And I smile to myself because I’m totally exhausted, elated, cast away in a world of pleasure. I’ve got everything I could ever want or need … and it really can’t get any better than this.
I’m returning to reality, coming down from the trance. We’re back in bed together and he’s holding me, gently smoothing my hair. Raindrops patter against the skylight above us. The world’s a thousand miles away.
I could say anything now. I’m weak, suggestible, filters gone, all defences down.
‘I love my old man.’
‘Do you, now?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, if we’re using clichés,’ he grins, ‘I love my ball and chain.’
His lips brush against mine.
‘That was perfect,’ I murmur. ‘I love a good spanking.’
‘Glad to hear it.’
‘I never thought we’d do it again.’
‘We just had to wait for the right time, and let’s face it, we were never going to hang the washing on that bench.’
He laces his fingers through mine.
‘So, there’ll be more?’
He gives me a look of total disbelief.
‘Good God, yes. I’ll still be spanking you when we’re old and grey.’
‘We’ll never be grey,’ I smile dreamily, and if ever there’s been a time to throw out a mantra, then this is it. ‘Because the colour’s back.’
‘Too right.’ He locks eyes with me, and I lose myself in those irises. They’re vibrant tonight, an intense sapphire blue. ‘It’s been back for a while now,’ he whispers. ‘And this time, it’s here to stay.’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Dan
There’s nothing better than a morning in Bermuda. It’s paradise, pure and simple. I’d love to take my wife down to the beach and add another notch to that sunbed. The air’s fresh. The sun’s low in the sky. Perfect conditions for a good fuck and a quick swim with the woman I love. But the days of carefree sexual marathons are on hold.
And I never thought I’d say this … but I really don’t mind.
‘Emily?’ I whisper. ‘How about a pancake?’
Sitting at the veranda table, breakfast spread out in front of me, the next objective is to get some food into my two-year-old’s stomach. She stirs, her face still dug into my T-shirt, and shakes her head emphatically.
‘But you need some energy if you want to play in the sea.’
She pulls back her head and glares at me from behind a mess of wild blonde locks. I push back her hair and melt at the sight of those green eyes and that gorgeous little face, all screwed up into a scowl. Just like her Mum, she’s a bundle of stubborn energy, a total handful, and a complete beauty.
‘For Daddy?’ I ask, giving her a smile. She’s a Daddy’s girl, one hundred percent, a fact I’ll use shamelessly, whenever the need arises. ‘Just a little bit? I can put some magic sauce on it.’
‘Magic?’ She rubs her eyes.
‘Magic. It makes you … whatever you want to be.’
‘A fairy?’
‘If you like.’
She stares at the table, and I bite back the urge to rush. If I’ve learned nothing else, it’s that patience isn’t just a virtue. It’s an absolute bloody necessity when you’ve got kids. Holding Emily with one hand, I slice off a piece of pancake with the other, douse it in magic maple syrup, and spear it with a fork. I’m about to coax it into her mouth when I hear the sound of squealing from inside the guesthouse.
‘Right,’ Maya calls. ‘Jack, go and get your breakfast. Now.’
There’s a patter of tiny feet on tiles, the squeals grow in force, and Jack springs through the open window, ready for the day in his sun-resistant outfit.
‘Daddy?’ He swings to a halt by my side. ‘Are we …’ He trails into silence, scanning the food laid out on the table. ‘Are we going on a boat?’
‘Yes, we are.’
I slip the pancake into Emily’s tiny mouth.
‘Will you swim with me?’
‘Without a doubt.’
‘And … can I?’ Another silence as he watches a bird wheel through the sky. ‘Can I use the snorgel?’
I laugh quietly.
‘Of course. We’ll find some interesting fish.’
‘A stripy one?’
‘Definitely a stripy one.’
That should keep him more than happy. Five years old, and he’s already thoroughly intrigued by the natural world, constantly asking questions about anything with a heartbeat. A mini David Attenborough, that’s what Maya calls him. He climbs onto the chair next to me and while Emily reaches for another helping of pancake, I put down the fork and run my hand over his blond hair.
‘Where’s Mummy?’
‘Putting Ruby’s costume on.’
Pardon?
‘But I already did that.’
My son shakes his head. I push a plate of fruit towards him and watch hopefully as he picks up a slice of mango. He’s a fussy little chap, something I can’t understand. Even though Maya’s relaxed about the whole thing, I hate it when he doesn’t eat.
‘Mummy said you put it on upside-down.’
Emily shuffles about in my arms, dropping the pancake onto my lap. A pool of syrup spreads out across my crotch. I sigh and decide it doesn’t matter. After all, I seem to spend virtually every day covered in stains of one sort or another.
‘I’m sure I didn’t put it on upside-down.’
Jack rolls his eyes, bites off a chunk of mango and chews on it thoughtfully. Thank God for that. It’s the first thing to pass his lips this morning.
‘Inside-out,’ he says at last.
‘Oh, inside-out,’ I laugh. ‘I’m sure I didn’t.’
‘Yes, you did, Daddy.’
‘Oh well, I tried my best.’
I suppose that’s what happens when you’re dealing, single-handedly, with chaos and mayhem on a grand scale. Running a building company was nothing compared to sorting out three mini human spinning tops first thing in the morning. It didn’t help that Ruby, my three-year-old wild-eyed beauty
