Josi

‘Ladies and gentlemen, we’re about to begin our descent into Gatwick Airport,’ the captain begins. My seat belt is already fastened and I’m wide awake, despite local time being five-thirty in the morning. Adrenaline and anxiety put paid to any ambitions I had of catching up on sleep during the flight. My mind kept flicking from Grant to Richard, like a movie over reliant on flashbacks.

I ring to let Richard know I’ve landed and will be home in about four hours. The happiness in his voice hangs like a lead weight round my neck, like shackles around my feet making my case feel heavy. What am I going to tell him?

‘Don’t meet me off the coach. I’ll get a taxi.’ It’ll buy me a little more time. Time to take in the grey cold blanket of Britain’s winter. Gatwick’s a greyscale village; buildings, bus stops, roads. Tentacles of bare branches reach out their accusing fingers. Already I’m missing the smiles of hibiscus and crotons, the red lips, purples blushes, magenta lids. Missing the endless blue of sky and sea. Already I’m missing Grant. I try to picture him in this grey, in his white pedal pushers and orange T-shirt. He’s a misplaced cartoon character; Barney Flintstone in Thunderbirds. I sleep fitfully between stops, still wondering what I’m going to tell Richard.

He bounds across the drive to the taxi as it pulls up outside our house, lifts my bag out of the boot while I pay the driver and, as I turn to face him, drops the case and lifts me off my feet, swinging me around as the driver looks on. He winds his window down. ‘Looks like somebody’s glad to see you.’ He chuckles to himself and drives back to the airport and the next stranger into whose story he’ll intrude for a few minutes.

I’m so far off the ground my breasts are level with his head. He buries his face in my chest and draws a deep breath.

‘You smell so good. I’ve missed you so much. Welcome home Josi.’

I’m stunned by his welcome. Open demonstration of affection is not Richard’s style, and certainly not in full view of the neighbours. He lets me slide down slowly till my face is level with his and his tongue explodes in my mouth, his lips hot and hard against mine. I catch my breath and, against my will, feel stirrings of desire. I kiss him back and feel the smile spread across his lips, feel his penis flex in his pants.

‘Let’s go in.’ He picks up my case in one hand. Hand in hand we walk to the door, where he drops the case, sweeps his hand under the back of my thighs and carries me across the threshold.

‘Welcome home Mrs Meyers. I love you Mrs Meyers. I never want to be without you Mrs Meyers.’ He declares as he puts me down. He holds me at arms length, scrutinises me from head to toe.

‘You look fantastic. Radiant. Beautiful. I’ve missed you so much.’

I gawk at him too, wondering where the beige and grey Richard’s gone, when did he change to red? Where did he get this exuberance? He’s always been complementary but usually with quiet reserve. He’s not a man of words, not prone to animation.

‘Are you going to leave my bag out there?’ I chuckle.

Keeping hold of one of my hands, he drags the bag in with the other, like I might disappear if he let me go.

‘Drink?’ he invites.

‘Coffee.’

He leads me to the kitchen and watches my face intently as I take in the blaze of colour. Pink, red and white carnations, orange lilies, roses in my favourite yellow, bouquets with brightly coloured ribbons, arrangements with broad green leaves and gracefully thin grasses arched like ballerinas and gymnasts. Not just in the kitchen but through the hatch into the dining room the garden extends onto the table where a huge arrangement sits with a small card.

As my eyes swivel from one vase to the next, he flicks the switch on the kettle.

‘Instant OK or do you want me to make fresh?’

‘Richard, this is…’ I can’t find the word. He waits. ‘Why?’ I ask eventually.

‘Because I know how much you hate the grey, I knew how you’d be missing the colour. Because I want you to stay.’

Something in me shifts, like a train changing tracks. I feel myself going down a different path. The speed of this train shatters the glacier that’s stood between us, tiny tinkling pieces lie melting on the kitchen tiles. My heart reaches out to him, no words are needed. I stretch up, put my arms around his neck, he bends to reach me. ‘Thank you.’

His kiss is gentle. His ardour tamed by the familiarity, the domesticity of the kitchen, but his desire’s real and pressing hard against me.

‘I’d do anything for you Josi, you know that,’ he gushes.

He’s excited, eager. The flame Grant ignited is still glowing. My blood’s still hot. It doesn’t take much for the coals to burst into flames.

‘I know.’

I want to make everything right, feel safe in his arms again.

‘Missed me?’ I taunt.

‘You know I missed you.’

‘Want me?’

‘More than anything.’

‘Then take me to your bed.’ I nibble his ear. Feel him shiver.

‘Our bed. What about your coffee?’

‘It can wait.’

He holds my hand and we mount the stairs like Hansel and Gretel, him in front, me following. When we reach the bedroom door he lifts me over the threshold.

‘Welcome back,’ he affirms as he lays me on the bed.

It feels odd being back in our bed after so many months in the spare room. Like rediscovering a dress after losing weight. It feels new and exciting, while being strangely familiar. He closes the blinds, shutting out the grey, and begins unbuttoning his shirt. I watch as he uncovers his lean white chest. There’s something reassuringly well-known about this scene. He’ll throw his shirt on the chair in the corner, followed by his jeans. He’ll leave his boxers on, I take those off. He’ll undress me, not with the urgency and impatience of a small boy unwrapping a new toy, more like a gentleman unwrapping a Havana cigar. When my wrapper is fully removed, he looks at me with a mixture of wonder and pride.

‘You’re beautiful.’

‘Don’t keep a girl waiting too long.’

I push his boxers over his slim hips, he adjusts his knees so I can roll them off. He straddles me, kisses me. I grip his pulsating pole with both hands and slide down to take it into my mouth. He pulls back.

‘No Josi. I’m not ready for that yet.’

‘OK darling, in your own time.’

He falters a little. I massage him back to rigidity. I feel my desire slipping like a wave that’s broken too soon, it retreats before it’s reached its crescendo. I do the thing I never thought I would. I think of Grant. Close my eyes and imagine it’s his hands cupping my breasts, his tongue sucking and licking my nipples, and I’m hot and ready again. When I moan, I moan for him. ‘Oh my love I want you so much,’ I cry to him. I spread my legs wide for him, pull him eagerly to me and guide him to my waiting wetness. When he slides in smooth and effortlessly, he does not question his ease of admission. He only needs to relish the swelling tide beneath him, only needs to be the rock against which my water flows. We have the rhythm of the tide, the whispered endearments of the winds to the waves. When our waters meet it’s with the certainty of two people who know the course, who’ve sailed it countless times and understand its intricate twists and turns.

He hands me tissues from the bedside table, no need for condoms. ‘Do you want that coffee now?’ he asks as I clean up.

‘Make that a hot chocolate. I’m feeling a little sleepy.’

‘I’m not surprised. Did you sleep on the plane?’

‘Not much.’

‘Didn’t sleep much myself either. Couldn’t wait for you to get back. I’d hoped for this but… Darling you’re amazing.’ He traces a heart on my face, forehead to chin and back again. He looks happy, happier than I’ve seen him since our wedding.

‘You’re pretty special too, Mr Meyers.’ I take his hand and kiss his palm. ‘Now go get me that drink while I finish cleaning up.’

‘Don’t move, I’ll be right back.’

‘I’m not going anywhere.’

‘Glad to hear it.’

By the time he returns, I’m asleep, and I don’t wake for fourteen hours.