February Sucks in Britain

Yet her finger began moving on the skin of his neck. Marcus held her close and continued to dance and whisper and make Becky feel like she was the only woman in existence. Two more dances like this and she would be ready to leave with him. He had done it many times before.

Suddenly, she jerked in his arms.

'Cow!' she burst out.

Marcus blinked. He had been concentrating on the woman, but now as he followed her gaze, he almost laughed. There was her dork husband dancing with the very woman who told Becky to dance with him.

'They're just dancing,' said Marcus.

'But Bryan doesn't even like Dee!'

'Well, then he's doing it to make you jealous.'

'Marcus, you don't get it! Dee fancies Bryan!'

'But isn't she married to that other guy?'

Becky gave him a look as though he'd said something stupid. And in a way, he had, but Marcus was so used to married women breaking their vows for him, it never occurred to him that they might break them for anyone else.

But as Marcus watched the other man, he realised that Becky was probably right. He wasn't like the usual husbands who stood on the sidelines looking hurt and wounded, or throwing jealous tantrums, all of which made them look weak in the eyes of the women. No, this guy just got himself straight back in the game. The woman he danced with -- Dee, was it? -- looked happy to be in his arms, her head on his chest, her hand on his shoulder. The man said something and she laughed and gave him a playful slap on his arm.

'God's sake...' muttered Becky.

'We can stop if you like,' said Marcus.

'No, that would be embarrassing,' said Becky. 'Just keep going until the end of the song.'

Marcus stopped dead, letting her go like she had farted. He glared at her, furious. Every woman in this place would give their eye-teeth to be in her shoes, and this stupid bitch just wanted him to "keep going" so she wouldn't be embarrassed? He drew himself up to his full height.

'Thank you for the dance,' he said coldly.

Marcus DeVere turned on his heel and walked back to the VIP table. Within five minutes, he had paid his bill and he and his entire retinue had left the building.

*************************

The walk from the dancefloor to her table felt like a mile to Becky. All the way back, she was surrounded by eyes and whispers. Dave and Jane were chatting across the table, Phil politely listening, when she finally arrived and sat down. She looked pale and was clasping her hands to stop them from shaking.

'What happened there?' said Dave boisterously.

'Oh, um...' Becky swallowed. 'He had to go.'

'In the middle of a dance?' said Jane.

'Yeah. He'd ... forgotten something.'

'Probably one of his girlfriends showed up!' said Dave.

He and Jane chuckled. Phil quietly filled a glass with champagne and placed it before Becky. She downed it gratefully.

The song came to an end and there were whistles and applause. Bryan headed back with Dee on his arm, she with a noticeable spring in her step.

'Well, someone had fun,' said Jane.

'Bryan's a good dancer,' said Dave with a nonchalant shrug.

'As good as Marcus DeVere?'

Jane aimed a sly glance at Becky. However, Becky had been lost in her thoughts.

'I'm sorry?' she said.

'I said, is Marcus DeVere as good a "dancer" as Bryan?' said Jane, eyebrows wagging.

Becky stared blankly at Jane. Jane shrugged and took a sip of champagne, unaware that Becky was thinking about smacking her in the face. Then Bryan and Dee arrived at the table, and Dee's voice cut over the music like a police siren.

'Oh, this is such fun!' she crowed, patting Dave's shoulders as she went to her seat. 'Phil! Why aren't you taking Jane for a spin?'

'I will, I will,' said Phil.

'You'd better,' said Jane. 'I mean, not all of us can snag a passing celebrity, can we?'

'Oh, ye-e-es!' said Dee. 'How was it, Becky? Come on, spill the dirt!'

'Yeah, come on, Becky!' said Jane. 'What was it like dancing with a real ... with a man like that?'

Becky's head snapped round.

'What was that, Jane?' she said. 'Were you just about to say: dancing with a "real man"?'

'No!'

'Are you suggesting my husband is not a "real" man?'

'No! No!' said Jane desperately. 'I was about to say, with a real ... star.'

It was lame and everyone could hear it. Becky had gone white around the nostrils. She glared at Jane, no longer hiding her feelings. Dave leaned forward and made a 'patting down' gesture with his hands.

'Look, let's calm down, shall we?' he said. 'I think we all know what Jane meant.'

'Do we?' said Bryan, who was still standing.

'Oh, come on, Bryan! Are you seriously comparing yourself to Marcus DeVere?'

'Why not?' cried Becky. 'Everyone else is!'

She blinked and her face took on a stricken expression. When she spoke, her voice was hoarse and horrified.

'Including me,' she said.

Becky burst into tears.

This was no demure weeping, but full-on bawling, with mouth open and mascara running. Jane was appalled to see a line of mucus run from one of Becky's nostrils around her mouth to her chin. People in the club were turning their heads and a sense of embarrassment hung over the group as though the air had turned thick with it. Becky howled and everyone else sat in mortified silence, not moving a muscle.

Except for Bryan.

He stepped in, gathered his crying wife up in his arms and lifted her bodily out of her chair. Becky reached around his neck and cried against his chest, the skirt falling back to reveal a sexy bare leg. Dee looked away, her face reddening. Bryan shifted the woman in his arms so that the hand under her ribcage was free, then nodded at a small purse on the table the same blue as Becky's dress.

'Phil, would you mind?' he said.

Phil put the purse into Bryan's open hand. Bryan said 'Thanks', then straightened up, his wife's crying now quietened to whimpering sobs. He looked at the group, from one to the other. None of them could look him in the eye.

'Good night,' he said.

And he turned and walked away.

*************************

A freezing February wind blew sleet across the streets, turning umbrellas inside-out and forcing cars to a crawl. The roads were slippery, visibility was poor, and anyone caught outside was hurrying towards shelter.

In a slow-moving black taxi, the driver cursed the weather, the traffic lights, and then the traffic itself for good measure. Behind the glass separator, Bryan sat back on the huge back seat staring out from the darkness. Becky lay across that seat, shoes kicked off, her head in Bryan's lap, staring past his knees. Both of them wore big winter coats and seemed frozen in their silence, the sounds from outside muffled and distant. As the headlights from a passing car momentarily lit the back, the fleeting light would occasionally catch the streaks of tears down the woman's face.

Bryan had one hand on Becky's shoulder and the other was idly stroking her hair. The taxi stopped and started, stopped and started, edging its way through the evening traffic. It was proving to be a long drive back to the hotel.

'Bryan...'

'Hmm?'

'You do know that I love you, don't you?'

There was silence. Bryan's hand paused in its stroking of Becky's hair. Becky turned her head slightly.

'Bryan?'

'I heard you.'

'Then why don't you--'

'Becky, I'm grappling with the question: If I hadn't been there, would my wife have spent the night with Marcus DeVere?'

Becky stared out from Bryan's knee. A car passed, headlight flashing across another falling tear.

'I know what I'm supposed to say,' she said. 'I'm supposed to say, "How can you think that?" or "What do you take me for?" But the honest answer to your question is ... I don't know. I honestly don't know.

'I want to tell you that if it came to the crunch, I would have said no. That I wouldn't have cheated on you, would never cheat on you, not in a million years. I want to believe it of myself. But the moment I turned around and saw him, I knew I was in trouble. It was like my whole body was screaming for him. I've never felt anything like it. That's why I wanted to wait for you. Did anyone tell you?'

'Yes, Dee mentioned it while we were dancing.'

'Thank God. I mean, if it had been Dave or Phil or even some guy from another table, I wouldn't have worried about it. But with Marcus, I knew it was a problem. But I thought, if he meets Bryan face-to-face, he won't do anything. He'll know Bryan is not someone to mess with. And then I could just relax and enjoy having a dance with a football legend.

'But the others made me feel stupid for being worried. "It's only a dance," they said. And I could see their point. After a while, I thought, fuck it! I mean, what can a man do in a single dance? Even a man like Marcus DeVere?'

Becky began to have trouble breathing. She forced herself to take slow breaths. Bryan stayed quiet, his hands motionless. He heard Becky speak, her voice cracking.

'Bryan...' she said. 'It would mean a lot to me ... if you would keep stroking my hair.'

She began softly crying, tears falling so profusely that Bryan felt them wetting through his trouser leg. He squeezed his wife's shoulder and resumed running his fingers through her hair as she cried and cried and cried.

*************************

The taxi eventually arrived at the hotel and Bryan led his wife up to their room, his arm around her shoulders as though comforting a grieving widow. He was kind, he was attentive, but when Becky came out of the small brightly lit bathroom wearing only the hotel bathrobe, she saw that he was wearing his undershirt in bed. It was their practice to sleep naked together and, however cold it was outside, the room was warm and cosy. Becky sat on her side of the bed and looked down at him.

'Really, Bryan?'

Bryan looked at her. He considered pretending not knowing what she was talking about, mostly because he was angry. He had to force himself to be civilised.

'Listen, I do appreciate your honesty,' he said. 'I think a lot of women would be trying to downplay what happened or gaslight me about what I saw.'

'I can hear a "but" coming on.'

'But...' Bryan sighed. '...what happened, happened. Nothing changes that,'

'That doesn't explain why you're dressed in bed.'

'Becky, if I get naked, then despite everything I will end up making love to you.'

'And why is that a problem?'

'I don't know. But it is.'

Becky bent her head and glared at the counterpane, her mouth tight. Then she stood, pulled off the bathrobe and jumped naked into bed. She made a beeline for Bryan, pushing away the cover to lay on top of him.

'Becky, get off...'

'No.'

'Becky...'

'Push me off if you have to, but I'm not getting off!'

Becky grabbed his hair with two hands and stared into his face.

'I didn't cheat, Bryan!' she said. 'I was tempted, but I didn't do it!'

'Only because I stopped it!'

'Do you think I couldn't figure out a way to fuck Marcus DeVere if I really wanted to? How about if I whispered in his ear, "Listen, Marcus, my husband is playing silly buggers right now, so how about I give you my number and we meet up some other time?" Or do you think I'm too stupid to think of that?'

Bryan was silent. He had his hands on the sides of Becky ribs, intending to push her off. Now he kept his hands where they were, forcing himself not to let them wander around her body.

'Okay,' he said. 'I take your point.'

'Do you think I gave him my number?'

'I don't know. Did you?'

'I'm asking you, Bryan. What do you think?'

Bryan looked deep into Becky's eyes. She looked right back, unwavering. Still looking, Bryan moved his hands over the skin of her back and then down to her buttocks. Becky's eyes half closed, her breathing getting faster. She had to force herself to keep eye contact. Bryan brought his hands to rest on her buttocks and gave them a squeeze. He smiled.

'Okay,' he said. 'You didn't.'

Becky looked at him, a strand of hair over her face, her breathing rapid.

'You bastard...' she said. 'You're using your hands as a lie detector.'

Bryan just looked back.

Becky stared. There was something intense in her eyes. Then she went lower, leaning her arms on either side of Bryan's head, the tips of their noses almost touching.

'Ask your questions,' she said. 'Any questions.'

Bryan looked at her. His eyes narrowed. Becky looked back, her expression defiant.

'All right,' he said.

Bryan moved one hand onto the small of her back and slid his other hand around and between her legs. Becky's eyes and mouth opened wide as his fingers entered her pussy. She was wet. Bryan spoke, his voice low and angry.

'Do you want to fuck Marcus DeVere?'

'Bryan...'

'Do you want to fuck Marcus DeVere?'

'...yes.'

'Still, even now?'

'...yes.'

'After he dumped you on the dancefloor?'

'...yes. Oh god...'

Becky lowered her head. Bryan grabbed the back of her head by her hair, holding it up so he could scrutinise her face. His fingers moved in her pussy, making her groan, as he continued his interrogation.'

'Do you love him?'

'No!'

'So you just want to fuck him?'

'Yes.'

'Why?'

'Because he's Marcus DeVere. Every woman wants to fuck him. And if I fuck him, I can say, "I fucked Marcus DeVere".'

'And that's special?'

'To a woman, it is.'

Bryan looked at his wife's face. Becky was past the point of shame, looking at him with undisguised lust in her eyes. Her cunt was so wet that his fingers were slick, and he had a hard-on fit to burst.

'Would you have gone home with him?'

'I don't know.'

'Tell me!'

'I don't know!'

'Liar!'

'I don't know, Bryan! I don't fucking know!'

Becky glared at him, her eyes wide with both rage and desperation. He stared back, furious, wanting her to condemn herself so that he could condemn her; to crush her with his righteous indignation. Yet she didn't look away, not even for a second. There was not even a flicker in her eyelids to suggest that she was forcing herself not to look away, and Bryan suspected she was telling the truth.

'Fuck it,' he said.

Bryan rolled Becky off and sat up, pulling off his undershirt. His shorts came off next and he knelt up, naked on the bed. Becky had already divined his intention and she pushed back the covers so she had room to spread her legs. Bryan positioned himself and pushed. Becky cried out, hooking her feet around his legs and grabbing his torso. Bryan fucked her with smooth strokes and Becky held his head and licked his face.

'Darling, darling, darling,' she said.

Then she sucked on his tongue, her body urging him to fuck her harder.

*************************

An hour later, husband and wife were sprawled across a bedspread of twisted sheets and crumpled covers. Bryan was on his back, one foot against the headboard, his arm hanging over the side of the bed. Becky was facedown, limbs splayed, one arm across Bryan's stomach, a white trickle leaking from between her legs.

Bryan turned to look at the naked, dishevelled woman by his side. God, he loved her. Even knowing what he knew -- that she was as likely to cheat as any other woman, that her longing to be Cinderella-for-a-Night would almost certainly trump whatever moral code she said she believed in -- he still loved her.

Becky groaned and turned her head. She saw that Bryan was gazing at her and she smiled.

'Hello,' she said.

'Hi.'

'What's that look on your face?'

'Puzzlement.'

'Oh? And what is "puzzling" my Man?'

'How I can love you so very much, and at the same time not trust you.'

Becky lost her smile. Her gaze went to the sheets, the bed, the covers, then back to Bryan.

'I suppose I deserve that,' she said.

There was a silence. Then Becky said in a quiet voice:

'Do you still want to be married to me?'

A tear ran down Bryan's cheekbone as the answer immediately appeared in his heart.

'Yes,' he said.

Becky let out a sob of relief. She pushed herself up, crawled over to the man and dumped herself into his arms. Bryan kissed the top of her head and held her, loving the feel of her body against his own. The two lay holding each other, quietly breathing.

'So, what happens now?' she said.

'We go on.'

'As though nothing has happened?'

'Oh, no...'

Bryan looked up at the ceiling.

'We learn from this,' he said. 'We question our basic assumptions, take nothing for granted. Especially not the assumption that a marriage vow taken seven years ago will somehow protect us from millions of years of evolution.'

There was a silence.

'I do love you, you know,' said Becky.

'I know,' said Bryan. 'And I love you too. But there's more to this than meets the eye and I need to figure it out.'

'You mean, we need to figure this out?'

'Yes, of course. We need to figure this out.'

But as Bryan and Becky crawled under the covers and kissed each other goodnight, Bryan knew that he would be working alone. The rational part of his mind was already suggesting avenues of research for discovering why Becky did what she did: female psychology, evolutionary biology, the unconscious dynamics of sexual selection. There was a scientific reason for everything.

And Becky hated that shit. It wasn't 'romantic'. Hell, Becky didn't even like knowing how a conjuring trick was done because it "spoiled the magic". So Bryan held her in his arms as he drifted towards sleep, content to simply love her and seek the answers alone. The faint sound of sleet being thrown against the windows gently lulled the couple to sleep. Midnight arrived in silence, marked only by the glowing figures on the clock as 11.59 PM became 00.00 AM.

February was over.