Women of a Dangerous Age. Fanny Blake

up.

      ‘Morning.’ She’d kissed his left eye, then his right.

      He’d groaned as he rolled to face her, squinting as he opened one and then the other eye. ‘God! That brandy was a mistake.’

      ‘But you’re usually OK.’ Their noses were almost touching and she could just smell his morning-after breath. She couldn’t help noticing the few broken veins in his cheeks, the incipient wrinkles around his mouth, his greyish overnight stubble: all reminders that time was marching on. He slid his arm around her waist.

      ‘Yeah, but last night was different.’ He pulled back a little and looked at her. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you the way I did. Stupid of me. I don’t want to spoil what we’ve got either. I’m happy to leave things be, if that’s what you want. In fact, perhaps that would be better for both of us.’

      ‘Stop right there,’ she said, not wanting him to retract anything, not now her own thoughts were changing so fast. ‘I lay awake for half the night, thinking about what you said.’

      ‘Did you? Poor baby. Forget it. We’re fine just as we are. Really.’ He kissed her, slow and lingering, the definite prelude for more. He slid his leg between hers.

      She began to respond, then wriggled out of the embrace.

      ‘Come on. Don’t let a bloke down now. We haven’t got much time.’ He’d reached for her again. But she had something important to say.

      ‘I know, I know, but …’ She sat up, plumping the pillow behind her and adding a couple of the scatter cushions that had been relegated to the floor. ‘We’ve got to talk.’

      ‘About what?’ He scratched his head so his hair stood on end. He leaned across her and flicked the Today programme over to Radio 3 as the presenter announced Debussy’s La Plus que Lente. The notes of the piano swelled and fell in the quiet of the room as he waited for Ali to speak.

      ‘About last night. About what you said.’

      He screwed up his right eye and with his right thumb on his cheekbone rubbed the bridge of his nose with two fingers. ‘Yes?’

      She heard how apprehensive he was, so hurried to put him out of his misery. ‘I think it’s a wonderful idea.’ She watched his eyes open wide in surprise. ‘I was shocked last night. But I’ve thought and thought about what it would mean and now I know that’s what I want too.’

      ‘You do?’ He sat up too, his voice coloured with disbelief.

      ‘I definitely do.’

      He enveloped her in a bear hug, pulling her over so they lay face to face, but she hadn’t finished. ‘I love you and want to be with you. But … what about your wife? What will you do?’

      ‘Forget about her,’ he’d whispered. ‘You didn’t want to know about her before, so let’s keep it that way for now. I don’t want her to spoil anything.’

      Remembering his words again now reminded her of how little she really knew about him. Lou was so right to have picked up on that. Aware of movement beside her, Ali opened her eyes, hoping to find her friend awake and in a mood to talk. But despite her change of position, Lou’s head was slumped against the headrest, her distinctive eye mask still in place.

      Disappointed, Ali shifted in her seat, slipping off her shoes, and returned to her thoughts. She had curled herself around their secret until she’d got used to it, squeezing every drop of private pleasure from it. She was dying to see the expression on her friends’ faces when they heard she was going to settle down. Most of her women friends had become so wrapped up in their marriages and children, they didn’t look outwards any more. That was one of the things she liked about Lou, her interest in the world around her. But Ali’s friends saw her as a professional mistress – serially monogamous with other women’s husbands. And not all (if any) of them approved or thought it as amusing as they might once have done, especially not after they’d got married themselves. Then their views on marriage underwent a sudden transformation. Ali had become a threat to all they held dear. To hell with them. How gloriously gobsmacked they would be at the change in her fortunes now Ian had come along.

      Opening her eyes again, she was confronted by the on-screen flight information. The cartoon plane had barely moved since she last looked. She fiddled with the control pad, trying to switch off the image. What did she care about the temperature outside the plane right now? She wasn’t intending to experience it for herself. She looked at Lou who had pulled her blanket right over her head, now dead to the world. Ali felt her stomach contract again. Cursing quietly, she excused herself from the row once again. ‘I’m so sorry but I’m not too well.’ To say she had Delhi belly seemed a somewhat insensitive euphemism to use to a native Indian. ‘Rather than disturbing you through the night, I wonder if we could swap seats?’ Lou would be horrified, but needs must.

      ‘If you think that would be better for you. Of course,’ he said, disentangling his headphones and gathering his possessions – a paperback, his airline toiletry bag and a bottle of water – and stood to let her past.

      ‘I think it might.’ Propelled by a certain degree of urgency, she transferred her belongings to the outside seat, then abandoned him to make his own arrangements.

      When Ali returned, he was asleep in front of the thriller. She sat down, resigned to a long sleepless night ahead. She tuned in to an anodyne family comedy that required neither concentration nor intelligence but even so she could only think of Ian.

      He had noticed how uncomfortable she was with the way he talked about his wife, and had hugged her tighter.

      ‘I don’t want her spoiling what we have. When I come here to your flat, I can forget everything else. I feel a different person. Do you understand that?’

      ‘I suppose so,’ she murmured, enjoying their closeness enough to drive away her concerns. ‘But we can’t exist in this weird little bubble forever.’

      ‘We can try.’ He began to kiss her again.

      Once again, she pulled away, this time to his tsk of annoyance. ‘Where will we live?’ she asked.

      ‘Where?’ He let her go. ‘What’s wrong with here? I love this place.’

      ‘So do I. But if we’re going to have a new life together then I’d like to live somewhere that’s ours. Yours and mine. A new start.’ She snuggled up to him. He just hadn’t thought this through. She had moved into her flat when she had accepted she was probably going to be single forever so this was her domain, her home. The place held too many memories that had nothing to do with him, and, if she was honest, were hardly appropriate to the life they were planning. No, if they were starting a life together, they needed a place of their own. She could tell from his silence that she had surprised him. One all, then.

      Despite his apparent lack of enthusiasm, she’d made up her mind that was definitely what was going to happen. She’d already put out a few feelers before she came away but as soon as she got home she’d be combing the property pages and pestering the agents. He’d come round when he realised how a move made sense. Then she’d have to broach the idea of a baby. Too much too soon? But time was against them. If they didn’t talk about these things now, it might be too late. And Ian loved her. He would understand.

      Moments later, she had to leave her seat again. At the back of the plane, the cabin crew were in the galley, whiling away the hours until their more active duties resumed. The blonde I’m-Clare-fly-me one noticed Ali’s coming and going, and asked if she could help. So it was that, provided with a beaker of water, Ali found herself lying full length on an empty row of seats, reasonably comfortable at last. By the time the stewardesses began the breakfast round, she was fast asleep.

      Lou was woken by the sound of the trolley and distant voices. Keeping the blanket over her head, she swallowed and ran her tongue around her mouth. The metallic taste was the side effect of her sleeping pill but her head was clear. Only a few hours and she’d be home, taking down the Christmas decorations. They’d looked so