Mike Shevdon - The Eighth Court

She’d been to the new place now. She’d wandered around it, touching the surfaces, drawing lines in the dust, getting the feel of the place. It was strange, as if there were someone waiting in the wings to enter, like a stage-play. You felt like the lights had gone up, but no cast had appeared. She’d found the article about Lettice, like a misspelled salad vegetable, and thought it was funny until Blackbird explained that it was an old spelling of Letticia, and the Letticia Knollys had been the lady of the house long ago. Personally she preferred Lettice.

“Aren’t you cold?” The voice was behind her, and it made her jump, but she hid it as well as she could.

“Hello Tate,” she said. “Do you enjoy creeping up on people?”

“Professional habit,” he said, leaning on the fence to look over the fields. “Pretty, isn’t it?”

“It has its charms,” she said. “I should be going in.” She stood back from the fence.

“Someone was in my room,” he said.

She froze. “Were they?”

“While I wasn’t there, someone went in and moved things.”

“Did they?”

“Why?” he asked.

She waited, but he didn’t say anything else. He was like a rock or a tree — just there, still, waiting.

“I thought… I thought I’d lost something,” she said.

“So it was you,” he said.

“You didn’t know?”

“I do now,” he said. “What did you lose?”

“I’m not sure,” she said, too quickly.

“Did you lose anything, or were you just taking a look around?”

“I told you,” she said. “I’m not sure.”

He was stillness again.

“Sorry,” she apologised.

“What were you looking for?” he asked again.

“I don’t know. I didn’t take anything, I promise. I thought maybe…”

“What?”

“Nothing. I shouldn’t have done it. I’m sorry.” Now she felt like shit. “I should go.”

He returned to the state of stillness. It was like looking at a photograph of someone. It didn’t look natural. “Tate?” It was just the instinct to make him move, make him come alive again.

“Yes?”

“Have you ever been in love?” As soon as she asked, she regretted it. What was she thinking? Even to have mentioned it was stupid. What was she thinking?

“Yes,” he said.

It was not the answer she was expecting. The one she was expecting was, why do you ask?

What she wanted to say was, who with , but came out was, “What was it like?”

He stared at the fields for a long time. She thought he wouldn’t answer, but after a while he did. “It was like drinking honey and finding ground glass in it.”

“Did she hurt you?” she asked.

“Not intentionally,” he said. “But the effect was the same.”

“I would never…” but then she swallowed her words. “Sorry,” she said. “I’ve really got to go.”

“Where?” he asked.

“What do you mean, where?”

“Where have you got to go?”

Alex looked at him. “To my room, I suppose. It’s cold. I’ll catch my death.”

“No you won’t,” he said. “Why do you run away?”

“I’m not running,” she said, anger tinting her words.

“Then, what are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m going inside. I can’t stay out here all night.”

“No,” he said.

She waited for something else, some clue, some tiny indication, but it was like he’d merged with the fence and become part of the scenery. “How do you do that?” she asked.

“Do what?” he said.

“Disappear in front of me while I’m watching you. Where do you go?”

“Professional habit,” he repeated. “You want me to show you how?”

“Sure,” she said.

He leaned back, shrugging his shoulders as if he was loosening part of a cliff in a landslide. “Rest your hands on the fence,” he said.

She did as he said, looking at the fields laid out before her. He moved around behind her, resting his hands either side of hers. She could feel the warmth radiating from him on her back, though he did not touch her. “Watch the moonlight,” he said. “Let it seep into your bones, slow your heart.”

Her heart was anything but slow. “I’m not sure this is a good idea,” she said, listening to her heart thump in her ears.

“Just relax,” he said. “Let it seep into you.”

She was more than conscious of the man behind her. His arms encircled hers, inches apart. She felt the heat of him behind her. She flushed, no longer cold. She twisted around, “I’d really better go…” And there he was, facing her. His long hair draped around his shoulders, the gleam of moonlight as it caught the reflection in his eyes. “Oh God,” she said.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Her eyes searched his for some sign, some indication. She wanted to reach up and touch his face, to see if felt the way her dreams told her it would.

“Tate?” she said.

“Yes?” he answered. She could feel his warm breath. There was a scent of musk and earth rising from him.

“Will you kiss me?”

He looked down at her for a moment. Oh shit! She thought. What did I have to say that for?

And then his lips touched hers. He was unexpectedly warm and soft, and she leaned into him, not wanting it to end. After a moment, he withdrew. “Like that?” he asked.

“Uh huh,” she said. “Again.”

He kissed her again, this time enfolding her in his arms and pressing her against him. She felt her knees give way, but he held her up. Her hands were searching for a way under his shirt, searching for skin. She slipped them under his shirt and found warmth and a gentle roughness. He released her, but she could not let go.

“Alex?”

“Uh huh?”

“Are you sure you want this?”

She pressed her lips to his again. “Yes,” she said, breaking away for a moment. She could feel his body responding to hers. The rush in her was impossible to defy. It was like the tide. She was incapable of resisting.

“Oh God! You’re going to have to take me somewhere.”

“Where?” His breath tingled across her neck.

“Anywhere,” she breathed. “But now.”

When I opened my eyes, I knew something was different. I was lying on my side, and the dawn light was just starting to brighten the room from behind the curtains, which in these shortest of days meant that I’d slept in. Still, there was something else. I rolled over to find myself being observed by two pale eyes.

“What are you doing there?” I asked my son, who was lying where Blackbird would normally be. She must have risen without waking me, and then popped him into bed with me while the bed was still warm.

His answer was to wriggle, waving his arms until he got one under himself and turned over so he could lift himself up on his hands.

“That’s a new trick,” I told him. He grinned at his achievement.

I sat up and stuffed some pillows behind me so I could lift him onto my lap.

“Where’s your mum gone, then?” I asked him.

“Mmmmmmmmmm,” he said, trying to tangle his fingers into the hair on my chest.

“Mum mum mum mum mum,” I said, encouraging him to repeat it.

“Ghrammugharghle,” he said, not helped by trying to get his fist into his mouth.

“One of us smells,” I told him. “And one of us needs a shower. Can you guess which one is which?”

That was enough to get me out of bed. I took him into the bathroom and changed his nappy. A small bit of tickling may have been involved. I tried to put him back in his cot so that I could shower, but he wasn’t having any of that, so I settled him into a nest of towels on the floor so he could watch me while I showered. He was quite amused by the splashing water, and it meant I was clean.