Men In Uniform: Mad About The Doctor. Natalie Anderson

      ‘Do you get them?’ She broke the silence.

      ‘What?’

      ‘Visions of a possible future.’

      ‘No.’ His mouth found her cheek and then slid to her ear and she was terribly glad she’d cleaned them.

      ‘Never?’ Alison checked, trying to talk, trying to breathe, trying very hard not to kiss him. ‘Don’t you see scenarios, like if you don’t do this, then that might happen?’

      He nibbled at her neck while he thought about it. ‘At work.’ Nick stopped in mid-nibble with his answer. ‘Sometimes when I’m looking at an injury I know if we don’t do that or prescribe that, then this might happen.’

      He got it.

      ‘And in your life?’ Alison asked, rolling into him, feeling his jean-clad sandy legs in between her bare ones, feeling his long, tanned fingers circling her nipples through her T-shirt, and she wanted to rest her breast in his palm, just kissing and lying and talking, and her body was the most alive it had ever been.

      ‘No.’ But Nick did think about it as he played with her breasts and what she loved the most was that he did think about it. ‘Actually, I did have one.’ His hands moved from her breasts and made lovely strokes through the cotton on her skirt down her stomach as he spoke. ‘When I was having my supposed premature midlife crisis.’ He could see her teeth as she smiled. ‘I was on call and the baby was screaming, the nanny had the night off and we were rowing because Gillian was working the next day…’ He blinked at his own admission. ‘I get it.’

      ‘What was the nanny’s name, then?’ Alison asked.

      ‘My visions aren’t that detailed,’ Nick said. ‘Helga?’ he offered, but she shook her head. ‘Svetlana?’

      ‘Better,’ Alison said.

      And he got it and that came with reward—her lips, unworried, met his and he kissed her mouth and pressed her into the sand. She felt the damp salt of the ocean on his shirt and she tasted it on his mouth.

      She felt the press of his leg and the roam of his hands, the sand in her hair and the slide of his tongue, and the dangerous beckoning of his loaned flat, and the pull of her home, all tightening in her stomach as his mouth pursued.

      It was a kiss that struck at midnight, and she turned, but only in his arms, a kiss that had her hips rise into his groin, and it could never be enough.

      A kiss that had her breast slip out of her bra and though encased in fabric still fall into his palm.

      A kiss where you didn’t have to go further to enjoy it, but for Alison it was already too late to stay, though it was Nick who pulled away, because if he kissed her for a moment longer, he would forget they were on a beach!

      ‘I ought to go,’ Alison said.

      ‘Yes, you ought to,’ Nick said, and she let him help her up, and then he did the nicest of things—he dusted her down.

      It was the nicest thing.

      The stroke of his hand on her body, the attention to detail, the warmth of his palm stroking her bottom and then dusting damp sand from her calves. It was so seemingly innocent but it was like sex with clothes on—actually far better than any sex Alison had ever had—and she stood, compliant, but she wanted to run with him, back to his flat, and never mind the coffee. And she nearly said ‘Your turn’, nearly put her hands out to deal with his sandy jeans, but he took her hand instead because it would have been far too dangerous, and they walked up the beach, tossed the bottle in the bin and then headed for her street. They walked in silence to her turn-off and this time when she went to say goodbye, Nick insisted on walking her to her door.

      With their kiss she was a little more his, even if just for a little while, which meant he walked with her. She just wished he wouldn’t, but couldn’t say so.

      ‘We’re both off at the weekend.’ Nick knew because he’d looked. ‘I was thinking of getting a bike, going for a ride in the mountains…’ He sensed her reluctance and misinterpreted it. ‘I’ll book two rooms.’

      ‘I don’t know, Nick.’ So badly she wanted to go, but it wasn’t just the weekend and sleeping arrangements that had her in knots, but getting on a bike, the recklessness of it—all of it. ‘Actually, I’ve got some things I need to do and then I’ve got a week of nights…’ And the evening ended there, and she gave him just a little kiss on the cheek, because she knew her mother was watching, and she knew too that he was watching her as she walked to her door.

      He was.

      And he must be getting good at her vision game, because as Nick walked home he was having one of his own and there wasn’t a crying baby or Svetlana in sight, more an Alison uncut vision.

      Alison let loose, Nick thought with a smile, pulling up in surprise at just how much he wanted to share his vision with her.

      ‘Oh, you’re back.’ Rose stood by the kettle, as if she hadn’t been at the window. ‘I was just making a cup of tea to take back to bed. Do you want one?’

      ‘No, thanks, Mum.’

      ‘Nice night.’

      ‘Really nice.’

      ‘How was your friend?’

      ‘Great,’ Alison said, hearing the singular, and she turned to go to bed, but then relented. ‘We just had some pasta, and then walked.’

      ‘You’re covered in sand.’

      ‘We walked on the beach.’

      Rose humphed, and no doubt there was half the beach in her hair and why did she feel guilty? Why was her mother sulking when she had done absolutely nothing wrong? ‘Am I allowed to ask his name? ‘

      Alison hesitated. It was all too new and too soon to be naming him, she wanted to pull apart her own thoughts and feelings without sharing things first, but her mum wanted conversation, inclusion, and at every turn Alison did try.

      ‘Nick,’ Alison said, and her mum just waited. ‘He’s a friend from work. So what did you do tonight?’

      ‘Not much—I looked through some photos.’ She gave a wan smile. ‘I’ll have to find something to do once you’re gone.’

      ‘I’ll be ten minutes away, Mum.’

      ‘Oh.’ Rose suddenly changed the subject. ‘Your uncle Ken rang. They’re having a barbecue at the weekend, so don’t go making any plans—they’re looking forward to seeing you.’

      ‘What day?’ Alison asked, sure, quite sure what was coming next.

      ‘I’m not sure…’ Rose’s forehead crinkled as she tried to recall. ‘Memory like a sieve—I’ll ring tomorrow.’

      To arrange a sudden barbecue, Alison thought, but didn’t say. ‘‘Night, Mum.’ She kissed her mother on the cheek and went upstairs, headed for her room and wished, wished, wished she’d met Nick in a couple of months’ time, when she had her own flat.

      But as Alison climbed into bed, she knew it wasn’t that simple.

      In thirty days’ time, twenty-eight, in fact, she’d have been in more of a position to let him into her life.

      To climb on a bike and head into the hills and, yes, maybe not tonight, but the way her body had thrummed to his kiss, soon, very soon, the night would have had a very different conclusion. Her own reaction tonight, though so natural at the time, startled her now as she lay there. She wanted to ring him, right now this minute, to explain that this was out of character for her. That wine and kisses on the beach. She burnt at the memory, but it was in embarrassment now. She wasn’t like that—well, she was, but only with him.

      He’d hardly appreciate the admission, Alison realised. Nick had wanted fun, so too had she.

      Maybe