A little fun, a little serious, a little flashback and some sexy times as we slowly inch forward in building this relationship.
Chapter 15
How normal it feels to wake beside him, she thinks, lying in the stillness of the room. It's still early and the house is quiet. She can only begin to imagine the mammoth task of clearing up after all that went on, of how many sore heads and empty pockets there'll be when people emerge for breakfast.
Truth be told she's still amazed that people have these kind of parties – though she wouldn't say so to Charles. These are his friends and this is the life he knows but it's certainly not the one she does. Or has known. Money and decadence were not at the forefront of her life. Raising a child and putting herself through university. Trying to hold together a family and suppress her own insecurities. Hard work, that's what she knows, late nights and early mornings is what she knows, she wonders how hard Isobel has had to work in her life. Though she's a kind woman and clearly she cares for Charles, as does Richard, but she wonders if they'll ever be her friends – Isobel certainly has little in common with Beryl.
That's the joy of building a relationship though isn't it, trying to find a way to mesh the two different lives together? And she mustn't be mean… though the fact she refers to Charles as 'darling' riles her. It isn't like her to be jealous and she's mature enough to move beyond it, but there's a niggle every now and then, a splinter of concern.
Her back aches from the unfamiliar bed. She turns onto her side and watches Charles sleep.
He said they host these things a few times a year and she can't help but wonder if she'll be with him at the next one. She isn't being melancholy, just practical. This is the most secure they've been in their relationship and she can't imagine not being with him, not now, but beyond that what does the future hold?
If she forces herself to dig down inside, to confront herself, how does she really feel? Is this love? She thought she loved Joe, she thought that was love, so what does she know really? She cares for him, she wants him happy, she wants to spend time with him, she feels happy. Yes, that's it. She feels completely happy. And that's something she's not used to.
She traces her hand across his bare chest. If they were in her flat she'd consider seducing him now (it wouldn't take much), the thought of being astride him does something to her insides and she stops touching him and rolls out of bed. She's too old for such feelings, she thinks with a wry shake of her head, no she isn't, no she certainly isn't.
Charles wakes to an empty bed and the sound of Elsie in the shower. He waits until he hears the water go off before he gets up. He's desperate to pee and hopes she won't mind him sneaking in.
"Good morning," she smiles at him in the mirror, brushing out her damp hair.
He kisses her cheek, moving past her. "Sorry, bladder issues."
"Oh, goodness, are we at that stage in our relationship now?" but there's something sort of nice about the whole easiness of it. They did live together for a week in that villa, shared their space.
She's humming as she applies face cream and make-up.
"I know that tune," he says rinsing his hands.
"Take the ribbon from my hair," she sings lowly, emphasising the last deep note and she glances sideways to him. "Shake it loose and let it fall."
"Elvis sings that." He says before rinsing his face.
"I didn't know that. I liked Gladys' version."
"You're an old soul fan." He brushes a damp hand through his hair. "I keep forgetting that. You can sing you know, you've got a good voice."
"Don't tell my students, they want us to do some sort of medley at the Prom, so far I've escaped."
"You should do it, it'll be fun."
"Embarrassing, that's what it'll be."
"They'd remember it forever."
"I'm not getting up on my own, and I'm not sure any of the staff will agree to it. Music department maybe, and Drama – of course! Have you put it in your diary?"
"When is it again?" He's digging in his wash bag for his toothbrush.
"A week on Wednesday."
"Right…" he nods. "I'll have to check."
She stops short, watching him, annoyance just hovering on the edges of her good mood. "Don't tell me you've forgotten?"
"No, I just didn't clock the date, I've a feeling we've got one of our talks that night."
"Talks?"
"We have talks, at the cricket club, guest speaker comes in and –,"
"Cancel it." She snaps.
"What?"
"Cancel it. Bloody hell Charles it's the first work related thing I've invited anyone to and now you might not be there because of some damned talk."
"Hey, wait a minute –,"
"No," she's waving her mascara at him, which he can't help but find kind of amusing. "Don't 'hey' me, I've told people you're coming. I was looking forward to it."
"I'm looking forward to it, that's why I'll be there, if you'd give me a second to talk. It's early in the morning and I have a bit of a hangover Els, let's not start it with an argument."
She pouts, turning her attention back to the mirror and her make-up. "Well, I've done what you asked me to…" She knows she should have left it; she wonders when she'll learn to bite her tongue.
"I'm sorry it was such a bloody task." He drops his toothbrush in the sink.
"I didn't say that," she sighs, shaking her head. "I just meant it would be nice if I felt you were returning the favour."
"Favour…?"
"Oh damn it," she's smudged her mascara, she throws it aside and reaches for a cloth. "I didn't mean that neither."
"This isn't going well." He stands still beside her, resting his hands on the counter.
She does the same. "No. If you don't want to come you don't have to, I know it's not everybody's cup of tea, spending their night with excitable teenagers."
"I want to come. But you… you feel uncomfortable with all this?"
"No. Just," she shrugs. "Perhaps a little like I'm trying to pass a test, or earn your forgiveness."
She has a point. Maybe he did feel she owed him something, she did break his heart – even if it was only momentarily, and he has pushed for her to join in with these things, with his life. Some of it might not be to her taste, and that worries him, those old insecurities creeping back in – that he's older, that his interests are dull, that he's considered nothing but a stuffy librarian. Sometimes he thinks he's been alone too long to change, to share, then she'll look at him a certain way and he wants her always there.
"You're not earning my forgiveness," he says, covering her hand with his. "And I'll be at the Prom. We must keep talking Elsie," his eyes are soft and kind. "I want to make sure neither of us conceal our feelings again."
She allows a small smile, a nip of her teeth against her lip. "What are we arguing about?"
He shakes his head, "Who said we were arguing?" He places a kiss to her head and squeezes her shoulder. "Going to shower."
"Alright."
When he comes out of the bathroom she's dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed waiting, reading the news on her phone.
"Will you forgive me this?" He says patting his stomach.
She glances over the top of her glasses at him, "Charles. You look fine. Don't steal my cake if you're worried."
"I've never been a Brad Pitt kind."
"I don't think anyone but Brad Pitt is a 'Brad Pitt kind'. A flat stomach doesn't mean my feelings change." And she returns to reading the news.
"Why didn't you go down, get a cup of tea?"
"Because I'd feel awkward, I hardly know them."
"Nobody would mind."
"Maybe not, but imagine if we'd spent the night at Beryl's."
"Fair point." He really must take the time to consider how she might feel in these situations.
At first he thought her the most confident, vivacious woman he'd ever met, sweeping into his shop every so often and chatting with him as she looked around. Hardly any of his customers chatted to him, certainly not about anything more exploratory than the state of the weather.
She asked him about himself. She was interested.
It took him time to realise this wasn't all there was to it. That beneath it she was actually quite a sad person. Quite lonely. As he was.
Three years earlier
He remembers quite clearly when he realised that; a rainy afternoon when she'd come in to read and disappeared to the second floor, the place where she'd convinced him to put a small table and chairs by the window to make the most of the view over the town.
It was 5:39. He closes the shop at 5:30 and she's still sitting up there. After a long internal debate he decides to lock the door and switch to the 'closed' sign. He boils the kettle, makes a pot of tea and takes a cup up to her. He's silent as he climbs the stairs, not wanting to disturb whatever it is she's reading.
Her back is to him, the book open but lying flat on the table, her chin resting on her hands as she stares out of the window.
For a moment he watched her, the curve of her neck, the freckles on her hands. There was a quietness about her, a softness at that moment that he wondered if she ever revealed to the world.
She was startled when she noted he was there, her head twisting around quickly.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to make you jump."
"It's fine." She glanced at the clock on the wall. "Oh lord, I'm sorry, look at the time. I'm holding you up." She starts to snatch her things together.
"No, don't worry. I err… I made you tea."
She smiled, "You did? How sweet."
He takes it to her, putting it down on the table next to her book.
"You're not having any?"
"It's downstairs."
"Well, bring it up. Come sit with me. Unless you're busy." She's tilted her head to one side as she observes him.
"No, course not."
He's back within a minute, struggling to fit into the small chair across from her, to which she smirks.
"You don't sit in your own chairs."
"Not really. I'd prefer to sit in my armchair upstairs."
She sometimes forgets there's a third floor and that he lives up there, it's rather intimate to think of that.
"Very nice tea," she says, her cup cradled in her hand.
"I get it from a little place in town, they order it in especially, I can write you the name down. People drink that freeze-dried rubbish with no real appreciation of what tea is."
She regards him amusedly, a funny kind of smile on her face as she watches him.
"Sorry, I'll bore you with this."
"Oh no, not at all. I like that you know so much, it pleases the teacher in me. It's also nice just to listen to someone talk for a while, get out of my own head." She stares out of the window again, distracted, and there's an air of heaviness between them. As if there's things she wants to say, things he should ask, but he's in no position to. They don't have that kind of relationship. For many years it's been customer and owner. Much to his dismay.
"Are you looking forward to the summer?" he asks, safe territory.
"I suppose so, my daughter will be home for a while."
"That's nice, are you going away?"
"Spain, with my husband, he likes it there. He books a villa and we go…" she shrugs, "a couple of weeks in the sun is always nice."
Mention of her husband makes him feel awkward, and he doesn't want to explore why.
"Will your daughter join you?"
"I hope so, sometimes she does. It's hot and she's very pale so she's not a great fan of Spain in the summer."
"Are you?" he catches her sharp glance. "Sorry, I don't know why I asked that."
"Its fine, I don't mind it – I rather like travelling around, visiting other places, exploring…"
"The history of a place." He says with a smile and she nods back, temporarily gladdened by his understanding.
"But Joe, well he likes it there. Likes to go back there in the summer."
"You've been married a long time?"
"A very long time, I was 23 when we got married. I'm 47 now. And we've been together since I was 19."
"Wow, that's nice. I mean it must be nice, having that connection after so long together. I have friends who are the same, devoted to each other."
He thinks he sees something in her face then, but she nods, "Yes. I suppose it is."
She suddenly breathes deeply, looking away from him, leaning back in her chair. Her expression makes him think she's going to cry and he panics, not sure what he'll do if she does. He's not very good with that type of thing.
He's saved by her phone ringing.
She digs around in her bag for it before locating it in her coat pocket.
"Hi," she says. "I'm still in town. Yes, I know…" she looks up the clock over his head and he glances at his watch, almost a quarter to seven, he didn't realise they'd sat for so long.
"I'll be back soon." She sighs heavily, her back to him, trying to hide herself as she talks. "Yes. Bye."
He gets up, collecting their cups.
"Sorry about that," she says, putting her phone away. "Thank you for the tea and the chat. I didn't realise I'd kept you talking so long."
"Nonsense. I enjoyed it."
"Yes. I did too."
They go downstairs and he lets her out. Wondering for the first time what people would think if they saw a customer sneaking out at that time of day.
"Night Mrs Burns."
"Goodnight Mr Carson. See you again soon."
"I do hope so."
Present Day
He leads the way downstairs with Elsie following, this morning the house is bright and airy and she realises how many windows there are, how big it is.
At the bottom of the stairs he reaches back and takes her hand, squeezing her fingers with his momentarily, then letting go again as they head into the kitchen.
It's almost clear, there are staff cleaning and Elsie smiles at them, saying good morning, wondering how much they're paid for working on a Sunday.
"Well, hello you two," Richard says, he's the only 'non-staffer' Elsie can see. "You're the first up."
It's way after nine – how wonderful it must be to live this life, she reflects.
"You know how I am with mornings," Charles says. "Anything we can do to help?"
"No need, they've got it under control. Another hour and there'll be no sign of it but sore heads – Izzy went back to bed, poor thing, too many cocktails I think, she never could hold her drink."
Elsie wanders the kitchen, noting family pictures, a large brood – she vaguely remembers Charles saying they had three sons and one daughter. There are two dogs in one of the shots and she wonders where they are now.
"This is a lovely picture," she says pointing it out, "was this in the garden here?"
"Yes, took it last summer I think." Richard says.
"He's quite the photographer," Charles adds, "sold some too, though he'd never readily share that information with you."
"I've got a nice one of you two actually, from the cricket. It's on the thing… the tablet, I used it last night to take some of the fireworks." He locates it on top of a cupboard and flips it open scanning through shots until he finds it. "There, see, I meant to email it to you."
"Lovely picture," Charles says taking it from him. And they do look lovely, in the sunshine in the grounds, Charles' arm around her, a look of absolute pride settled on his face. "You must send it."
"Will do," Richard is filling the coffee pot.
"Will you email it me too?" She asks, and Richard nods. Charles is smiling at her as if surprised.
"I'm not completely cold-hearted," she whispers leaning closer to him.
"Not at all."
"There's breakfast outside I think, or the start of it. Go sit down, I'll bring some coffee."
Elsie's glad of her sunglasses in the early morning glare and sits back in her chair, letting the rays warm her skin.
"What would you like to do for the day?" He asks watching her, he wants to be alone with her, back in bed with her. Doing the things he keeps telling his body not to think about for a while. "Unless you're bored of me, we've been together since Friday afternoon."
She reaches for her juice. "Are you trying to say you're bored of me?"
"I could never bore of you." He reaches to stroke a finger along her bare arm, the morning sunlight catching on the bracelet she wears. "You know what I enjoy most now…"
She bites her lip, suppressing a smile, "Go on."
"That I can do this. In the shop I often noticed your hands," he takes one in his, "the colour of your skin, the specks of freckles, I wanted to stroke your skin with my thumb and see how it felt." He does just that.
"And?"
"Like soft, warm silk."
She chuckles, "My hands are looking old."
"No. Never." And he kisses the back of it.
She leans on the table, closer to him. "I thought you were only interested in selling me books and all the time you were just lusting after my hands!"
He laughs, "I lusted after other things too."
"Oh, really?!" Now she's interested. "Such as?"
"This…" he reaches forward and traces a finger down her neck, along her décolletage. "You have freckles here too, and the softest skin imaginable."
"Are you trying to seduce me Mr Carson?"
"Am I succeeding?"
She smiles mischievously, "Perhaps…"
She leans back in her chair again, away from his touch. "It just goes to show you can't trust anyone. Thinking how nice you were, what a kind and helpful shop owner, and all the time you're staring at my breasts – like any other man."
"I'm only human."
She laughs, "Poor excuse."
"So, today?" He asks reaching for the teapot.
"I'll have to work for a while, prepare lessons." She opens her eyes, leans forward and accepts her cup of tea. "Listen why don't I go home, you stay here, and I'll work for a few hours then you could come over and we have something to eat and watch a movie. I got An Officer and a Gentleman for you. Don't pull that face."
"I looked it up, it's a film for women."
"I resent that statement. It's as much of a man's film- young man learning life the hard way, battling authority. Fighting his superiors." She touches his hand. "And we can snuggle on the sofa."
"What time do you want me?"
She leaves before anyone else gets up, kissing him in the front garden whilst they wait for her taxi to arrive.
"Do you think anyone's watching?" He asks, his breath hot against her ear.
"Do you care?"
"Not much as it happens." His arms are looped around her, his hands folded at the base of her spine. "So, you did have a good time didn't you?"
"I did, I felt like I was in some 1920s movie at times, but I had a good time."
"I know what you mean, it's best just to go with it while it lasts, I've learnt that." She presses her body against his and he groans, "I might go for a bike ride, relieve some frustrations…"
"Don't relieve too many."
"I'm getting bored of this…" he says, his forehead against hers, swaying her body in his arms.
"Of what?"
"Of just having you at weekends, I want to see you all the time."
"We'd argue more, over little things, we'd become like every other couple."
"I'd like that too. Arguing with you is part of the charm… and making up."
"Hmm, you sure know how to perk a woman up." She kisses him again as her taxi pulls up. "I'll see you at five and make us something to eat. Cricketer and a Gentleman…"
"Five." He says, rolling his eyes.
He puts her bags in the car and waves her off, returning to the back garden where others have started to appear for breakfast. It's almost eleven now and he mentally counts the hours until he'll see her again.
"You look forlorn," Laura says sitting across from him. "Where's your lady friend?"
"Had to do some work, we're meeting later."
"She's nice," Laura graciously admits, cutting into a grapefruit; Charles can't stand the things, even the smell makes him want to wretch. "Lucky at craps too."
"She did win big on that," he chuckles, remembering the joy on her face when she'd spun in his arms after winning.
"It's nice to see you happy too Charles," Laura admits, then waves her spoon at him. "We've worried about you over the years."
"Oh?!" He proclaims, intrigued.
"What's that?" Isobel sits beside him. "Warn me if George comes over, I've dodged his hands twice this morning already."
"I honestly don't know why you invite him." Laura says chewing.
"Because he's old and lonely and I feel sorry for him," Isobel accepts the cup of tea Charles has poured for her. "My head…" she complains.
"That's what we were just talking about." Laura chirps.
"Oh thanks, so your subtext was I'm old and boring."
"No, but in danger of getting that way."
"Are we talking about how Elsie's changed you?" Isobel asks.
"She's not changed me!" He exclaims good-naturedly.
"She bloody well has!" Laura laughs.
"She has Charles dear, you may not want to admit it."
"I'll admit…" he fiddles with his napkin. "I'll admit I'm happier." He pauses, reflects. "Happier than I've ever been."
Isobel taps the back of his hand, "You're in love darling, we can all see that. Don't let George get his hands on her bottom."
He chuckles, "I shall try not to." He scrapes his chair back, "Now, I'm going to find Richard to talk about man things, enough with this silliness."
Isobel looks up at him, shielding her eyes from the sun. "Are you going for a ride?"
"I'm going to ask him to join me."
"Good, he needs the exercise, I worry about him sitting in that surgery all week. He needs fresh air."
Always Isobel, he thinks as he heads inside, always fussing, always full of good intentions. He hopes she and Elsie will become friends in time, he'd love for the four of them to spend time together. His oldest friends and the person who means the most to him.
Mid-December 2014
Since they'd started sleeping together Charles couldn't get enough of her – she was like some drug that had invaded his system and every morning he woke craving more. He found himself daydreaming about her, the way she smelled in particular could drive his senses into overdrive.
Her flat was now his place of worship and he'd spent more time there – or in her bed, to be more specific – than his own home of late.
In the middle of the night he'd wake with her pressed against him, naked and soft and warm and he couldn't help his reaction. A deep-set longing that reminded him he was alive, there was still life in him, even at his age.
He pushed his hand against her stomach, rewarded with a low murmur, and then his mouth on the back of her neck. "Charles…" she groans, and he loves the sound of his name coming from her mouth in such a way.
Feeling brave he leans in, whispering by her ear, "Elsie… I want you…" he nips her earlobe, hearing her smile he feels giddy and excitable. "You make me feel so good, so alive."
She presses her bottom against his groin, her hand over his, rubbing his fingers.
He's still whispering by her ear, hot and seductive… and then she yelps in surprise, twisting over in the bed to look at him.
"What did you just say?"
"Oh shit."
"Did you just say…" she's giggling, trying not to, covering her mouth, "Did you just say you want my… Charles?"
"I should never, ever, take Thomas' advice."
She's laughing heartily now, "I never imagined you'd talk like that."
"I don't." He's covering his face. "I'm mortified."
She switches on the lamp, illuminating his despair. "You just said that!"
"Don't repeat it, I would never choose that word. And turn the light off."
"But you did." She's still laughing.
"Thomas said you'd like it, that women like it when spoken to like that, I thought I'd give it a go."
"Wait a minute – isn't Thomas gay?"
"Very much so."
"So how would he know what women like?"
He shrugs, "I figured he'd still know more than me."
At that she bursts into hysterics again, shaking as she laughs. "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." She places her hand on his chest. "I'll stop."
"So, you're not offended?"
"Not offended no, amused, definitely."
"You still want to go to Edinburgh with me for New Year?"
She smiles, rests her hand on his face. "Oh, Charles. You're so endearingly clueless at times. Yes, I do. But, a little tip, I don't think it's for you, that kind of talk."
"Got it."
She switches the lamp back off before rolling on top of him. "Now where were we, because I want really want your… …"
"Elsie!"
Present Day
Beryl comes over early afternoon and Elsie abandons lesson plans and they make treacle tart and stand gossiping in the kitchen.
"Come on then, spill the beans, what are the posh folk like in the big house?"
"I feel like I'm in an episode of some period drama, we'd be the commoners."
"I certainly would, you could try and swing for middle class."
"Oooh I don't know luv, I'm not much up to middling." She said, imitating a Yorkshire accent.
"Tha dun't know tha born lass." Beryl says in return, waving a wooden spoon at her. "Us folks down ere at coal face, us locals, we wanna addle some brass!"
Elsie is giggling uncontrollably, holding her stomach, "I have no idea what that means."
"To earn some money," Beryl says, now imitating an upper class accent.
"Oh, well how very backward of you," Elsie says in clipped speech, "if you don't mind my saying so."
"One does not mind at all."
They laugh together, Beryl returning to stirring the mixture as she watches Elsie line the baking tin with pastry.
"Charles still has a Yorkshire accent though, stronger in places." Beryl says.
"I'm exaggerating, they aren't all super posh."
"I'd prefer it if they were, that amuses me greatly."
"I'm sure. They were nice, they were kind to me, made me feel welcome, and I made £175!"
"Woah! I'm coming next time. If you and Charles ever get married you could have this Isobel organise the games for the party."
"Married. Goodness Beryl, I'm only just divorced."
"It's almost two years love," Beryl says gently.
"Yes. Yes of course it is."
Beryl watches her for a moment, pricking the pastry, preparing it for blind-baking.
"You've not heard from Joe, have you?"
"Not since that awful night, no. Why?"
"Just checking." She opens the oven door for Elsie to put the pastry in. "Don't want him spoiling things."
Elsie huffs, she doesn't want this conversation. "He won't spoil anything. I told him I don't want to hear from him again and that's that."
Beryl thinks it's never that straightforward with Joe.
"The only thing I'm worried about is Anna's graduation, and there's an end of course celebration she wants me to go to in July. I'd like to take Charles, but of course Joe has every right to be there."
"I don't see why he does. You raised that girl, not him. He was too busy out gallivanting and sticking his…"
"Please don't!" She snaps. Then softens, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to… just don't."
Beryl puts down the spoon and hooks her arm over Elsie's shoulders, "Don't you mind. Take Charles, he'd love that."
"I know he would."
"Got him wrapped around your finger."
"Oh, I do not. Don't say that."
"He adores you, you do realise that, don't you…" Beryl says more seriously.
She nods her head. "He told me he loves me, three times now."
"And, do you love him?"
"I don't know. I wish it were that simple, I wish I could just say I did. But I want to be sure, I thought I loved Joe." She breathes deeply. "I don't want to ever hurt Charles again."
"Fair point. Take your time then – is he pushing for it?"
"No. No he's never made me feel like I have to respond."
"Well, then, just let it be." She gives her shoulder one last squeeze then returns to clearing the work surface. "So, Bill has this new workmate, young lad, probably about Anna's age, maybe a year or two younger…"
Elsie's glad the conversation has changed focus; she happily listens to Beryl prattle on and makes them tea and they sit at the table gossiping waiting for the tarts to cook in the oven, the wonderful fragrance of the sweet concoction filling her flat.
When the doorbell buzzes it surprises them both and Elsie glances at the clock, 16:55. "Goodness it's Charles, I wanted to change before he got here."
"Don't mind me, I'll get going." Beryl collects her things together.
"Will you let him in? I'll wrap this up for you, it's almost cooled."
Charles is surprised when he climbs the stairs to find Beryl standing at the open door.
"No need for that face Charlie, I'm off, we've just been having a gossip and making you a pie."
"I er… I didn't pull a face. Just surprised."
Beryl chuckles. "Yes of course you were. You want to be alone with her… I get that." She winks and Elsie comes up behind her handing her a package wrapped in paper.
"There you go, I hope Bill enjoys it." She kisses her cheek.
"I hope Charles enjoys his too." Beryl smirks. "Goodnight to you both."
Elsie is shaking her head as she waves her out and closes the door after her. Wicked woman.
"Why do I get the feeling I'm part of a conversation I know nothing about?"
"Don't worry about it." She goes to kiss him, "Hello."
And then she's in his arms, "Hello."
"Mmm, you smell good, very manly."
"I just had a shower after a very long bike ride. Used some new stuff in there."
"It's nice, I like it."
"It smells good in here, what's that gorgeous fragrance?"
"Treacle Tart, made with my own fair hands."
"And they're very fair. Are we having it now?"
"We're having dinner first. Which I have to make. Did you have lunch?"
"Just a sandwich at the pub we stopped at."
"We?"
"I went with Richard. Isobel's worried he isn't getting enough exercise."
He watches her finish dressing the chicken and put it in the oven. "Want me to help?"
"Didn't you have a bottle of wine in your hand?"
"I've put it in the fridge. Though I only just fetched it out of a fridge so it should be alright."
"Pour a glass then, and you can lay the table if you like."
He comes up behind her, watching as she prepares salad, his hands on her hips, mouth on her neck.
"Charles…"
"Missed you."
"It's been a few hours."
"Still missed you."
He's right of course, it's getting harder to be apart. Especially when they're so busy in the week – she's worried it will become a 'weekend relationship' again and she doesn't want that.
"Go, pour that wine." She says with a smile. "And then make yourself comfortable in the lounge, I can do this."
"Sure?"
"Sure. You can cook next weekend."
He kisses her cheek, pours the wine and then leaves her to it.
Elsie leaves the chicken roasting, makes salad and roasts potatoes in garlic, butter and herbs and when all seems to be going well goes to change. She wants to look nice for him and chooses a simple, blue dress, putting her hair up and adding perfume.
Charles helps her serve and refills their wine and they sit at the dining table again, the first time since she'd made him breakfast following that Friday night.
Charles lifts his glass and touches it to his, "Thank you for a lovely meal Elspeth."
She glares at him but touches his glass in return, "You're very welcome."
"So, did you get your work done?" He says, piling sour cream onto his potatoes.
"Most of it. What are your plans for the week, did you say plastering and decoration in the shop?"
"Yes. And I'm starting to think about furniture."
"Ooh, that's the exciting part."
"I know. You can help if you like, come over one evening, flick through catalogues."
"Can I let you know? Its our last week with exam classes and I have a feeling I'll be needed for revision after school?"
"Sure, that's fine." He wonders how it would work if they did see each other more often, dare he even think it – live together? His brain went there once before only to be severely let down and he's not sure he's quite ready to go there again. Not just yet.
Ever practical, they do the dishes after dinner and take their dessert into the lounge, turning off the lights, snuggling beneath the blanket on the sofa and watching the film she'd picked.
"Take your socks off." Elsie teased as she tucked her legs beneath her, "get comfy. We're here for a good couple of hours."
As the film wore on their dessert bowls were placed on the coffee table and they snuggled together, his feet on the table, her head against his chest – though he held hopes of getting another slice of the tart later on, or perhaps the offer to take some home.
The film wasn't bad, he had to admit, a bit schmaltzy in places but enough of a hard edge to keep him interested. They were at least three quarters of the way through when it got uncomfortable – a love scene – which he'd always hated watching with anybody, how can you watch other people having sex? But coupled with the fact he was cuddled up to a woman he wanted to completely ravish and his jeans suddenly started to feel a tad tight.
The woman in the film was on top of the man, it was a very still, quiet moment despite the subject matter and he closed his eyes, trying his best not to picture Elsie in that same position with him.
"Charles…" she mumbled against his chest.
"Hmm?"
"Let's pause it for a moment, shall we?"
It was on pause for so long the screen switched itself off, plunging them into complete darkness. Not that either would have noticed, they were so wrapped up in each other.
She was beneath him now, he wasn't sure how they got in that position and frankly he didn't care. Desire had taken over. Her hands seemed to be all over him. The scent of her surrounding him, and her wonderful mouth against his.
"I want you so much," Charles panted, his hand snaking up under her skirt, to the top of her stockings – she's wearing stockings, his mind tries to absorb and process the information but he's so far gone he thinks he might come in his trousers.
"I want you too." She squeezes his bottom, pushing his pelvis against hers, the pair of them groan in unison at the sensation of his erection pressing against her pubic bone.
"Elsie," he mumbles by her ear, licking the shell of it, suckling on the lobe, "I want to make love to you."
"Yes. I want you to." She's kissing his neck, pushing back his shirt, his bare chest available to her. "I want you inside me." She whispers huskily.
"Oh shit what you do to me." He's managed to push her skirt up past the top of her stockings, exposing her bare thighs, he can feel the heat coming from between her legs and it's turning him on more than he could ever have imagined.
The lights suddenly go on, blinding and startling, Elsie yelps, desperately trying to push her skirt down and Charles falls off of her, landing with a wallop between the sofa and coffee table.
"Mum!" Anna exclaims, her shock soon giving way to hilarity. "I do hope when I look over that couch it's Charles on the floor Mother and not some random guy."
"Bugger off! What the hell are you doing here at this time of night?"
"It's 8:15, and I came to stay a few days."
"Oh…" Flustered, Elsie brushes a hand through her hair trying to detangle it. "Well, you should have rung."
"I should have. I will in future. I'll go put the kettle on shall I?" She says sniggering as she turns the light back off and closes the door.
"Anna," Elsie complains as she scrambles up from the sofa, tripping over Charles on her way to turn a light back on.
"Are you alright?" She asks looking down at him as she rearranges her clothing.
"A bumped head. But I think my embarrassment levels have peeked. Can you sneak me out?"
"There's no way I'm going in there to face her alone," she stands with her hands on her hips looking at him. "Do up your fly."
"I'm mortified," he says, pulling his zip up. "You think she heard what we said…?"
"No, I do not!" She says with absolute authority. She holds her hand out to him, helping him up. "Are you really alright, you didn't hurt yourself?"
"No, I'm alright."
"It's quite funny really." She giggled, "When you think about it."
His face finally broke into a smile and they laughed together.
"It's probably a good idea we didn't sleep together anyhow, it was really George I was hoping to get lucky with tonight…" She quips wickedly. "You would have been a poor substitute for him and his wandering hands."
"Sure you were."
He pinched her bottom as she headed into the kitchen.
"Tea?" Anna asks as she fills the pot, and Elsie can see she's already cut herself a slice of tart. "Hi Charles." She grins.
"Hi Anna." He said sheepishly.
"So, you have fun at games night?"
"It was good yes, I made some money." Elsie's wrapping the dessert up. "You'd like it there. Huge house."
"Impressive."
"Why are you home again?"
"No exams until Thursday and I could do with the peace and quiet." She says between mouthfuls of stodgy treacle.
"I see. Nothing to do with seeing me then."
"But of course. And good food."
Elsie hands the package to Charles. "Enjoy the rest of it." She smiles.
"Thanks."
"You're not staying the night?" Anna asks amused.
"No, I think it's best I erm… well, I er leave you two to talk."
"Don't mind me…" Anna teases and Elsie glares at her as she follows Charles into the hall.
"Sorry," she whispers, her hands on his chest. "Once again we're thwarted."
"I'm starting to feel like a teenager trying to bed his first girlfriend."
She giggles. "I know. It's ridiculous."
"We didn't finish the film." He says lowly, pressing close to her.
"Next week?" She says hopefully, lifting her face to his.
He tips his mouth down to meet hers, kissing her sweetly and deeply. "Next week," he says, with a hint of absolute promise.
Sorry, I'm mean aren't I... Hope you're still enjoying following their story. More to come soon - please let me know what you think, you know how much I adore your comments! X