The Men in her Life

at her luvvy ways.
    ‘So this is where you work,’ he said.
    Holly’s phone rang. She leaned on the corner of her desk and reached to answer it.
    ‘Oh right, hello...’
    Matt dropped to his knees beside her and pushed her skirt up around her hips.
    ‘Yeah,’ she yelped as Matt stuck his finger into her then took it out and licked it, staring at her with the insolence she found so disconcertingly appealing. He put his mouth to her clitoris and began to lap like a hungry cat. She looked down at the waxed spikes of gold-dipped hair and sighed as the pleasure he was creating filtered up her spine into her brain.
    The agent in Los Angeles asked about the connection. There was a slight echo on the line, he said.
    ‘Fine my end,’ Holly said into the phone.
    Matt looked up at her, then stood up and unzipped.
    Holly gasped.
    ‘No, don’t know what that is...’ she spoke into the phone.
    ‘No, fine, shoot,’ she said, unable to stop herself enjoying the double entendre and trying to disguise the sharp intakes of breath she took as Matt began to fuck her, lifting her bottom higher with every thrust. She clung to the edge of the desk with both hands to stop herself falling backwards, the phone wedged under her chin, trying to concentrate on the excited voice at the other end of the phone whilst staring over Matt’s head and wondering what on earth she would say if someone were to open her office door.
    ‘Two hundred and fifty thousand...?’
    Perhaps this was what they meant by fuck-you money.
    ‘Final, final bids? ... AHHH! ... No, fine, echo on the line... DON’T STOP... that’s great... two hundred and fifty you said...?... THAT’S FANTASTIC... Yes, yes, yes, yes, YES!’

PART FIVE
August

Chapter 26

    ‘Would you think of marrying me, Mo?’
    Mo was standing in her kitchen just about to serve up dinner. Chops. Eamon was sitting at the table. Her back was to him.
    ‘Pardon?’
    ‘I said, would you think of marrying me?’
    ‘What a funny way to ask,’ Mo said.
    ‘Ach, now I had it all planned and then I didn’t want to spoil our holiday, and anyway, I didn’t think it would be fair to ask you there, away from everything you know...’
    ‘No, it’s all right,’ Mo reassured him. She levered the chops out of the frying-pan onto a plate and handed it to him, pointing with her fish-slice at the little bowl of new potatoes steaming on the table. Then she turned back to the cooker, looking out of the window over the rooftops of London towards the river, the view blurred out of focus by the memory of the last time she had been proposed to.
    It must have been 1960, just after they arrived. They were on the river boat going down from Westminster to the Tower. It was a beautiful clear winter day and the river was huge and high. It hadn’t seemed so dirty then, or maybe that was just nostalgia. There were just the two of them on deck. Everyone else was huddled sensibly inside. The wind was bitingly cold, but they were tough. They were from the north. She could still see Jack’s face and hear him joking about it. It had felt as if it were their boat, and as they looked and marvelled at the expanse of the view — the Houses of Parliament behind and St Paul’s in front, and the vast river, far wider than she had imagined and bustling with boats like a harbour — it felt as if it were their city, as if they owned it. She was standing in front of him at the prow, his front pressed against her back. It was the most exhilarating moment she had ever experienced, her cheeks burning with the cold and the bright sunshine making all the buildings glitter.
    ‘Let’s get married Mo,’ Jack shouted, folding his arms tight around her waist, her body, enveloped in his, tingling with happiness and relief. It was like a dream where you knew suddenly that everything was going to be all right but you couldn’t quite believe it. She was going to marry the man she loved, and her parents would forgive her when they found out. It had been worth all the risk. She wriggled round in his arms to face him, and before she could say anything he was kissing her, and she would never forget that feeling. Bliss, Sister Mary Lourdes had taught them at the convent school, was the state of being blessed. And at that moment she had known that God was smiling on her.
    In the midst of dreams you woke up.
    ‘You don’t really want to get married, do you, Mo?’ Jack had asked her the next morning as they lay in bed, treasuring a few