come up short when I see a light on in the lounge window. For a second, shock holds me immobile. Has a reporter broken in? It isn’t out of the ballpark. The other day one of them had been waiting in the staff toilets for me. Security had thrown him out, but not before he’d shouted some truly fucking shitty questions at me about my sex life in front of a group of people in the waiting room.
I pick up the pace, anger coursing through me. If anyone is in our house, they’re going to fucking regret it. I’m enraged when I find the door is unlocked, but after I burst through it, I stand stock still in amazement.
“What are you doing here?”
Gideon looks up from where he’s sitting on the rug by the fire. “That was some entrance. Are you auditioning for a role in The Professionals?”
I grin. “I think that might be one of your generation’s programmes.” He glares at me, and I laugh. “Only kidding. I watched it on ITV3. I would totally have been the one with the leather bomber jacket.”
He sniffs. “You’ve certainly got the hair for it. It looks like you last had it cut in the seventies.” He jumps to his feet, coming towards me. “I’ve got the weekend off.”
I hold my arms out to him, and he pushes into me, pulling me close and pressing his face behind my ear, inhaling my scent. Warmth and gladness fills me at the feel and smell of him, and all my doubts and anger leave me abruptly.
“Oh God, I’m so glad to see you,” I say hoarsely, and his arms tighten around me.
“Really?”
“Yes.” I push him back, ignoring his protest. “Gid, we argued. Nothing more and nothing less. It’s a sure fact that we’re going to argue again and again and probably again after that. It’s fucking life, and both of us are quite strong-willed.”
He huffs, a smile of relief not quite concealed. “Well, you are. I myself am a paragon of virtue. I’m just waiting for you to recognise the fact.”
“You’ll be waiting a long while, then,” I say sympathetically. “Shall I make you a cup of tea to make the time pass quicker?”
He laughs and hugs me tight, burying his face in my neck again. “I missed you,” he whispers.
I smile softly. Often when he says something tender, he hides his face. I stroke his dark wavy hair back. It’s longer now, as he hasn’t had it cut for ages.
A hairdresser had come to the house to cut it, and he’d offered to do mine, but I refused. I wasn’t going to be reduced to having my hair cut privately. My life was going to proceed as usual with the only thing changed being my relationship status on Facebook. I’d regretted that stance when I went to a barber in St Austell, and it was splashed all over the papers, with people speculating on whether we’d split up because Gideon wasn’t with me. As if we’d become conjoined when I put my cock in him.
He looks at me. “What’s up? You went all rigid.”
He has his own struggles with being in the public eye — I don’t need to add to them by giving him details about mine. He’ll feel guilty, and I harbour an awful feeling that if things get too bad, he’ll up and leave. He’s spent his adult life flitting from one thing to another like a very fickle butterfly.
And I know I’m doing him a disservice with these thoughts. He loves me. He tells me often enough, but it’s hard to be sure if love is enough for him. It’s only time and tests that make us truly relax and trust a relationship.
So, instead of confiding in him, I shake my head. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine.”
He raises one eyebrow. “That is never a good sentence to hear from a boyfriend.”
“Oh, now you’re using the boyfriend word,” I say cheerfully. “Have you had a change of heart. then? Are we due for a trip to Roller World?” I grin at him.
Caution lingers in his eyes, but his body relaxes, my reward for keeping quiet.
He shrugs. “I’d annihilate you on skates.”
“Them’s fighting words.”
“You know it.” He sobers. “You are my boyfriend. I say it as it is. You know how straightforward I am.”
“Straightforward or rude?” I ask, grabbing his hand and pulling him up the stairs.
“Pah! Depends who I’m talking to. Where are we going?”