Walking with Sam

"I missed you with every breath of my being, but... but..."

"Your boss doesn't seem to mind."

"She's not my boss. She's my boss's boss - his wife. Oh. Oh my God! Sam! You can't just... just show up here! I'm not out here!"

"Oh," she said, smile disappearing like smoke. "Oh fuck. Um... I... I didn't even think..."

I stared at her.

Then I started to laugh. I stood up on my sensibly-shod toes and kissed her soundly, so tall and gorgeous in her fancy-pants boots.

"I guess I am now," I giggled. "Mary's the world's best-natured gossip and that news is going to go through the office like Typhoid in a nunnery. You've done for me, Sam. Oh well."

"Sorry," she said, clearly mortified. "It... it just seemed like such a natural thing to do to come and find you and..."

"I love it. I... I'm... surprised. I'm staggered. But I love... it."

I fumbled her hand into mine.

"I hope you brought nice goodies, though," I added, grinning. "To make up for the absolutely biblical amount of teasing I'm going to get back there when we're done."

She was bright pink and so utterly flustered; it really was quite delicious.

"Sam," I breathed.

"Yeah," she squeaked.

And I kissed her again, enjoying the little moan she let slip.

Holy God, I loved her to smithereens.

I knotted my fingers into hers.

"So where are you parked? I hope it's away from prying eyes, because there are going to be lots of them."

She grinned sheepishly. "I honestly hadn't thought that far. Just around the corner."

And she led me back with her and sat me down on a folded wool blanket that she set out on Bertha's tail gate. She poured me a cup of tea in a battered tin mug, and handed me a plate with sandwiches from a wicker picnic basket she'd strapped to the side of Bertha's boot.

"I made these," she said, softly. "With care and affection."

"That must be why they taste so good," I mumbled, around half a mouthful.

She smiled, pleased.

"I'm glad you like them. I wasn't sure... what you would."

"You could feed me anything and I'd eat it happy in the knowledge that you'd touched it."

"You're terrible."

"Maybe. But I'm being dead serious. Sam... whatever possessed you? To do this?"

"I missed you," she said, as if she were explaining to me that water was wet.

"I thought you needed to keep me secret."

"The people I need to keep you secret from don't come to places like this to mix with people like us; they have people who do that for them while they drink Gin and play Croquet and Badminton."

"Ah," I said. "So we're talking... Horsey people?"

"Many of them are, yes," she sighed. "So... yes. I need to be...somewhat circumspect, with you. Far more than I want to. And I have to hide you from Mark for now, obviously. But... I..."

"You... what?"

"You're important to me, Willa," she said, soft and intent. "I... I need you to believe that, to know it. I don't want you to feel like you're an idle bored housewife's lesbian dalliance. You matter. How you feel... matters. Deeply. Intensely. I want to shout out loud from the mountaintops how gleeful I am now that I've found you. And instead I have to whisper it where nobody can hear it. And it sucks. I don't want this for you. I don't want this for us."

Us, part of me echoed...

"You're awfully... serious," I breathed, after a moment's mute and awestruck silence.

"You're the first person other than my daughter who's... who's held me and comforted me and... and let me just be me."

"Meaning..."

"I..."

She sighed, clearly frustrated with herself.

"Do you ever have something totally clear in your head, but when you try to explain it it just..."

"Goes to pieces? Yeah. I know that struggle," I said. I squinted at her. "Since we're being honest about stuff, Sam. Just so you know. Just so the words have been said - I've wanted you since pretty much the first time I saw you."

She blushed. "Really?"

"Oh fuck me, yes."

"Oh," she whispered. "Oh. That's... that's really nice to know, actually."

"Good. So. Just so I can be prepared. Is... is this sort of thing going to happen often? Fly-by abductions where you are dressed both up and down in a way entirely designed to make me want you?"

She laughed, delighted by that little gem.

"Sorry," she said, still giggling. "I... I just wanted to look nice for you."

"Oh, believe me, you did just fine. I love that shirt on you."

She tucked her hair back and picked up a second thermos. "Coffee," she announced, pleased. "I came prepared."

And she poured her own tin mug, and sat beside me in the sunshine, and said very little with words but oh, oh so much with her eyes.

My colleagues were all quiet as mice when I slunk back in after my "lunch" break, but Mary stopped by soon enough.

"She's beautiful," she said to me, pitched low so nobody would overheard her. "Good for you, Willa. You of all people deserve someone that lovely."

And I stammered a squeaky little "Thanks," and buried my flaming cheeks in the books for the rest of the day.

.:.

Our morning walks changed.

Gone was any pretence at reserve - now we'd openly step along arm-in-arm, and she'd often lean her head in against me.

And we'd kiss - often.

She began to tell me the more intimate details of her life; about Beth's struggles with traditional education and her husband's inability or unwillingness to engage over it - she bitterly commented on one misty morning walk that it was almost as if he believed that if he didn't admit to something then it hadn't happened. So all the fallout, all the meetings with Beth's teachers, all the late night worry fell on Sam's slender shoulders alone.

At first, at least.

Because as she started to unload on me she realised that she could unload more on me; I'd walk quietly beside her, and listen to her, and not try to fix anything - I'd just hold her hand, and ask her the questions that I thought would help her sort and settle things in her own mind so that she could make the decisions herself. So that she would fix what could be fixed - by herself.

But she knew what I was doing, and she'd watch me sometimes with this strange little smile that would give me all sorts of wicked ideas...

At least twice a week she'd come visit me at lunch; and she started bringing boxes of biscuits for me to share around the office afterwards.

Spring rolled through to summer, and I adopted my hot weather outfit of thin tee shirts and short skirts; Sam approved wholeheartedly and said she loved being able to watch my shoulder blades while she was walking behind me.

(I suspect she also loved being able to see my bare legs, because she'd casually and salaciously grope my bum if I forgot myself and turned my back on her for an unguarded moment)

Her absent husband's calendar filled up even further as the evenings grew longer and life moved outside for the lighter months of the year.

Which meant that Sam had more time free for me - sometimes entire weeks at a time.

And we took great advantage of that; we started to spend evenings on her outside entertainment area, cocooned in a lovely round wickerwork day-bed, screened from the world by tall hedges and a glacis of open land.

And I'd slowly make love to her, sometimes going so far as to pin her down so I could make her come multiple times before I'd finally surrender to her desperate pleas and let her do the same to me.

And somewhere along the way I had fallen completely, utterly and hopelessly in love with her.

I loved the way she had of tucking her hair back over her shoulders. I loved the way she'd have to rub sand out of her eyes and free hair from her mouth first thing in the morning. I loved the way she'd stretch out her hamstrings before straightening with a sleepy grin. I loved the way she tasted. I loved the little sounds she made in her sleep.

And I loved the way she'd leave her hand on my lap when we were sitting with one another.

Sam completed me.

With her I felt no lack, no worries about what tomorrow would bring.

I started bringing a small suitcase of clothes, and I'd spend multiple nights at a time with her when I could.

And bit by bit I started to believe that maybe, just maybe... she'd keep me.

A few months after we became an "item", Sam introduced me to Beth for the first time. I watched the tall, coltish girl as she pranced around her mother; so similar in build and yet so vastly different in temperament to Sam.

I quickly grew to love her too, and Beth for her part was absolutely fascinated by my hair and accent and style.

As time flashed by she grew comfortable enough around me to sit with me, leaning against me as she read or binge-watched her favourite TV shows.

I became Auntie Willa to her, then just Willa, then just Wills, and I'd see the way Sam would watch the two of us and smile, or sometimes have to turn away until she could be strong again.

As the long Summer nights started to shorten, I started to feel like maybe, just maybe, there was a little Willa-shaped space in their lives for me as well.

I began to understand Beth's challenges - she was extremely smart and very aware of the feelings of those around her, but she struggled to direct her energy or focus onto anything that she didn't find interesting. She'd happily explain the (many) moons of Jupiter or the (even more) rules of Go to me, though, so I spent hours listening to her bubble enthusiastically about whatever was most important to her at that particular time.

And somehow, bit by bit, I discovered that I had the knack to redirect her interest and energy to schoolwork for a few minutes at a time - Beth would grimace and sigh and roll her eyes but still gamely put some effort in, because it was me who was asking her to, and because she adored me.

But despite all this I never forgot that I was an interloper and, technically, the other woman.

So I never meddled between mother and daughter - I never even breathed a word when they had their frequent disagreements; I'd quietly find somewhere else to be until the tantrums were done and they'd cried and made up.

And on the nights that Beth was there with us, Sam would hold me to her and gently kiss me goodnight before heading up alone to the master bedroom.

We never did anything unless it was just the two of us - that was a line that neither of us would even consider crossing with Beth there.

As the Autumn evenings drew in we moved our lethargy from the outside daybed to a couch we'd situated in front of the wood-burning stove that stood in a corner of Sam's massive internal lounge and entertainment space.

I'd watch Sam in the firelight and wonder what strange whim of fate had brought her to me.

And I'd often wonder what I'd done to deserve her.

.:.

It was October - a dark evening with a threat of high winds and rain in the early hours.

Sam and I had made a bed out of cushions on the floor, and built the fire up.

And then we'd made slow, languid love - neither of us had anything left to prove so our time together had become something gradual and intense rather than pure raw need.

I loved the scent of her after sex.

She reached over me to put her wineglass aside; her breast brushed over me and I smiled to myself as my body responded to the touch of more of her skin on mine.

"I do like when you reach over me like that," I murmured.

"Mm. I know. And I bet you like this too," she breathed as she dropped her lips to my left nipple and slowly took it between them.

I shuddered. "Oh, you know I do," I hissed, watching entranced as always as she danced the tip of her tongue on and around it.

She grinned. "I'll give you a few more minutes to rest. Then I'm going to have you again, I think."

"Tease," I chuckled.

"Uh huh."

She settled back in against me and shifted her thigh over mine as she snuggled in closer to me. "Beth got a distinction for English," she said with a matter-of-fact smile. "Her first."

"Oh! Oh my God, that's great news!"

"It's thanks to you and your patience. She works for you, not me. Stubborn little miss. She was so proud, Willa. God, I wish you could have been there, there was a light in her eyes that I've never seen before. It's the first time she's ever really believed in herself..."

"I'm so happy for her. I'm so happy she's seen what she's capable of with just a little focus. We'll sort out her Geography and History as well, don't fret."

"I am so grateful for you, you know," Sam breathed. "Ever since you came into my life things have been better. Everything's better with you."

"Well, Sam, it's only fair. You've completely changed my life."

"How so?" she said. She propped herself up on an elbow and stared down at me.

"Just... I'm full. For once. For once, it feels like I know where I... maybe... belong."

She took a breath.

Then she froze as we heard the front door open and, shortly thereafter, slam closed.

"Samantha?" called a man's voice.

Her pupils dilated; my heart went from zero to crackers in a second.

"Christ," I whispered. "Is that..."

"It's Mark. Fuck. Fuck! Where are our clothes?"

"In the bedroom," I said, fighting down the hysterical urge to giggle.

"Fuck!" she swore again.

"Samantha? I know you're home, your car's outside. Where are you? And why the fuck are the lights off, I'm not a fucking moth!"

Sam struggled out of our nest of blankets and began to try to slink to the downstairs guest room where we'd abandoned our clothing shortly after arrival.

I covered my mouth to stifle myself; it was stupid, we were in deep pooh, and my instinctive response was to snigger at my lover's attempt to sneak off somewhere.

The downstairs lights flicked on.

"Samantha!"

A tall greying man in a very well cut suit stalked around the corner and stopped, staring. I peeked out from behind the sofa and watched Sam as she straightened her shoulders and stared haughtily back at the newcomer.

"Samantha, what the fuck are you doing running around naked? Is there... is there a man here?"

"Strange that that's your first assumption. No, Mark, there's no man here," she said, cold and level. "Just you."

He seemed to miss the barb.

"Then... what on Earth are you..."

"Aren't you supposed to be in Manchester this week?"

"The event finished early. I decided to come home."

"Why?" Sam said. "Surely Melanie's going to be disappointed?"

He stiffened; his face reddened.

I watched him clench his jaw.

"Yes, I know about Melanie," she said. "And Clara. And... Josie, was it? Pretty names. How many other pretty names have there been over the years, Mark?"

"You spiteful little..." he began.

"What?" she interrupted him. "Bitch? Whore? Cunt? Which name was it going to be this time, Mark? Lets go for cunt; you are after all so very familiar with them."

She crossed her arms and stood, waiting as he gaped at her.

"Do you know what used to hurt the most?" she said. "What used to hurt the most was when I thought it was me that did this. That I'd chased you away. That I wasn't good enough for you."

"Samantha, I am not prepared to have this conversation..."

"Oh! I'm so sorry! Did my existence momentarily inconvenience your schedule? It's too bad, because this conversation is happening now - whether you want it to or not."

I watched her, awed by the sharp steel edge in her voice.

"Are you drunk?" he demanded.

She lifted her chin, incensed. "Are you really going to try to insult and weasel your way out of this by attacking me, Mark? Why not just admit to it. Admit to all the girls you were fucking on the side! Save us both the trouble. Be a man, for once in your sorry little life!"

He advanced on her in a manner I did not like at all, and leaned over her, clenching his fists.

I watched her face go pale, watched her hunch her shoulders slightly...

"Hey!" I shouted as I scrambled to my feet.

They both jerked and swung to face me; Sam shook her head frantically and mouthed "No!".

I ignored her, and tried to clasp the blanket around myself to preserve a bit of modesty.

"Who in blazes are you?" he demanded as he stared at me.

"The witness who's watching you try to intimidate your wife," I retorted.

"Are you fucking serious? Are you... are you fucking this woman!" he shouted at Sam. "In my house? Under my roof?"

Sam lost her temper.

"Yes, I'm fucking that wonderful woman!" she shouted back at him. "I'm fucking her up, down, sideways, inside and outside, backwards and forwards, in all the wonderful ways that you never deigned to show me while you were sleeping around, you lying, womanising pile of philandering baggage! How long was it, Mark! Were you fucking other women on the sly before I was pregnant? Or was it just once I got too fat for you?"

"After all I've done, this is how you thank me!" he roared.

And my lover graduated from furious to incandescent without touching any point in between.

"All you've done? All you've done! How much have you done, mister ooh-what-a-nice-suit-I'm-wearing? When last did you check on your daughter, you gangly, self-absorbed fuck? When last did you check on me? When last did you give either of us the time of day? Never, that's when! You're almost never here! And when you are here you're on calls, or "working", or networking, or spending your time on... on your vinyl or wine or your fucking suits! You never have time for us. Never. Fuck you! You may own this fucking museum to your ego but you do not live here. I do. Beth does. And we've had to manage without you for years! So don't you dare swan in here and try to stand on the moral high ground! Fuck off back to your hotel suite and your rancid little Mancunian slut and don't ever, ever presume to talk to me again unless it is to lay out the terms of the divorce. We're done. Done, Mark! I have screenshots, and transcripts, and they are lodged with someone you will never, ever be able to find or intimidate! So, frankly, you can fuck the fuck off and when you get there, you can go right on and fuckity-fuck right off again! Got it? Or do I need to write it out for you in smaller words?"

"This is not over, you ungrateful, unfaithful little bitch," he snarled at her. He turned to face me and pointed an accusing finger my way. "And as for you, you... you harpy, I hope you're happy!"

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. Nothing good would come of responding.

Sam had pretty much covered all all the relevant points, anyway.

He took a breath, spun back to Sam once more.

"Move your shit out of my room," he said, with a slow, unsettling intonation.

"I already did, months ago," she retorted. "And that shows precisely how present you are in this sorry bloody marriage. Enjoy the en suite. Maybe you can go wash some of that reek of other women's diseased minge off of you while you're at it. I changed the linen for you. You're welcome, fucker," she added venomously, underlining her scorn with a mocking little curtsey.

He let out some sort of strangled animal howl and stalked off.

"Jesus Christ," I breathed, once his footsteps had faded.

She let out a shaky breath and staggered; I dashed to her and pulled her into my arms.

"Sam? Sam! Are you okay?"

She was shivering; skin as cold and pale as mist.

"Oh fuck me, that was scary," she whispered. "I've never seen him that angry."

"Does he do that often?"

"Shout? Yes. But... never like that."

The hairs on my neck suddenly stood up.

The words she'd said sounded... wrong.

"Lets get dressed and go," I begged her. "Please, Sam, lets get out of here until he's... cooled down. I want to go now, Sam. Please."

"But... where will we go?"

"My place. It's tiny and cluttered but my flatmates are awesome and Pete's a rugby player. We'll be safe there. Please! We've got to go!"