worlds colliding.
“Jonah, this is Anthony. Anthony, this is Jonah,” she introduced.
If Jonah hadn’t known who this stranger was, now he knew. Cool as a cucumber he offered his hand. “Nice to meet you,” he drawled. Anthony complied with the handshake but didn’t reply. His steady expression was unreadable, his famous lawyer ‘look’.
Niceties dealt with, Jonah smiled at the pretty little girl standing in front of him and squatted down to her level.
“And you must be Miriam?”
She nodded and duly thwacked the flat palm he held up for her to high five. “Ouch,” he joked, shaking out his palm in mock pain. Miriam laughed.
“This is an old friend of mine,” Claire told her daughter, “called Jonah.”
Miriam spent a few seconds eyeing Jonah up from toe to top, her gaze finally settling on the Selfridges bag in his hand.
“Is that for me?” she asked.
“It certainly is,” he smiled, passing the booty over.
Miriam’s eyes boggled.
“What do you say?” Claire reminded her daughter about manners.
“Thank you,” she said.
“It’s my pleasure.”
As Miriam peeked into the bag, Anthony took his cue, politely nodding at Claire and Jonah before ruffling his daughter’s head and saying goodbye. Claire ushered the two of them into the house and as she closed the front door behind them, Miriam tapped gently on Jonah’s arm. “You’ve got a funny accent,” she said.
----------------------
Half an hour later Claire padded into her conservatory. Miriam had now officially been put to bed, with instructions to go straight to sleep. It was late and Mummy and her friend didn’t want to be disturbed because they hadn’t seen each other for years and needed to catch-up.
“Is Jonah the tennis player?” Miriam had asked innocently as her mother kissed her goodnight. Claire had recoiled in surprise.
“How do you know about the tennis player?”
“You once told me about him after I broke that funny little statue of yours which is now in the lounge.”
“Oh.”
The things children remember! Claire wracked her brains to try to recall a kernel of such a conversation, but nothing came to her. She planted one final kiss on her forehead.
“Love you.”
“Love you more.”
“That’s not possible.”
Claire smiled as she closed Miriam’s door softly behind her. The ‘love you’, ‘love you more’ ritual was part of their own personal, nightly routine. Claire was certain that Miriam couldn’t love her more. She couldn’t imagine anyone loving anyone more than she loved Miriam.
When she’d walked into the conservatory the sight before her had felt like an improbable dream. The floor-to-ceiling patio doors were flung wide open onto the small garden where Jonah was busy at the barbecue. Coming from California, barbecues were second nature to him. At his family home in San Diego, where he and Claire had spent a fair amount of time at the beginning of their relationship, there had been an inbuilt brick burner in the back yard next to the swimming pool. She couldn’t remember the number of times they’d chucked some fresh fish onto the coals as they’d drunk some new age Sancerre.
Jonah’s back was to her and she took the opportunity to observe him for a couple of minutes transfixed, watching his muscular arms at work, picking up the tongs and turning the chicken thighs and burgers over. She’d always loved every glorious inch of his body, warts, scars and all, but if she had to choose her favourite part, it would be his strong, sportsman’s arms. She could feel her breath quicken. She wanted to touch them. She needed to touch them. She tiptoed barefoot towards him and caught him unawares, pinning her stomach against his back as she ran her hands up and down his triceps. Half a minute later he spun round to
“Jonah, this is Anthony. Anthony, this is Jonah,” she introduced.
If Jonah hadn’t known who this stranger was, now he knew. Cool as a cucumber he offered his hand. “Nice to meet you,” he drawled. Anthony complied with the handshake but didn’t reply. His steady expression was unreadable, his famous lawyer ‘look’.
Niceties dealt with, Jonah smiled at the pretty little girl standing in front of him and squatted down to her level.
“And you must be Miriam?”
She nodded and duly thwacked the flat palm he held up for her to high five. “Ouch,” he joked, shaking out his palm in mock pain. Miriam laughed.
“This is an old friend of mine,” Claire told her daughter, “called Jonah.”
Miriam spent a few seconds eyeing Jonah up from toe to top, her gaze finally settling on the Selfridges bag in his hand.
“Is that for me?” she asked.
“It certainly is,” he smiled, passing the booty over.
Miriam’s eyes boggled.
“What do you say?” Claire reminded her daughter about manners.
“Thank you,” she said.
“It’s my pleasure.”
As Miriam peeked into the bag, Anthony took his cue, politely nodding at Claire and Jonah before ruffling his daughter’s head and saying goodbye. Claire ushered the two of them into the house and as she closed the front door behind them, Miriam tapped gently on Jonah’s arm. “You’ve got a funny accent,” she said.
----------------------
Half an hour later Claire padded into her conservatory. Miriam had now officially been put to bed, with instructions to go straight to sleep. It was late and Mummy and her friend didn’t want to be disturbed because they hadn’t seen each other for years and needed to catch-up.
“Is Jonah the tennis player?” Miriam had asked innocently as her mother kissed her goodnight. Claire had recoiled in surprise.
“How do you know about the tennis player?”
“You once told me about him after I broke that funny little statue of yours which is now in the lounge.”
“Oh.”
The things children remember! Claire wracked her brains to try to recall a kernel of such a conversation, but nothing came to her. She planted one final kiss on her forehead.
“Love you.”
“Love you more.”
“That’s not possible.”
Claire smiled as she closed Miriam’s door softly behind her. The ‘love you’, ‘love you more’ ritual was part of their own personal, nightly routine. Claire was certain that Miriam couldn’t love her more. She couldn’t imagine anyone loving anyone more than she loved Miriam.
When she’d walked into the conservatory the sight before her had felt like an improbable dream. The floor-to-ceiling patio doors were flung wide open onto the small garden where Jonah was busy at the barbecue. Coming from California, barbecues were second nature to him. At his family home in San Diego, where he and Claire had spent a fair amount of time at the beginning of their relationship, there had been an inbuilt brick burner in the back yard next to the swimming pool. She couldn’t remember the number of times they’d chucked some fresh fish onto the coals as they’d drunk some new age Sancerre.
Jonah’s back was to her and she took the opportunity to observe him for a couple of minutes transfixed, watching his muscular arms at work, picking up the tongs and turning the chicken thighs and burgers over. She’d always loved every glorious inch of his body, warts, scars and all, but if she had to choose her favourite part, it would be his strong, sportsman’s arms. She could feel her breath quicken. She wanted to touch them. She needed to touch them. She tiptoed barefoot towards him and caught him unawares, pinning her stomach against his back as she ran her hands up and down his triceps. Half a minute later he spun round to
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