"You don't have to be polite," he said, looking at me with a concerned expression. "I know they must have seemed like silly little girls to a woman like you."
"No Adam, honestly, they were fine," I insisted.
I felt really awful.
I didn't enjoy being with Alexandria, Zoo and Gerri or whatever their bloody names were because I was jealous of them, not because I was terribly mature and disdainful.
"Honestly, they're lovely girls," he said. "I just wanted to be with you and Kate but I didn't know how to keep them from sitting down with us without seeming rude," he explained.
"It's really fine," I insisted. "Look, I'd better go," I said as yet another person with a tray bumped into me and tisked at me for standing in the middle of an aisle.
"Are you sure?" he asked, standing very close to me.
"I am," I promised him.
"Really?" he asked, his face moving nearer to mine.
"Really," I promised him.
But I didn't move.
I wanted to stay there, close to him.
Just for a moment.
I wanted him to kiss me.
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But there was very little chance of that happening with several thousand people milling around us. Not to mention the fact that Kate would probably suffocate in her sling if Adam pulled me manfully into his arms.
"Can I walk you to your car?" he asked.
"No, really Adam, there's no need."
"I'll see you soon," he said gently.
"Yes." I gave him a little smile.
A nice smile.
A real one.
And he put his hands on my shoulders and pulled me to him (but with the utmost regard for Kate's comfort) and gave me the lightest little kiss on my forehead.
I closed my eyes, surrendering to the moment.
And I caught my breath because I could hardly believe that this was happening.
His mouth felt warm and firm.
He smelled of soap and warm smooth skin.
Through the din of voices that surrounded us in the caf� I heard someone say, "Look, it's those two again."
A voice said, "Which two?"
"You know, the two who were having the fight outside Switzer's yester- day."
The voices belonged to the girls who had taken great comfort in witness- ing the little exchange between Adam and me yesterday.
My God, was it really only yesterday?
They continued to loudly discuss us.
"Oh yes, them. Well, it looks as if they've made it up."
I opened my eyes and looked at Adam. We both started to laugh.
"In that case I really am going," I told him.
I passed the girls on the way out.
"I'm sure she didn't have a baby yesterday," one of them said.
"Would you say it's his?" the other wanted to know.
I carried on.
My forehead didn't stop tingling until I was a hundred yards from home.
Yes, yes, I know.
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A kiss on the forehead hardly qualifies as raunchy sex. I couldn't name you even one Swedish film that was made about a kiss on the forehead. But it was so yearning and so tender and in its own chaste way so erotic that it was lots better than raunchy sex.
Well, as good as, I suppose.
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seventeen
Laura came out on Sunday afternoon and we lounged around drinking tea and playing with Kate.
Playing with Kate involved, for the most part, feeding her, burping her and changing her.
Laura wore a filthy paint-stained T-shirt, which I presumed belonged to her teenage lover. She looked young and contented and happy.
And well she might.
She had had sex four times the previous night, stories of which she at- tempted to regale me with except we kept being interrupted by Mum or Dad.
"Any word from James?" she inquired, having given up on the idea of spending the afternoon talking dirty after Dad had left the room for about the twentieth time.
He'd come in, nodded at Laura and started lifting cushions off the couch and moving armchairs, muttering something about not having read the Independent, if Helen had taken it he'd kill her. And how he was the one who paid for the papers so why was he always the one who didn't get to read them.
Then he was back about three minutes later to see if the fire was lighting properly and had a big discussion, mostly with himself, about the merits of anthracite coal ("There's great heat in it, even if it does cost more.")
Laura and I just sat there, curled up on the couch, Kate on Laura's lap, all of us, even Kate, looking bored as we waited for him to finish his tirade and leave.
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He was no sooner gone than Mum paid a visit.
"Any word from James?" Laura asked again as the sitting room door closed yet another time.
"He's away," I said shortly. "But I'll call him tomorrow." I didn't want to talk about James, not then anyway. I was sick of hashing it and rehashing it and trying to make sense of it and worrying about what to do.
As they say in New York, "Get over it, and if you can't get over it, get over talking about it."
Sound advice.
Laura was in the house for a good hour before she broached the subject of Adam. I was amazed that it took her so long. "So what's the story with yourself and young Lochinvar?" she inquired ultra casually as she rubbed Kate's back with circular motions.
"Who?" I asked. Deliberately obtuse.
"The gorgeous Adam," she said in slight exasperation.
"What about him?" I asked.
"Well, for one thing he's crazy about you, and for another thing he's absolutely beautiful-looking. If he was five or six years younger, I might even be interested myself."
"Laura, he's not crazy about me," I protested. Of course I only said this so that Laura would insist that Adam was indeed crazy about me so that I could get that warm feeling of delight in my stomach again.
"He is crazy about you," she told me. "And what's more, you know it."
"But so what?" I said. "Even if he is crazy about me--and we have no proof that he is--what am I supposed to do about it?"
"Sleep with him," she said.
She hadn't an ounce of shame, that one.
"Laura! For God's sake, I'm married," I yelled at her.
"Oh yes?" she said smugly. "So where's your husband?"