Barefoot in the Dark by Lynne Barrett-Lee Page A

than that.’
    ‘Come on. Own up. You fancy him rotten.’
    ‘OK, then. I fancy him. Satisfied now?’
    Saying it felt strange and unreal on her tongue. And filled her with trepidation. Maddie was right. There was a whole world of difference between a little light rapport and the something that was happening to her now. She had, she realised, been snatching up the phone every time it rang since she’d arrived at the office. ‘Anyway,’ said Maddie, ‘you can spill the beans later. I was really ringing to let you know I was going to be a little later than I’d planned. I’m at the chiropractors.’
    ‘Chiropractors?’ asked Hope, pleased to change the subject. ‘I didn’t know you had problems with your back.’
    ‘I don’t, stoo-pid. But, hey, I’m wearing my lucky thong, so perhaps I’ll get lucky today.’
    ‘What, get back ache?’
    Madeleine guffawed.
    ‘Darling, get real!’ Her voice grew a little quieter. ‘A recommendation. A friend of mine said I really should go see him. He’s a bit of a sweetie, apparently. So I thought I’d come and check him out. Prophylactically, so to speak. Anyway, you can cope OK, can’t you? Just be sure to remind Kayleigh about the mailshot. I left it on her desk.’
    ‘No problem.’
    ‘Right. I’ll see you about twelve. You can fill me in then.’
    ‘On what?’
    ‘D’oh! Prince Charming, of course!’
    Hope had been addressing the envelope when Madeleine called. The envelope for the card she’d sent Jack, to thank him for the dinner. And to reiterate, again, how thrilled they all were that he’d so kindly agreed to lend his support to the fun run. She’d signed the card Hope, with an X underneath it. Which she wasn’t sure she wasn’t now regretting. It felt so adolescent. And it wasn’t very businesslike. But it was already done. The kiss would have to stay.
    As had the memory of his. Something big and important had happened to Hope, and she wasn’t sure quite what to do about it. She had, she realised, become possessed by a feeling she could not remember having felt for the last twenty years. It wasn’t quite lust and it wasn’t quite love; it wasn’t quite anything she could readily pin down, just a preoccupation and a chemical reaction every time she brought Jack to mind. It was, she decided, the single most distracting and disabling feeling she’d experienced in the whole of her life.
    She had been floating when he’d left her. She’d floated across the pavement, up the path, through the door, and into the hall. Once inside (and while floating across the carpet) she’d become conscious of both a faint tang of popcorn and a sensation of ringing in her ears. Her mother had been dozing on the sofa in the living room, the television transmitting pictures but no sound. She’d glanced at herself then, in the hall mirror, on her way into the kitchen. Her face – a woman’s face, at any rate; it felt strangely unfamiliar – had a patina of sparkle. An end-of-evening glow, a not unattractive slight dishevelment. She’d run her tongue across her lips, then, to recapture the taste of him. God, that’s what it was, she’d thought. The ringing was the sound of her heart beating faster. Not a lot. Just a little.
    She’d smiled as she’d passed by, rather charmed at the thought. And having woken her mother and fielded all her questions, she’d waved her off hurriedly and floated on up to bed.
    She was glad that her mother had been there. Had she not been, and Hope’s feelings were somewhat mixed on this point, there was little doubt (there was the wine to consider, after all) that she would have invited him in. Little doubt she’d have encouraged him to kiss her some more. And then?
    A wholly novel state of affairs. It was interesting, and not a little disquieting, to find that a pulse of sexual desire still actually beat in her. That it was possible that, buried beneath the layers of mistrust and denial, she wanted to be made love to again.