I sat on the end of the bed. ‘Truth is, I haven’t done this for a long time and wondered if we could slow things down a little. Maybe just cuddle then sleep together, get to know each other a bit better.’
Gary visibly relaxed. ‘Great plan.’ He budged over in the bed and patted the pillow next to him. ‘That sounds perfect.’
It felt lovely to do just that, to lie in his arms and not have to worry about what to put where and when and how. Both of us were asleep in minutes.
I awoke the next day to feel an arm softly tossed around me. Still feeling sleepy and warm, I caressed the arm, noting how thin and bony it was. Shame, I thought, because I liked a bit of muscle on a man, but it feels nice, silky even. In that not-quite-awake-yet state and without opening my eyes, I turned a little so that Gary could lean in and kiss me if he wanted. He began to lick my face. OK, bit weird, I thought as the licking got more intense. Just go with it, I told myself, this phase is all about learning what turns each other on but this … ew, isn’t exactly doing it for me. My right ear and my cheek were getting a good wash; in fact, the sensation was altogether too wet, not sensual at all, nor was the smell of his breath. Added to which, despite our agreement to take things slowly, Gary was pushing against me with a mounting passion. I opened my eyes.
It wasn’t Gary. It was Dudley the Labrador.
I yelped. Dudley yelped. Gary came running in. He burst out laughing when he saw Dudley trying to hump me through the bedclothes. ‘One night together and already you’re being unfaithful,’ he said as he pulled Dudley off and I sat up.
‘Is that what people mean when they say they like it doggie-style?’ I asked as Gary led a disappointed Dudley out of the room.
*
Thursday evening: back at Gary’s. Dudley was locked in the kitchen. He wasn’t happy and, before Gary shut the door, he looked at me with the great sad eyes of an unrequited lover.
Safe from disturbance, we ate, we drank, we adjourned to the bedroom.
Happy days are here again.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Sara
Present day, March
I kept trying Rosie’s number but no joy, the phone just rang and rang. In the meantime, an interview had been scheduled for the ‘Let’s Hear It for the Boys’ programme. This time I was on my own because Jo was going to be busy ‘helping’ Gary with the animal programme, and Ally had gone to have lunch in Soho with her old friend Lawrence Carmichael, who was up in London for the day.
Lauren had come up trumps in finding our celebrity Simon’s friend Steve and they had been successfully reunited weeks ago. The idea was to film Simon and Steve away from the Little Dog office telling the story of their reunion and doing the sort of thing that they enjoyed doing together now. Simon said that they both loved looking at art so had suggested meeting at the Royal Academy in Piccadilly.
I was well prepared with my questions so set off with Ajay to meet them.
Both were already there, waiting in the foyer, when we got there. I was struck at once by how handsome Simon was, drop-dead gorgeous, in fact, and beautifully dressed; a tall, dark man with an athlete’s physique. Steve was smaller, broader, with glasses, brown hair and an intelligent and friendly face. I warmed immediately to both of them, particularly to Simon, and made a note to self to check out if he was still single.
‘You must be Sara,’ he said, ‘and this is my long-lost friend Steve.’
Steve put out his hand to shake mine. ‘Charmed to meet you. We must thank your company for reuniting us.’
‘And thank you for agreeing to take part,’ I said. ‘As you know, we wanted to focus on men’s friendships for our second programme.’
‘Fine by us,’ said Simon.
‘Shall we chat as we go round an exhibition or get some coffee in the café?’ I asked.
‘Oh coffee, I think,’ said Steve. ‘You can film us perusing the paintings later.’
Pleasantries out of the way, we went into the café, found a table and Ajay got out his camera. ‘So … first off, how do you think men’s friendships differ from women’s.’
‘Oh … right,’ said Simon. ‘What you do you think, Steve?’
‘I thought you might ask that so I’ve given it some thought. Many of the men I know, particularly those who are married, might keep up with one or two good old friends but rely mainly on their partners for their social life. Generally I think men aren’t as good as women at keeping friendships up.’
True, I thought. When I was married to Charles, it was always me who organized the dinners, the outings, booked weekends away with friends. I wondered if Ruth did the same now that she was with him, then pushed that thought away. ‘Why do you think that is?’
Simon shrugged. ‘Maybe men are more self-contained, or lazier …’ As he spoke, I noticed his hands, long fingers and perfectly manicured nails. I looked back at his face – denim-blue eyes, a wide, sensual mouth. I felt a tug of desire, something I hadn’t felt for a long time.
‘But men need friends just as much as women, don’t they?’
‘Definitely,’ said Simon, ‘but when my wife was alive, I was the classic example of letting her keep up the friendships. I suffered because of that when she died – I found myself quite lonely. I have my work friends, but they are more acquaintances than true mates. I realized that we all need company, someone to share life’s experiences with, someone to watch a sunset with, cook a meal
