Coming Around Again (6 page)

As he tucked her beneath his duvet, he said gently, “I’ll bring you a
bowl and some painkillers for the headache.”

“Aren’t you going to get this?” she asked.

He smirked. “I don’t get sick. You know that.”

“Twat,” she muttered to his amusement. Before she could say anything
else, he’d left the room. Slick bastard. She was in his bed undressed. It was
their first date all over again…

Two years before
marriage

Stella hid her face behind her hands. She couldn’t believe he was doing
this. The man had no shame! That, or the dinner they’d had at a
Prohibition-style restaurant had far too much rum in the cake Niels ate for
dessert.

He’d taken her by the hand and they’d looked for somewhere to have a
drink. In the underground bar of a converted public toilet, a cabaret singer
belted out show tunes in between swings of gin and tonic. Niels handed her an
ice bucket filled with warm salted popcorn and a glass of champagne.

As far as first dates went, she’d been delighted, surprised, and
enamoured by the Viking blond who’d taken charge where no man had dared to
before. When the singer beckoned to Niels to join her, the man brushed his lips
over Stella’s jaw and joined the singer in a rousing chorus of “
Life is a Cabaret”
. The rest of the
patrons cheered at his tuneful rendition, chorus line kicks, and jazz hands
included.

The singer kissed him on both cheeks to applause and whoops before
directing to Stella, “You are a lucky little cat!”

“Yes, I am,” she agreed on a laugh. Niels had a bright red lipstick
stain on either side of his face. Jealousy lit inside Stella like a beacon of
ownership. She took a napkin, dipped it in some water, and gently wiped the
lipstick from his marble-smooth skin.

“All gone?” he asked, his gaze focused on her lips.

Pressing her lips together, she discarded the napkin and picked up her
glass. “Like you haven’t been kissed by a woman old enough to be your
grandmother.”

He sucked in a breath. “Ooh, ouch. I think champagne makes you mean.”
Truly it did. He removed the glass from her fingertips and clutched her hand.
“Let’s go.”

If he insisted. “Does this mean you were meant to be a singer in another
life? Serenading people in converted public loos?” she asked as they began
walking across Waterloo Bridge. His fingers interlocked with hers, stroking
back and forth, their arms swinging casually in the space between them.

“I thought I’d end up on Eurovision.”

Stella laughed until tears ran down her face. “Eurovision? In something
tight?”

“And sparkly.”

“With backing dancers?”

“And a catchy tune. This is what the UK doesn’t understand.
Le
Royaume-Uni
. Like any competition, you should take it seriously. You may
take it as a joke. The rest of Europe doesn’t.”

“That’s because your music is pony,” Stella said dismissively.

“Didn’t you send a group called the Cheeky Girls to Eurovision?”

“Aww, that’s not fair! At least they were memorable. I can’t remember
the last Danish entry.”

He sent her a look of dismissal. “Were you watching or were you
drinking?”

“Someone’s patriotic,” she teased.

Niels came to a halt and tugged her hand. She
collided into the hard muscle of his torso and gasped at the feel of him
pressed against her. They’d been in close proximity for hours, but now the heat
of him radiated through her, sensation brushing deliberately between her
thighs. She almost begged him to touch her there; it overwhelmed her. It should
have frightened her; the intensity of her attraction to him but for the first
time, Stella let it wave over her, wind through her blood like expensive
liquor.

He lowered his head, the lights of the Southside of
London’s landmarks playing over his face in hypnotic array, the colours dancing
behind her eyelids as he kissed her. His touch felt all at once familiar and
explosively new, like a brand of ownership.
You’re mine
, his mouth told
her, as a simple reminder of his claim.

She’d never been one for displays of affection in
public, but with Niels’ mouth on hers, his hands locked just above the curve of
her bottom, pressing her firmly between his thighs, she didn’t know if anyone
was passing by, commenting, or telling them to go somewhere else with that
nonsense. All she was certain of was the real possibility of her going along
with any suggestion he came up with. She was completely under his spell. His to
command.

“We should go,” he murmured against her lips.

Stella didn’t open her eyes. “I’m okay where I am.”
She cracked open an eyelid when she noticed the kissing was not to be resumed.
Even a pout didn’t start it up. Keeping an arm around her, Niels walked her
across the remainder of the bridge, to the tube station. She felt entranced as
he pulled her through the ticket barriers and onto the escalators, holding her
to his back.

He stroked his hand up and down the length of her
bare thigh, grazing the gusset of her knickers, to her enflamed gasp.

“Calm down, Stella.” He threw the words over his
shoulder. “When I do fuck you, it’s going to be private so I can take all the
time I need.”

“Now?” she murmured against his neck, the woollen
collar scratching her cheek.

“We’re inside a tube station, so the answer is no.”

“Okay.” She acquiesced. “Now?”

The escalator levelled off and he tugged her in the
southbound direction of the trains.

“Private, Stella. I don’t think you’re ready for
the type of voyeurism I’m into.”

Interesting
. “Tell me.”

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, tucking her
into the nook of his body. With his mouth caressing her earlobe, he whispered
such fantasies, Stella’s breathing turned shallow and her whole body melted
like ice cream over a chocolate fondant.

Niels held her with his ice-blue eyes, his
blond-tipped lashes casting shadows over his angular face. “Will you be patient
now?”

She took a deep breath. “You need to take me home
with you.”

***

Stella felt small fingers peeling back her eyelids. The bed felt
unfamiliar. Not dipped where her body had created a nice dent with her body
weight. This mattress felt as unyielding as brick. She remained in Niels’
territory. Stupid stomach flu.

“Muma, are you dead?” came Danny’s worried voice.

“Daniel,” Niels warned sternly, “leave your mother alone.”

“Hello Danny, darling,” she murmured, before her thundering migraine
possessed the power of speech. Blinking the brightness of the overhead lights
away, she heard footsteps retreating. A moment later, she felt Niels lean over
her and press an ice-cold flannel to her head. The migraine withdrew enough for
her to open her eyes properly.

“Any nausea?” he asked, helping her to sit up.

“Don’t fuss,” she grumbled, taking the flannel off her head with shaking
hands. “I’m all right.”

“You’ve been asleep for the better part of the day. It’s almost nine.”

“At night?” Her voice rose to a squawk.

He blinked patiently. “Yes, at night. It’s dark outside, look.” He
nodded to the large bay windows, the street lights starkly white in the blackness.

“Nine and the boys are still up?”

“They’ve been sleeping, too.”

Stella tried to moisten a desert-dry mouth with saliva. “I need to call
into work…”

“I called them,” Niels interrupted, taking a glass and waving it under
her nose. It bubbled and fizzed against her face in waves of ginger fragrance.
She took several gulps and handed the glass back. “Better?

“Hmm. What did you say? Who did you speak to?”

“That over-efficient little sheep you have, what’s her name? Reema? I
explained you were ill and not to be disturbed for forty-eight hours at least.”

No one would blame her if she killed him. Not really. “I’m all right.”

“Course you are. I woke the boys up to eat some soup. Can you manage a
little?” She shook her head and cursed herself for moving. “All right, don’t
trouble yourself. Have some water. And here.” He pressed two tabs of
paracetamol into her palm and handed her a glass of water. “That should sort
out the headache.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, gulping down the tablets and liquid. Resting
back against the pillows, she examined him. The concern in his eyes was
extraordinarily disconcerting. She hadn’t seen him this worried about her
since…well, since she gave birth to the twins. Stella had been sick since, but
she’d simply worked through it. Even if she had a minute to indulge a migraine
or a cold or symptoms of a fever, she had two children to look after, a house
to run, a business to support, and a husband with far too busy hands to tame.
She was too used to doing things alone.

The majority of her life she had played the role of the responsible one,
the sensible one, the reliable one. There wasn’t time for anything and she
couldn’t bring herself to even suggest to Niels that he pitch in. Whatever he
said, he was a traditionalist. He didn’t like that she remained working. He
despised that she never took his surname, even though everyone insisted on
calling her Mrs. Strøm. Niels wanted a housewife. Stella was Wonder Woman.

“What?” she asked, pulling the duvet up to her chin.

He breathed a laugh through his nose and stood up. “Not to worry,
Stella. Nothing will penetrate your force field tonight.”

“That includes you,” she warned him.

Niels burst out laughing. “The comatose female has never given me wood.
Go back to sleep.”

Waving her middle finger in his general direction, Stella turned onto
her side and closed her eyes. She heard the drawing of blinds and the snap of
the side lights turning off. In minutes she was fast asleep, the pain in her
head at a muted throb.

***

Five years married

She always believed people exaggerated about the
terrible twos. All it would take was a firm voice and clear direction for her
beloved twins to behave. She’d been misled.

Niels watched with her in horror as Danny meted out
the worst tantrum she had ever seen off television about a denied packet of
sweets at the tills.

“Haaaaaaaaate you!” he screamed, throwing packets
everywhere. Even Will looked surprised by the outburst.

Something snapped Niels into action. Whether it was
the cashier asking them how they wanted to pay; or the woman behind them
tutting about misbehaving children, Stella had no idea. But in a flash, Niels
lifted Danny from the trolley and marched out of the supermarket.

Stella hurried up and paid, packing their weekly
shop into the trolley. Man, all they’d wanted was some ice cream. That’s all.
And maybe some baby biscuits for the kids. Instead, they remembered everything
had run out and the shop took longer than necessary. Stella couldn’t manage on
her own and Niels knew divide and conquer worked well with the boys. Will
looked up at his mother.

“Danny naughty,” he said solemnly.

“Sometimes he is, yes,” Stella agreed. She rounded
the corner to the parking area. Niels leaned against a concrete pillar,
watching Danny wriggling on a wooden bench, eyes red raw from crying.

“Time’s up,” Niels announced, and went down on a
knee in front of his son. “Listen to me. If Muma or I say no, it means no. You
do not misbehave. You do not scream or shout. And you do not touch things that
don’t belong to you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Dada.”

“What do you say?”

“Sorry, Dada.” He caught sight of Stella and burst
into tears again. “I sorry, Muma!”

Niels gathered him up in his arms and cradled him
against his chest. “You’re forgiven.” He kissed him on the top of his head, and
Danny snuggled into his embrace.

Stella gazed at him in complete love. “I have never
been more turned on than I am right now.”

Niels raised an eyebrow. “You know they’re going to
repeat that to someone completely random and you’ll have to explain yourself to
social services, don’t you?”

“You needed to know,” she said, pushing the trolley
toward their car. Niels put the shopping in the boot and Stella secured the
twins in their seat. How she used to pity parents! Barely pity them; the rest
of her emotions were reserved for impatience for adults who failed to control
their sprogs. She wondered who would ever pity her.

Watching Niels close the boot and get into the
driver’s seat, she comforted herself knowing that she wouldn’t be pitied.
Envied, for sure. Her children could be nightmares but most of the time they
were picture-perfect treasures she loved beyond measure. And her husband? Yeah.
Envied. Absolutely envied.

By the time the kids were bathed and put to bed,
Stella felt exhausted. Niels handed her a glass of wine and patted the space
next to him on the sofa. Tucking her feet underneath her, she practically
collapsed into her husband’s side and groaned, “Can we still give them up for adoption?”

He laughed. “Today, I was very tempted to leave
Daniel on a doorstep with a note. Any doorstep.”