***TEARS FOR AFFAIRS***
💧 The day of January 4th came after its predecessors had dragged their hours into what felt like months getting there. Having arranged with Neil to pick him up at Heathrow (giving Marcus an extra festive day off), Saskia had been checking the monitors nearly every minute since the flight had touched down to find out what gate he would be coming through.
Inspecting her face in her hand mirror, (yet again) she was making sure all remaining bruising was still muted under her layer of foundation; thankful that she had been quick with the trusted old bag-of-frozen-peas in reducing the swelling of her lips.
For the past few days she had practiced in her mind to stick with the champagne-cork story in case he pressed her on it again. And although her mum had apologised for such a vile and violent act, Saskia had been part-relieved at her auntie Corrine's visit, feeling safer with someone else present. That anger had been bad enough whilst sober and she shuddered to think of an even worse outcome had she been annihilated; her mother tended to drink harder over the festive period.
He finally showed up. She had imagined him to have a darker complexion, but his face was just as pale and wan as the winter.
Forgetting for a moment that he'd travelled with a friend, the urge to run straight to him had to be restrained in light of social decorum. Jumping on him and wrapping her legs round his waist would not be fitting for welcoming any father back home, but it didn't stop her envisioning it. A simple hug came first, then a brief introduction to his friend, finishing with a well-behaved walk to her car. The friend, Vince, would be heading back with them to Neil's apartment for breakfast, and to pick up his car.
They chattered over the breakfast bar, but Saskia sat like an agreeable nodding dog, not taking in one bloody word of it, just mentally shooing this Vince out the door. And once Vince set upon his journey home, she set upon Neil the very second the door clicked shut. As he turned, she took a lunge at him, trapping him against the door to crush her lips to his, seeking quick reciprocation.
'Whoa! Give me a chance to settle in...' he said, once he unplugged her lips from his by jocosely pushing her from him.
'I'm sorry,' she said, 'I just mega-missed you like crazy.'
Arms wrapped genteelly around her, and he closed his eyes to breathe in her scent, happy to be feeling her soft cheek on his. 'I mega-missed you, too.'
'That was a long ten days.' she stated. She had been irrationally fearing he might have had some kind of change of heart (or come to his senses) while away.
'I know. I'll not bore you with even more golf and stuff, so coffee in bed?' he suggested to her surprise and elation; it gave her blessed relief to know that tumultuous-but-glorious night they last spent together wouldn't be ending as a one-off sweet memory.
'Really? God, that was easy!' she smiled up at him. 'I'll just, ah... ' Wrinkling her nose up, she thumbed towards the bed and headed its way.
'I'm acting barista again, then, am I?' he called after her. 'What about my jet lag... ?
'Don't forget the extra cream... '
'Aye, aye. Welcome home, Neil!' he grumbled to himself, before dutifully making and carrying the cappuccinos over.
Despite her young body having hankered for him, his fourteen hours of travelling left him exhausted. She watched, with amusement, as he started dozing off, still sitting up; coffee starting to waver about. Sneaking round to his side of the bed, she carefully withdrew the near-full cup from his hands, rousing him briefly till he found himself a comfortable position. Within an hour of reaching home, sleep - and not her - had been the winning contender. And it didn't help that he slept for eighteen hours straight, either; having a 58-year-old in one's love-life could be tested when a younger libido demands. Thank goodness she was patient.
Saskia had thirsted so long for the feel of those silky sheets. Laying on her side, having had Neil moulded closely behind her, she, at last, was staring morning straight in the post-coitus eye: damp and dreary London at that moment could not have looked more resplendent. She felt quite sorry for her little guest room, knowing in all likelihood it would become storage space for clothes and disorder.
Under this exceptional he's home now high, she (just after declaring that she was going to stay in bed all the lazy-day long) swept back the duvet and leapt from bed to the sound of a tune from the radio. With crazy little dance steps, lacking any pattern or order, she made her way to join him at the breakfast bar, singing unmelodious and dreadfully out of tune.
Watching her sway towards him, he couldn't help but shake his head at the killing of this catchy, song. 'I know I say it all the time, but here's another reminder... you're mental, you are,' said while sliding her a steamy mug across the counter.
She upped with a yup onto a stool, still writhing to the music; a dimple forming on one of Neil's left cheek as he tried not to permit a smile.
'What?' she protested through a laugh. 'You have to move as you sing to this one... why are you not?'
'Because I haven't the foggiest idea who it is, maybe?'
'How could you not know this one?'
'Saskia, I know I'm a raptor, but I haven't been on the earth long enough to listen to every song ever written!'
'You really don't know this one?'
'Jesus, woman! You can't pop fifty-pee in my mouth and expect any song to come out!'
With an elbow up on the worktop, chin resting in hand, she stared steadily at him. 'I could sit here. Just like this. Forever and ever,' she sighed. 'Can't believe we'll be back at work tomorrow.'
'I know, kiddo. Right...' He gave a loud clap of the hands, '... we're going out for breakfast!'
A runny-egg roll sounded delectable after ten days of congee. Besides, they hadn't had a proper chat about how their time apart had gone, and food may help calm down her ebullience - or at least help stop her mouth doing overtime for a bit. But he couldn't help but love her antics. He knew sharing his bed with her incited her adoration to a fresh new level, so a boost of outdoor normality kept up practical importance. For he had had plenty time in Macau to consider even the simplest of risks; no incriminating texts, outdoor terms of endearments, kisses on the mouth and so on. And absolutely no repeats of discarded knickers in his bed (as she had done at the hotel). It was imperative too, that no menstrual blood be found on his bedsheets, and that bed of hers would need a slept-in appearance before the cleaner was due.
He was well aware that affairs of the heart could become cumbersome and mission-like, and that a stain in frilly knickers could leave devastating stains elsewhere. Hey-ho
end of **TEARS FOR AFFAIRS**
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