mess: breathlessly excited, horribly nervous and hoping,
praying
, that this might be it. That the man who was belted up preparing for touchdown would be the man I would spend the next sixty years picking up from airports, missing him, loving him, feeding him and, all thingsgoing well, having a fair bit of sex with him. Leonie texted me: You OK? Outfit working out?
NO. Shitting self in a serious way. Hate outfit. In Monsoon buying new one I replied from the changing room.
Five minutes later I was scanning the crowds streaming out of Arrivals in my new rather middle-class ensemble. And then there he was. Tired-looking, taller than I’d remembered and displaying freckles I’d not seen in the cold hard light of February. His hair was shorter and he was wearing a long-sleeved grey T-shirt that gave a definite impression of things I’d not been expecting to see. Biceps. Pectorals. In fact, muscles in general. Jesus Christ, did Michael go to the
gym?
I felt my stomach tighten with fear. Perhaps I should hold off sex for a few weeks while I did some sit-ups and stuff.
Finally he saw me. His face opened into that beautiful lazy smile and I hurled myself across the terminal at him, like a big, mad dog. His arms closed around me and I smelt the clean-laundry scent of his T-shirt and felt him laugh, a deep, rumbly noise that made his chest shake. I was so happy I could have exploded. He pulled me away after a few seconds and kissed me tentatively.
We stood back and gazed at each other. I couldn’t really say anything: I was overwhelmed by how beautiful he was and how happy he seemed to see me.
‘Franny … God, you’re lovely. I’ve dreamed so much about this day.’ He ran a finger under the neckline ofmy top and stared at me shyly. ‘You are pleased I came back, aren’t you?’
‘
What?
Oh, my God, I haven’t thought about anything else!’ I coloured slightly, realizing that that wasn’t particularly smooth.
‘No, don’t apologize. I needed to hear it. I just had a panic on the plane that I’d been too hasty … I like your outfit, by the way. Did you shoplift it?’ he asked, with interest.
‘Um … no. Why?’
‘Just that your cardigan is on inside out and the label is still on. We may need to talk about this.’
‘Right. I … kind of … Oh, fuck it. I just had a panic about how I looked so I sort of ran into Monsoon and bought this. And now you probably think I’m the biggest knob in the world,’ I added, shamefaced.
Michael laughed and kissed me again. His arms locked round me and he muttered into my hair, ‘I think I love you, you batty woman. In fact, I’m sure. I’m so happy I came home.’
Jesus Christ! I had an actual boyfriend! Who loved me before he’d even seen me with my kit off! A boyfriend who would love me and laugh at me and cook manly joints of beef! A further explosion of happiness erupted in my stomach, far greater and more beautiful than anything I’d ever seen in Battersea Park on Fireworks Night.
We snogged all the way to London, so much sothat a large American woman asked us to stop. We went and sat on a luggage rack and continued until the ticket collector threatened to fine us for indecent exposure. ‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ I said, laughing. ‘We’re just kissing!’
He squinted at us for a second. ‘So you are, so you are. As you were, kids! I’ll tell that lady to put a sock in it. Can’t she see you’re in love?’
In my excitement, I shoved my hand up the back of Michael’s T-shirt and encountered a lower back rug. ‘Oh, my GOD! You’ve got a hairy back!’ I giggled, rubbing appreciatively.
‘Do you ever think before you speak?’ he asked.
‘Not so much. But you’re not insulted, are you? I LOVE your back rug!’
Michael hugged me harder. ‘You’re nuts,’ he said into my neck. I glowed.
Arriving at Victoria, Michael stood staring at the swarming mass of people on the concourse and looked bewildered. ‘Bloody hell … Did
praying
, that this might be it. That the man who was belted up preparing for touchdown would be the man I would spend the next sixty years picking up from airports, missing him, loving him, feeding him and, all thingsgoing well, having a fair bit of sex with him. Leonie texted me: You OK? Outfit working out?
NO. Shitting self in a serious way. Hate outfit. In Monsoon buying new one I replied from the changing room.
Five minutes later I was scanning the crowds streaming out of Arrivals in my new rather middle-class ensemble. And then there he was. Tired-looking, taller than I’d remembered and displaying freckles I’d not seen in the cold hard light of February. His hair was shorter and he was wearing a long-sleeved grey T-shirt that gave a definite impression of things I’d not been expecting to see. Biceps. Pectorals. In fact, muscles in general. Jesus Christ, did Michael go to the
gym?
I felt my stomach tighten with fear. Perhaps I should hold off sex for a few weeks while I did some sit-ups and stuff.
Finally he saw me. His face opened into that beautiful lazy smile and I hurled myself across the terminal at him, like a big, mad dog. His arms closed around me and I smelt the clean-laundry scent of his T-shirt and felt him laugh, a deep, rumbly noise that made his chest shake. I was so happy I could have exploded. He pulled me away after a few seconds and kissed me tentatively.
We stood back and gazed at each other. I couldn’t really say anything: I was overwhelmed by how beautiful he was and how happy he seemed to see me.
‘Franny … God, you’re lovely. I’ve dreamed so much about this day.’ He ran a finger under the neckline ofmy top and stared at me shyly. ‘You are pleased I came back, aren’t you?’
‘
What?
Oh, my God, I haven’t thought about anything else!’ I coloured slightly, realizing that that wasn’t particularly smooth.
‘No, don’t apologize. I needed to hear it. I just had a panic on the plane that I’d been too hasty … I like your outfit, by the way. Did you shoplift it?’ he asked, with interest.
‘Um … no. Why?’
‘Just that your cardigan is on inside out and the label is still on. We may need to talk about this.’
‘Right. I … kind of … Oh, fuck it. I just had a panic about how I looked so I sort of ran into Monsoon and bought this. And now you probably think I’m the biggest knob in the world,’ I added, shamefaced.
Michael laughed and kissed me again. His arms locked round me and he muttered into my hair, ‘I think I love you, you batty woman. In fact, I’m sure. I’m so happy I came home.’
Jesus Christ! I had an actual boyfriend! Who loved me before he’d even seen me with my kit off! A boyfriend who would love me and laugh at me and cook manly joints of beef! A further explosion of happiness erupted in my stomach, far greater and more beautiful than anything I’d ever seen in Battersea Park on Fireworks Night.
We snogged all the way to London, so much sothat a large American woman asked us to stop. We went and sat on a luggage rack and continued until the ticket collector threatened to fine us for indecent exposure. ‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ I said, laughing. ‘We’re just kissing!’
He squinted at us for a second. ‘So you are, so you are. As you were, kids! I’ll tell that lady to put a sock in it. Can’t she see you’re in love?’
In my excitement, I shoved my hand up the back of Michael’s T-shirt and encountered a lower back rug. ‘Oh, my GOD! You’ve got a hairy back!’ I giggled, rubbing appreciatively.
‘Do you ever think before you speak?’ he asked.
‘Not so much. But you’re not insulted, are you? I LOVE your back rug!’
Michael hugged me harder. ‘You’re nuts,’ he said into my neck. I glowed.
Arriving at Victoria, Michael stood staring at the swarming mass of people on the concourse and looked bewildered. ‘Bloody hell … Did
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