The Sun on my Skin Ch. 02

"Half-past ten."

"How was your evening? What time did you get in?" He hadn't been home when I got back, rather the worst for drink, just before eleven.

"Oh, a little after midnight and you were completely out of it when I came to bed. It was a good evening: the firm's Partners paid so there was a free bar and a buffet. I suppose it's cheaper than paying bonuses, or am I being overly cynical? Anyway, why are you still in bed?

"Because I went out with Tina from work last night and I stupidly tried to keep up with her drinking."

"Tina? She's your manager, isn't she? What were you doing out with her?" I'm not sure if his tone indicates concern or suspicion.

"There's no problem," I reassure him. "And we were out because she's had a particularly crappy week, like I have. I didn't have you to come home to and the wo..." I almost say 'woman she was in love with' but just manage to stop myself. "...the one she fancied suddenly moved away." He nods, and before he has time to think about what I just said I add, "I'm starving; what's for breakfast?"

"No idea. I know: why don't we go out for brunch instead?"

A shower and the walk to the café by the park starts to clear my headache and the very nice breakfast and coffee complete the job. The result is that I'm feeling much happier and affectionate as we take a short walk around the park, arm in arm in the spring sunshine. As we pass a small clump of trees I tug his hand, pulling him off the path. Clive follows -- a look of curiosity on his handsome face -- before I swing round and push him, pinning him against the nearest tree. I look into his deep, brown eyes noticing again the flecks of amber in them. "Sorry for being out of sorts this week," I apologise, before mashing my lips against his. The kiss quickly deepens and I feel him give himself to it, relaxing his body into mine.

"Come on," I tell him and the kiss ends, "let's go home; I need you to take me to bed!"

"Tired again already?" he asks smiling.

"Not yet: it's going to be your job to wear me out!" I laugh as we turn for home, my arm slipping through his. A little way on I finally summon the courage to suggest Tina's idea. "Clive... um, you know that letter about the IVF?" I feel him tense in apprehension.

"Yes. Look, I really wish they weren't saying no. I wasn't agreeing with their rules, really I wasn't: I didn't want you to be so upset and I thought if we looked at the reasons they gave... anyway, I'm sorry..."

"No, I know I overreacted. The thing is..."I hesitate and decide to go for it. "Clive, just because the health authority won't pay for IVF doesn't have to mean it can't happen, does it?" I cannot help the note of pleading in my voice.

"You mean pay for it ourselves?" he asks uncertainly. "Do you know how much would it cost?"

"I don't know, not exactly. It must be thousands, but Clive, this would mean a baby for us."

"If it works, Janice; it may not; remember that."

"I understand that, but we'll never know if we don't try, will we?" I pull tight against him, pressing my cheek against his shoulder.

"Okay, well I admit that have looked into it, a bit. The costs do vary but... it would be two or three thousand per cycle and they normally reckon that several cycles will be needed." He's looked into it? When? More importantly, would he have mentioned it if I hadn't? I feel my anger rising again but fight it down. Last week was horrible and I've no appetite for another like it. More importantly, I need to win him over, to become a team working for our baby together and yelling at him won't help.

"We both earn good salaries," I point out, my voice surprisingly calm and steady.

"Yes, but we also have the mortgage to pay, the loan we took to furnish the place and the rest of the bills..."

"And you told me that they were going to offer you a promotion; that would mean more money."

"Yes, but I didn't think you wanted me to take it because of the longer hours and the travel." He was right, I had objected but that was before... He looks down into my pleading eyes. "Okay, we can start saving." I hug him close.

"Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!" I exclaim. "And in the meantime, we can keep trying, of course!"

"I suppose that should make me happy," he grins and I feel his hand cup my bum cheek. "Come on, bedtime!"

PART II -- The comforts and risks of empathy

Wednesday 27 August

I open my eyes; they are dry and gummy and only focus reluctantly. There is a sour taste in my mouth and a dull ache at my temples. I give a soft groan. "I fucking hate alcohol," I mutter as my eyes close again; even with the curtains drawn the dull morning light is too bright.

That's not really true though: if I really hated alcohol I wouldn't drink so much of it would I? No, I really do hate alcohol. The trouble is that I hate other thoughts and memories more and drinking brings some relief from them.

Unpleasant thoughts... such as the fact that Clive has already left for work, slipping out without waking me, without even saying goodbye. Did we have a row last night? I have a vague recollection of raised voices but that could be the memory of a dozen or more evenings over the past months... Something more definite surfaces in my memory: Clive's new bloody company car and how he had decided to pay fifteen hundred pounds so he could upgrade to the model above the one to which he was entitled. One thousand, five hundred quid that can't go into the savings for IVF treatment so I, we, can have a child at last; the savings we'd agreed together back in May after that crappy letter from the health authority.

I bite my lip, stifling a sob. It had been hard enough a few weeks ago when Derek, Clive's best mate since school days, had set a date to marry his girlfriend, Anna -- a simpering, air-headed girl whom I don't much care for, to be honest. Somehow it had been decided that Derek's stag weekend in October was to be in Copenhagen and, of course, Clive, as Derek's best man, absolutely must attend and that it should "...only cost three or four hundred quid; five hundred tops." I can't deny that this had upset me: I know that I cried and complained but, in the end, I did my best to accept that friendship brings duties and obligations and said, of course he must go. So why the fuck does he now piss away money on a fucking car?

A passing glance reveals the time: 08:09. "Oh fuck!" I'm going to be late for work -- again -- and losing my job would spectacularly screw up any chance of saving. Reluctantly I drag myself from the clammy sheets and head to the bathroom to shower.

It's almost half-past nine when I plonk myself down at my desk. I'm surprised that Malcolm isn't in until I remember that he has the rest of the week off as he's moving house. Damn, that means that I have zero chance of Tina not noticing I'm late. "Janice?" As if on cue, Tina's voice calls through her open office door and, my head complaining, I haul myself to my feet to go and see her.

She is looking at me with disapproval as I enter but this softens to mild concern as I approach and that, had I not already seen it in the mirror earlier, would have told me that I look a complete mess. I've never been big on makeup but I did wish I'd had time to use some this morning. "What's the matter, Janice? What's the reason you're late?"

"I'm sorry Tina, I overslept," I try to pass it off as a simple mistake but she is not satisfied.

"Janice," she hesitated, her face grave, "this isn't the first time you've been late in the past few months, is it? This must be, what, the fifth or sixth?" She holds up her hand to forestall my objection; though we've become quite good friends she's in manager mode this morning. "I know it's only half an hour this time but look at you: you look completely wrung out and barely fit for work. If John came in and saw you, what would he say -- and not just to you but to me too." She has a point. John or any one of the directors could walk in and see me.

"I'm sorry, Tina. I don't mean to let you down or take advantage but, well you know things haven't been good at home between Clive and me?" she nods. "Well, they're getting worse. He... well, let's just say we're definitely not seeing eye to eye on things at the moment."

"Janice, if he's messing you around then just tell him to piss off or walk away; life's too short for wasting time on people who don't care for you!" she snaps. I'm stunned by the vehemence and bitterness in her voice. Just then her shoulders slump. "I'm sorry I shouldn't have said that; that was wrong of me. Janice, you really do need to sort this out or I'll have no choice but to give you a formal warning. Please?" I nod in acceptance.

"I will, I'll certainly do my best." We look at each other for a moment before we nod to each other and I return to my desk. Over the past few months, I've learned more of the way Jojo messed her around after their holiday and this helps me to understand her 'just get out' attitude: it's what she wishes she'd done. Still, I'm not going to abandon Clive, whom I do love, and the possibility of a family at some point.

I sit and wait as my PC starts up and twiddle the engagement ring on my third finger. I recall the glint and sparkle the first time I saw the pair of small diamonds either side of the sapphire -- pale blue to match my eyes according to Clive -- as he held it out to me... God, was it really over two years ago? We'd spent the day in St Petersburg, I recall, day six of our ten-day Baltic cruise, and we stood on deck looking back as the westering sun glinted on the golden dome of St Isaac's Cathedral. Clive and I had been together three years and I was four months pregnant.

I noticed Clive was down on one knee and my heart gave a little skip of nervousness and excitement; I'd hardly dared hope for something like this but, at the same time, there was a tiny twinge of worry that he was doing this only because I was pregnant... no, this was right. We couldn't drift along not committing, not with the new life growing inside me and wasn't this what every woman wanted? It's certainly would be what my parents would want, expect even. "Janice, darling, would you..." The sounding of the ship's horn at that exact moment not only made me jump but also meant that I could only lip-read what he asked. Naturally, I knew what the question was but just to be sure, just in case he'd asked "would you manage meat?" or something equally unexpected, I made him repeat the question.

Of course, I'd said, "Yes!"

Despite the often-repeated views of my parents that our marriage was long overdue, we hadn't set a date for the marriage, not right then; the excitement of the engagement and the pregnancy had been enough. There didn't seem to be any rush, especially as I had no plans to walk down the aisle with a bulging stomach that made me look like a galleon in full sail!

I hadn't planned on miscarrying a few weeks later either.

I shake my head, trying to dismiss my upsetting reverie and immediately regret it as my headache thumps at my temples in reaction. Scrabbling around in my desk drawer I find a packet of paracetamol tablets that, thank god, has two left. All I need now is coffee to wash them down.

A brief trip to the kitchen area and I have coffee, but logging into the computer proves to be a problem: s -- a -- X -- 1 -- f -- r -- a -- g -- e I type again, extra carefully this time, and press enter. Again there is that horrible flat-chord sound while the screen tells me the password or username is wrong. Damnation. Did I change my password yesterday? Possibly, though I cannot remember doing so. Okay, how about... s -- a -- X -- 2 -- f -- r -- a -- g -- e. I hit enter again and this time and... success: go me! Huh; it's a pretty grim day when managing to recall your password counts as something to celebrate.

Friday 4 September

Another bad evening last night, though at least I managed to stay... okay, I didn't get completely pissed and pass out and so I was on time and with only a relatively mild heavy-headedness this morning. Surprisingly, it wasn't the money that started the disagreement last night but my wanting sex. He's never complained before and he knows that we need to work at it if I'm likely to get pregnant again. Okay, 'I want us to make love because this is the last day of my fertile period' isn't exactly the most romantic line I could have used but he massively overreacted. I just hope the neighbours didn't hear his shout of 'I'm not a fucking sperm factory!' as he slammed the door to the spare bedroom in my face; I don't need that embarrassment on top of everything else.

I look across and Tina's door is closed. I could go and knock and say hello but Tina usually only closes her office door if it's for a reason so, pausing only to press the power button on my PC, I take the opportunity to go and make myself a cup of coffee.

Five minutes later I'm back at my desk with my mug and Tina's door is still closed; I wonder what has come up this early in the day? I'm sure I'll find out eventually. I suppose I ought to make the most of the peace and quiet to get on with processing the August overtime claim forms that have begun trickling in. The deadline for submission is next Tuesday and, while August is usually a little quieter with so many staff away on leave, we still haven't a replacement for Jojo so it pays to get ahead when we can.

The sound of Tina's door opening a little over half an hour later makes me look up. "That was a long phone call," I observe, as private conversations, whether in person or on the phone, are the usual reasons for her closing the door.

"Well, it was more than one call actually," she replies and I sense she has some news to share.

"What's happened?" I ask, wondering if the news will be good or bad. She reaches up in her habitual way to finger the lock of hair by her cheek but, of course, it hasn't been there for nearly two weeks, having suddenly changed her hairstyle to something radically shorter. I think it suits her a lot but her fingers seem to miss something to play with. She tries to hide the movement by running her fingers through the hair on top of her head.

"Well, we may have a new person working here soon."

"Really? It's been so long that I thought the company must have decided that the department didn't need more staff."

"Hmm, I suspect you're right but this isn't a new employee but someone transferring from one of the depots; for personal reasons, apparently, though HR are being close-lipped about exactly what those reasons are. Have you any contacts still there who might tell you?"

"I doubt it," I warn her. "There's only Anne and Stephen left that I used to work with. Anne and I never got on much, while Steve's the manager and a stickler for protocol."

"I noticed: he's the one I've been talking to," she says wryly. "I suppose we'll have to wait and see if she'll tell us when she arrives."

"So it's a woman then, he told you that much at least. Does she have a name?"

"Tanwen Munroe, apparently."

"Tanwen? That's... different. When does she start?"

"On Monday so..."

"Yeah, I'll be on time, bright-tailed and bushy-eyed."

"Don't you mean 'bright-eyed and bushy-tailed'?" she asks laughing.

"Possibly," I concede as I raise my hand to rub my temples, "though it's certainly more bushy-eyed this morning." She looks at me with concern.

"Anything you want to talk about?" she asks gently.

"No, not really, just the same old same old. Apparently, I'm treating Clive like a sperm machine and we never just make love for the sake of, well, just love." I sigh. "He may have a point; I... I guess I have been rather obsessed with having a baby, always checking myself and ovulation tests... sorry, too much detail." She gives a half-smile.

"Look, I know I'm not exactly over-qualified to give heterosexual relationship guidance -- probably not much better on lesbian relationships either, given past events -- but Janice, how far are you going to get towards having a child if you drive Clive away?"

"I know, I know, I realize that but I don't seem to be able to help myself; since he was promoted in June, his work is keeping him late in the office and even away overnight -- what am I supposed to do? He was away during last month's fertile period so how could we miss the chance again this month?"

"Maybe it's something you have to do..."

"I ought to get back to work," I tell her, suddenly wanting this conversation to be over.

"Alright then, but go and take something for that headache you obvious have; I don't want it getting in the way of your diligent checking of staff overtime." I can tell my abruptness upset her but I say nothing as she walks away.

I return to looking towards my screen as she moves away but my mind is no longer on overtime claims. I understand what she's saying and, though part of me resents the advice, I have to admit that's she's right and it's certainly better advice than her previous suggestion just to walk away.

Clive is right too: we don't have sex simply for love or fun anymore. In fact, even when we do make love I seem to have driven most of the fun from it: it's all about him simply cumming inside me, nothing else. We used to have oral sex sessions, no fucking just mouths on pussy and cock. I loved kissing him after I'd cum while he licked me out, the taste of my sex on his lips my little kinky pleasure...

"Janice, I'm sorry; it's not my place to give relationship advice." Tina's voice startles me from my thoughts. "And sorry about calling you 'Jan' earlier."

"No, you don't need to apologise for either of those, it's me. You were only acting as a friend and I do appreciate that," I assure her. I shift slightly on my seat as I notice a distinct dampness in my panties. "And you're right: I'll have no chance of getting pregnant if I'm on my own," I continue, surprised by how turned on I feel right now. "We used to make love for pleasure, whenever the mood took us, sex with no chance of my becoming pregnant but just to share each other's bodies, to touch and taste..."

"A-hem," Tina clears her throat. "Time and place, my dear, time and place!" I turn bright red as I realize I've been speaking my thoughts. "Save it for Clive tonight, perhaps?"

"Yeah, well that's not going to happen," I say, my mood collapsing. "He's out with mates planning his best friend's stag weekend. He said he might not be home as they have tickets for some stupid football match against, er, Arsenal or somebody in north London tomorrow afternoon, so he might stop over."

"Not a football fan then? Me neither. I quite like rugby, though; my first proper girlfriend, when I was at university, she played rugby and she got me into watching it. Got me into a lot of other things too -- god she was sexy!"

"Time and place?" I ask, teasing, but at the same time trying to put aside the image of Tina naked and in bed with an equally athletic and attractive woman that seems to be feeding off my earlier sexy thoughts.

"Well, you were the one who started talking about sex. Okay, so if Clive's out, do you want to come for a drink after work? Then we can talk about whatever we like." I hesitate, still a little flustered by my body's reactions.

"Sure, that would be nice," I tell her.

The summer has been rubbish on the whole, with too much cloud and cool weather, but seems to be making a last effort on this lovely, balmy evening. I am, I admit, in a rather odd mood. There's shame at the way I've treated Clive and anxiety about what to do to fix it; there's a new awareness that I, and especially my body it seems, wants more than Clive simply putting semen inside me, and then there is an unexpected awareness of Tina's sexiness and sexuality, two things that have never impinged on me before.