Antidote to Infidelity (60 page)

“
Sally,
”
he says sternly, startling me.

“
What?
”
I ask, gently caressing his
ribs.

“
Stop thinking that.
”

“
Thinking
what
?
”

“
That I
’
m lucky not to be sitting here
dead. It
’
s one of your most
bizarre analogies ever. Give over and give us a kiss.
”

Oops. Busted.

Stopping on command
I swoop in for a smooch, spotting Rob, Lakers cap on head, Becks in hand,
dipping his big toe in the shimmering turquoise pool.

“
Sorry if I
’
m interrupting
anything
,
”
he grins, tipping his peak.
“
Me mam wants to know if our
Will-ee-yum needs a jumper?
”

“
No!
”
Will snaps, shaking his head
as I snigger.
“
Tell her bloo-dy no.
Tell her to stop fussin
g
and go to bed.
”

“
What about you?
”
Rob asks mischievously.
“
Can I get you anythin
g
. . .
dear
? Or should I
say señora now you
’
re knockin
g
on a bit?
”

“
Ah! Not unless you want a clip
round the ear,
”
I laugh, warding
him away with a lightening waft of my hand.
“
Oh,
bugger it, what do I care? Flirty thirties here I come!
”

“
So much for altering!
”
Will cries, frowning
disapprovingly as his brother strips off and slips into the spa.
“
Wait. Don
’
t tell me. You didn
’
t even
notice
our Adonis
over there.
”

“
I
didn
’
t
,
”
I insist earnestly.
“
Honest.
”

Judging by his
smirk, I
’
ve got a sneaking
suspicion he doesn
’
t believe me but
seriously
,
I
’
m telling the
gospel
truth.

I haven
’
t paid a blind bit
of attention to those firm, bulging biceps, that rippling six pack, the
alluring way he brushes his wet, jet black hair aside as he emerges from the
water like a tanned, toned . . .

“
Sally, woo-hoo. Earth to Sal.
Tut!
”

Will waves his hand
in front of my transfixed face with a told-you-so eyebrow hike.
“
You were saying?
”

Rumbled again. Twice
in quick succession. He
’
s getting good, I
’
ll have to stay on
my toes.

“
If you
must
know,
”
I say innocently,
“
I was thinking about something
else entirely.
”

“
Which is? . . .
”

Reaching down
beneath our love seat, I toss fluffy pink and white marshmallows into our
steaming drinks.

“
Oh, I don’t know. It’s just . .
. have you ever had the feeling you
’
re sitting on
something big?
”

“
Always,
”
he boasts, patting his boxers.
“
Especially in the
mornings.
”

“
Oi! Don
’
t flatter yourself,” I chide.

Stretching his arms
skyward, Will sighs, “Ahhh. Will Moss, irresistible to man, woman and beast.
”

“
Next door
’
s randy Chihuahua doesn’t
count, you know.
”

“
Spoilsport.
”

“
I
’
m
talking about the business,
”
I tell him
seriously.
“
I really do think we
can make it fly.
You, me, the kids. We’ll make a cracking team, I know it.”

“
The best,
”
he nods, caressing my ear.
“
You’re driving, babe, all I ask
is that you take me along for the ride.
”

Nodding rapidly, my
gaze drifts down to the tranquil marina and then to Greg
’
s yacht, where two silhouettes
are locked in a clinch at the stern.

“
What do you think? Will they,
won
’
t they?
”
Will asks, following my eyes.

“
Of
course
they will,
”
I say, with certainty.
“
It
’
s Bianca.
”

“
Mmm,
”
he muses,
“
She
’
s doing well, don
’
t you think? Staying like
that
for so long.
”

“
Like what?
”

“
Vertical,
”
he quips.
“
It
’
s quite an achievement.
I’m speechless.”

***

Me too, actually. I don’t think
I’ve ever seen Bianca so happy. She’s spent every evening this week
getting better
acquainted with Greg, our hot Aussie office manager.

But not
that
well acquainted, you understand. Apparently, she
’
s
taking things slowly and not jumping straight into the sack with him because,
‘
Fuck me, Sal, are you
bonkers
?
Why in the world would I do that? I
really
like him’.

I know what she
means, I like him, too. But not like
that
, obviously, even though I
still
think he looks a million dollars. From now on, I swear, I
’
m strictly a one-man woman.

Unlike raunchy
Liselle, or should I say,
Miss Whiplash,
who, judging by her frequent
explicit e-mails, is swinging from the chandeliers with more cute guys than you
can shake a stick at.

Rowan, bless her,
juggling morning sickness and a craving for Marmite-dipped crabsticks, has been
offered the editor
’
s post at The
Whistler, a position she’s turned down in favour of her dream job: full-time
mum.

She’s flying out
next week actually, staying in Amy and Ben’s apartment, which is three doors
down. The only trouble is, it
’
s currently housing
my mother. Talk about fickle! Will can’t put a foot wrong, but only because The
Monster’s got her eye on a yacht. That explains the pie-making, at least.

Well, mustn
’
t complain. The transformation
is astronomical. Godzilla to doting grandmother in the blink of an eye. Rosie
and Ryan are thrilled. They like their ‘new mamma’ almost as much as their new
home, and they’ll soon be attending a lovely English school with its very own
beach.

In my defence, I
did
fill that bloody form in. I
knew
I had, so did Liselle and the girls. Will, with his plans afoot, simply
neglected to post it, telling the kids that - if they kept his little secret –
they’d never have to go to school in the rain!

Even
more
exciting, though, is new country, new dormitorio. Yes tonight, for the first
time in nearly five years, I’ll be snuggling up to a new (and a lot less
fidgety) sleep partner.

Their daddy.

***

Somewhere high in
the rolling mountains beyond the headland, an ancient church clock chimes
twelve in the darkness.

 On the final
strike, as Will presses his lips to mine, I kiss back longingly, thinking that
if God was to strike me down at this
very
second, it wouldn
’
t be a bad way to go.

Emotions welling up
inside, I melt into the moment . . . which shatters like a crystal goblet as a
sopping red baseball cap is shoved rudely between us, covering us in icy
droplets. The grinning head that follows it, parting our embrace, belongs to
Rob.

“Sorry to kill the
Kodak moment folks, but me mam’s cut her finger. You got any plasters?”

We glance towards
the illuminated kitchen where Mary, injured hand aloft in a chequered
tea-towel, is flapping like a riled rooster, flanked by Clive, who’s waving the
offending bread knife and a crimson French stick.

“Is she okay? Is it
deep?” I ask quickly, about to hop up and help.

“Uh-uh. Just a nick
at the top,” Rob smirks, ruffling my hair and pinning me to my chair. “I’ve seen
worse.”

“Good,” Will nods,
exchanging plane-landing signals with his father. “Second drawer on the left,
mate, between the fridge and the cooker. Savlon’s in the first aid box under
the sink.”

There’s a twinkle
playing somewhere behind his ebony eyes as he adds, “And for God’s sake,
whatever you do,
don’t
take her to casualty!”