Second Chances (24 page)

‘It would have to be a pretty big rock,’ she said, her voice wobbling.

‘A pretty damn big rock,’ he agreed, solemnly. ‘I’m a very big boy.’

She
smiled, a wonky, tear-stained smile, dropped her bags and the bloody umbrella and threw her arms around his neck, hugged him so tightly that she was almost unaware that he was hugging her back, and there were tears in his eyes, those beautiful grey eyes, too.

‘I love you, you mad person,’ she whispered, when they relaxed their hold enough to gaze at each other.

‘Thank God. Now, can I finally take you home and tear your clothes off properly? Because if we stand here much longer, I am in serious danger of hurting myself because I have the biggest hard-on in the history of mankind and I have to make love to you, over and over and over again, until the gods of sex are appeased.’

Allegra
realised she was blushing like a schoolgirl; shy and nervous and excited and happy and confused but oh-so-desperately wanting to tear his clothes off and make love to him over and over and over again as well.

‘I mean, we can still do that, right? It is still okay to, you know…?’ Jack looked worried. ‘I don’t want to hurt you… or our baby.’

‘Yes it’s still safe to… you know,’ Allegra said, blushing even more deeply. ‘But you’re going to have to kiss me first, and if it’s any good, I may just do you a favour… just this once.’

If you enjoyed reading
Second Chances
you may be interested in
My Mother’s Wedding
by Frankie McGowan, also published by Endeavour Press.

Extract from
My Mother’s Wedding
by Frankie McGowan

Chapter
One

'The
minute
you
get
back,'
Alice
said.
She
knew
her
voice
was
shaking.
'I'll
keep
my
phone
on.
Call.
Just
call.'

She
leaned
against
the
window
frame,
one
arm
wrapped
tightly
around
her
stomach,
the
other
holding
the
phone
so
rigidly
against
her
ear,
it
had
begun
to
hurt.
She
felt
breathless.
He
was
going
to
tell
his
wife.
'Oh
God,’
she
said
into
the
phone.
'I
can't
think
straight.'

She
heard
him
laugh.
A
nervous
laugh.
'Will
you
be
alright?'
she
asked.

From
where
she
was
standing
in
the
bay
window
of
her
ground
floor
flat
she
was
vaguely
aware
of
the
family
who
lived
directly
across
the
narrow
street
in
Fulham,
piling
their
three
children
into
a
shiny
new
people
carrier,
the
father
trying
to
cajole
a
large,
unruly
Labrador
into
the
gated
bit
at
the
back.
It
was
a
family
with
whom
she
was
only
on
nodding
terms.
But
for
reasons
she
did
not
have
to
dig
too
deeply
to
understand,
a
family
she
found
attractive,
enviable.

'I
have
no
idea,'
Claude
said
from
his
apartment
on
the
Rue
de
Vaugirard.
'But
this
is
stupid.
You
there,
me
here,
spending
a
fortune
to
be
with
each
other.
She
has
to
know
sometime,
doesn't
she?
And
I
have
a
life
too,
don't
I?
So,
I
will
tell
her,
divorce
or
no
divorce,
you
will
be
with
me.'

Alice
struggled
to
summon
up
a
vision
of
Claude
being
as
firm
as
he
sounded,
with
a
wife
whose
steel-like
grip
on
the
finer
points
of
French
divorce
law
had
made
a
nonsense
of
retaining
the
services
of
her
very
expensive
lawyer.
Only
the
day
before,
when
clearly
any
further
legitimate
grounds
for
preventing
a
divorce
seemed
to
have
temporarily
failed
her,
she
had,
Claude
said,
fielded
a
new
concern
regarding
their
three
small
boys
who
lived
with
her.
Divorce,
she
had
announced
down
the
phone,
was
impossible
until
the
boys
were
much,
much
older.
The
trauma
of
their
father
not
living
in
the
same
house
anymore
was
bad
enough
but
her
counsellor
had
now
said,
after
observing
the
children
at
play
that
it
was
bordering
on
mental
abuse.
Irreparable
damage
was
mentioned.

His
children.
His
passion.
His
conscience.
Until
this
morning,
Alice
had
accepted
he
was
no
proof
against
such
anguish.
Nor,
it
had
to
be
said,
was
she.
But
she
had
several
reservations
about
this
therapist
dispensing
such
dubious
advice,
doubts
which
she
wisely
kept
to
herself.
Alice
had
never,
of
course,
met
Sylvie
in
person,
but
she'd
seen
her
photograph
in
Claude's
apartment,
draped
around
her
three
boys.
The
spitting
image
of
Claude.
But
even
on
such
slight
evidence,
Alice
didn't
find
it
at
all
hard
to
equate
the
dark-eyed,
black-haired,
pixie
faced
woman
who
stared
confidently
back
at
her
with
someone
who
expected
-
and
got
-
her
own
way.
But
she
hadn't
kept
a
grip
on
Claude.

Alice
wasn't
at
all
sure
clinging
on
to
such
a
dead
marriage
had
anything
to
do
with
Sylvie's
feelings
for
Claude;
just
wanting
to
make
sure
the
future
was
laid
out
to
her
requirements,

‘Alice?’
Claude
repeated
into
the
brief
silence.
'Are
you
alright?'

'Of
course.
Fine.
Just
terrified.'

'I
know,
but
I
said,
will
you
mind?'
Claude
asked.
'Giving
everything
up?
The
gallery?
Your
house?
I
know
how
hard-'

'Claude,'
she
interrupted
gently.
'Not
being
with
you
is
far
harder.
Listen,
truly.
I'm
not
exactly
raking
it
in,
am
I?
So,
no
big
deal.
Now,
just
call,
the
minute
you've
got
some
news.'

'As
soon
as
I
turn
the
corner
of
the
road,
'
he
promised.
'Where
will
you
be?'

'Where?'
Alice
repeated,
dragging
her
eyes
from
the
window.
The
car
carrying
the
squabbling
children
and
boisterous
dog
had
pulled
away
and
was
out
of
view.
She
glanced
at
her
watch.
They'd
been
talking
for
almost
an
hour.
'Oh
my
God,'
she
groaned.
'I'm
late
for
Dad's
garden
party.
'

'Garden
party?
Can't
it
wait?'