The Single Mums' Secrets - Janet Hoggarth Page 0,14

minute now she’s going to slap you for being so forward. Hang on, she’s the one checking out my lunchbox.

Before he could fight any more analytical battles, Christa leaned over and kissed him tenderly on the lips. Her mouth tasted of that weird drink he could never remember the name of, the one his mum used to buy at the chip shop. Rooted to the spot, he hesitated. Did he want this?

She hastily pulled away. ‘I’m sorry. God, how awful of me. I’m going to go. I don’t normally behave like this. I think I must be having a middle-aged funny turn.’ She looked like she was going to cry and Carl hated women crying more than anything.

‘Don’t,’ he croaked and pulled her to him, kissing her back, her tongue darting in his mouth to seek his. Almost immediately they collapsed on the sofa. They kissed for ages like teenagers on a curfew, then Christa started peeling off her own clothes, taking charge of the situation. He felt bad that she would be naked while he remained fully dressed so he tore his off too.

‘Can anyone see in?’ she whispered looking towards the front windows. ‘Should we go upstairs?’

Carl was terrified if they moved, if he lost concentration, that his penis would betray him.

‘No one can see in.’

‘I have a condom in my bag.’ He gladly let her grab it from the floor next to the sofa. Condom fumbles were the worst and historically the time when his cock would exit stage left and leave him in the lurch. But holy fuck, Christa bagged him up with the innate skill of a performer at Puppetry of the Penis and they were good to go. What if he only lasted one thrust? He needn’t have worried. If Barbara had been invigilating his triumphant comeback, she would have been hard pressed to mark him down on anything…

Carl lay panting, his nose pressed against the hollow dent of Christa’s right clavicle. She still had her legs wrapped round his bum, her nails digging into his tensed shoulder blades.

‘I wasn’t expecting that,’ Carl said, making light of what had just happened, his head spinning. His immediate overriding emotion was relief. He sensed that falling at the last hurdle with Christa would have been harder to recover from than it had been with Ali. He didn’t really know Christa all that well.

She didn’t reply immediately, but slowly uncurled her legs and ran her hands through her wavy brown hair, pushing it off her sweaty forehead. Carl took the prompt and levered up to standing then looked down, realising something was amiss.

‘Shit, the condom’s fallen off.’

Christa sat up and peered down to her lap. ‘I think it’s still inside me.’

Carl’s skin crawled, awkward ants marching across his back; he wanted to shake them off.

‘Can I do anything?’ The minute he’d said it, he wished to God that he could retract the words and stuff them back down his gullet.

‘No, don’t worry, I can sort it out.’ She leaned over and retrieved her clothes off the floor.

Carl thought about making a feeble attempt to help her, but stood back and buttoned up his trousers instead. He was at a total loss what to do next. This was the part that drink had always conveniently glossed over. It was the absolute opposite of ease and he couldn’t tell if it was him or Christa.

‘The toilet’s upstairs,’ he helpfully pointed out. He wiped down the sides then paced the living room, trying to think of something to say, discarding all his usual witty one-liners. It hadn’t been like this with Ali. And they’d had an absolute fucking disaster. He had been sober then too.

She reappeared after ten minutes.

‘Everything OK?’

‘Yes, I found it.’ Conversational tumbleweed bumbled between them.

‘Do you want a cup of tea, or anything?’ he asked knowing she would decline, but he felt compelled to fill the silence. She wouldn’t meet his eyes and he could feel her mortification wafting off her like cheap perfume.

‘I should go. I have to be up early tomorrow.’ Christa glanced cagily at him and, walking over from the bottom of the stairs, gave him a cursory peck on the cheek. ‘Carl, I don’t normally do things like that.’

‘So that wasn’t your first rodeo?’ He could feel the devil in him wanting to tease her, to even out the landscape into something he could recognise.

‘No, you know what I mean. Have one-night stands.’

‘We’re not engaged to be married then?’ He smiled at her,