barely touching him, caressing his skin with my breath. “Does it hurt anywhere else?”
Ed pouts his lips and points to them with his finger. “Here,” he says. I kiss his lips tenderly. Ed points to his throat. “Here hurts too.” And I obligingly kiss his neck.
“And here?” I ask as I slide down his body. Ed has dark, curled hair on his chest. It is soft and warm and would be fabulous for stuffing a duvet. I love lying against him on cold winter nights with the warmth of his skin and his soft down snuggled against my back.
“Mmm.” Ed relaxes back against the pillow. “Are the bratlets in bed?”
“Yes,” I murmur, continuing my tender assault. “Ages ago.” I press my face against his soft skin. I love the scent of him. Even after all these years. He smells of musk and vanilla and manliness. I could drown in that aroma, which is better than newly mown grass or creosote or freshly baked bread.
Ed strokes my hair and I let my kisses linger over his stomach, which is burning hot, a comforting fire. I lift my head and smile at him. “Does this hurt?”
“Oh yes,” he says, and closes his eyes, the pain clearly forgotten.
It is some ungodly hour and I try not to look at the clock and worry about getting up in the morning, because I am contented. We are curled together in post-coital bliss. “God, Ed,” I sigh. “Midweek passion? When did we last do that?”
“When was the last lunar landing?”
I poke him in the ribs. “It wasn’t that long ago.”
“It’s been a while.”
“Too long,” I agree, and Ed wraps his arms round me and we lie comfortably in that delicious state between waking and sleeping. “Ed?”
“Mmm.” Ed sounds like he has tipped over the edge into sleep and is dozing.
“Ed. Did Neil say anything about Jemma last week?”
“No.”
“Oh.” I snuggle farther into his arms. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“What—nothing at all?”
“Ali.” His tone is warning.
“Do you think we should invite them both round for dinner sometime?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re trying to pair them off and they’re not suited.”
“I think they’d make a lovely couple.”
“That’s because you’re desperate to get your sister married off.”
“I’m not.” I prop myself up on my elbow and Ed opens his good eye. “I think they have a lot to offer each other.”
“Like what?” Ed lies there, looking like he’s winking at me. “Your sister’s got more miles on her than a clapped out Volvo and my brother’s got a great collection of take-away cartons. And that’s another thing. She’s your sister and he’s my brother. How could we do that to them? Let them make their own mistakes. I do not want to be responsible for my brother’s happiness.”
“They might make each other happy.”
“Jemma is a go-getter. Neil is so laid-back he’s horizontal.”
“Perhaps Jemma would encourage him to do a bit more with his life. He’s always going on about how he’d like to have more exciting assignments. She might give him the motivation he needs. Get him out of his cozy rut.”
Ed turns toward me. “Do you think a woman should encourage her partner to achieve his dreams?”
“Of course I do.” I smile sleepily at Ed. “Haven’t I always supported you?”
“Ali…”
“I think I will invite them round for dinner. It’ll be fun.”
“Ali…”
I stretch my neck and stifle a yawn. “I’m so sleepy.” I turn to Ed and kiss his nose. “Are you sleepy?”
“Yes, but…”
“Shall we turn the light off and settle down?”
“Yes.”
I turn off the lamp and the cool white light of the moon streams in through the window, picking out the white cotton cover on the bed. My house hasn’t had the Kath Brown treatment and is pale and uncluttered, except when the children are awake. I lie back against the pillow and pull the duvet up to nuzzle my neck; my body is heavy and sinking dreamily into sleep. The last thing I notice is that Ed has both of his eyes open and is staring at the ceiling, but I am too far gone in my surrender to deep, deep slumber to ask why.