Katie Fforde - Going Dutch

Marcus ate a spoonful himself. 'Wow. That has set quite a high standard.’

Jo sipped the brandy that had appeared at her elbow without her noticing. 'I'm not really comparing like with like. Don't worry.' Then she realised that sometime during the evening she had decided that if the opportunity arose, that if he wanted to, she would put aside her years of conditioning, of being sensible and thinking about the future, and have sex with him, whatever the consequences. It came as a huge shock. Her shock must have showed because he laughed.

‘Don't worry, I won't hold you to anything, except perhaps my manly chest.’

Now Jo was really giggly and accepted another spoonful of pudding. 'It's just as well we don't know anyone here. Imagine the scandal, a respectable middle-aged, middle-class woman dining with…' she paused for an apposite description.

‘A middle-aged, middle-class reprobate?'

‘Mm, that's quite accurate.'

‘But as we don't know anyone, drink up, it's time we were going home.’

There was no thought of them walking home. A taxi was found and whisked them back to the quay. They held hands in the dark and Jo felt more young and giddy than she ever had done – even when she was officially young and giddy. She realised she was a little drunk when she got out while Marcus was paying the taxi driver and she found herself swaying. 'You're going to regret this in the morning,' she told herself firmly. 'Drink a lot of water or you'll feel awful.' But she knew that drinking water wouldn't stave off a much worse and possibly permanent hangover from her actions. She didn't care – she knew that the promise of the moment was too good to turn her back on, however much she might regret it later.

Marcus joined her and took her arm firmly, walking her the short distance back to the barge with an air of determination that Jo now found irresistibly attractive. He almost lifted her on to the barge and suddenly they were in the dark of the wheelhouse. The moment had come. She had to make her wishes known.

‘Marcus?'

‘What?’

Jo drew her breath to say she knew not what – something that would give him the hint that she wanted to be seduced, that she wasn't just about to thank him for a lovely evening.

Then he made everything a lot easier by kissing her. The pressure of his mouth bruised hers. That she hadn't been kissed like that for years and years was her last conscious thought. She swayed in his arms and her head spun, affected as much by his kiss as by the brandy. She twined her fingers into his hair as he crushed her with his passion, and she forgot to breathe. They broke apart reluctantly, panting from lack of oxygen and desire.

‘Goodness, you're a good kisser,' she murmured, smiling.

He laughed. 'And my talents don't end there.'

‘That's fighting talk! Come down and prove it!' she said.

The thought of undressing in front of a man other than her husband had always terrified her, but now, she didn't even think about it. They pulled at each other's clothes as they got in the way of their searching hands. When at last he had got all her clothes off, he sighed deeply as he held her in the circle of his arms, stroking the curve of her waist. 'I can't tell you how long I've wanted this.’

Jo didn't answer. She felt utterly desired and equally desiring. She wanted him at that moment more than she had ever wanted anything. She dragged his shirt out of his trousers and was at his belt buckle like a tigress on her prey.

‘There's something I must say-'

‘Not now,' she said huskily and hopped on to the bunk. It took him less than a moment to join her.

Later he brought them both glasses of water and reality seeped back into Jo's consciousness.

‘I've never done anything like that before,' she said.

‘I like to think I bring a certain originality to my love making.’

She giggled. 'You are so smug! I didn't mean that. I meant I haven't ever slept with a man I'm not married to.’

He pulled the duvet away from where it had got tangled between them so now they lay skin to skin. 'What? Not one indiscretion in all the years?’

She considered. 'There was an indiscretion but it didn't get very far.'

‘Why not?'

‘I was old-fashioned back then, and, as it turned out, stupid, and believed in my marriage vows.'

‘Although technically I suppose you are, you don't feel married then?'

‘Nope. As I see it, if the marriage vows are broken, they're broken, no matter which of you does it. Why have you never married, Marcus?'

‘Ah, well, I've always been a serial philanderer.'

‘I'm not sure you can be one of those, unless of course you hop from Cornflakes to Rice Krispies and on to Weetabix in a promiscuous way.’

He squeezed her shoulders and then kissed one of them. 'I didn't realise you could be so flippant.'

‘I feel flippant just now. And very – relaxed.'

‘I think the word you're searching for is sated.'

‘Is it?' She yawned deeply. 'I only know it's very nice, but I'm falling asleep.'

‘You go to sleep. We'll carry on this conversation in the morning.’

She opened her mouth to say 'Love you' in the way that she had to her husband for all those deluded, married years. Somehow, she stopped herself. She felt sure she could love Marcus but she retained enough common sense to realise her feelings might be more lust than love, and anyway, it was far too early to tell him. 'Goodnight, sleep tight, don't let the bed-bugs bite,' she said instead.

‘Joanna!’

She chuckled and closed her eyes. The trouble was, although she did feel a little flippant she knew perfectly well that in the morning she'd feel anything but.

The double berth in the back cabin of The Three Sisters was of traditional size, which meant, Jo was only too aware, small. There was no way they could share it without their limbs entangling, and if Marcus caught a sensitive part of her body as they adjusted their positions, one thing led to another. They didn't get much sleep. At about seven the following morning, Marcus got up to make tea. Jo followed him to have a quick look at herself in the mirror. Daylight could be horribly cruel to the older woman, she thought, and braced herself for the worst.

In fact, she realised, she didn't look too bad. Her left-over make-up had tactfully stayed just under her eyes and not smeared itself all over her face. Her hair was dishevelled but hadn't gone flat, and her skin looked relaxed and positively blooming. As she examined herself she remem bered reading that sex was good for the skin, and now she saw what they meant.

She hopped back into bed, bringing the duvet up over her breasts like they did in films. 'Perhaps I should put my designer bra back on?' she wondered. 'Then I'll look like I'm in Sex and the City. Except that my bra isn't designer and it looks silly, even when they do it.' She hoped Marcus hadn't heard her talking to herself when he appeared a moment or two later with the tea.

‘There was a text,' he said, handing her a mug and getting back into bed. He'd pulled on his trousers to go through the wheelhouse, but didn't take them off now.

‘Oh?'

‘From Michael.'

‘Nothing's wrong?' she asked anxiously. 'He can still come and help you bring the boat back, can't he?'

‘Oh yes, that's not a problem. No, he'd had a message from Karen.' He took a sip of tea.

‘What, Karen my daughter?' Jo sat up, immediately alert. 'Is there another Karen in Joanna-land?’

He wouldn't have made this joke if there was a problem, although there seemed to be a wistfulness about him. 'What did she say? She's all right, isn't she?'