What If?. Shari Low

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      Over the following months, our roller-coaster fired along without any major derailments. Thankfully, our sojourn to the ‘bare bum bar’ was never repeated and we continued to have long nights and mornings of love with lots of fantasies thrown in to keep things interesting.

      In fact, that had started to niggle somewhere in the deep recesses of my brain. It seemed like our sex life revolved more and more around talking dirty than it did around love. I chided myself that I was just moaning about too much of a good thing. After all, I enjoyed the fantasies. But every night…?

      It was a small price to pay. During the days, Joe was his usual funny, kind, caring, protective, interesting, gorgeous self. We spent endless hours talking about our wedding, a knees-up back in Scotland with my girl gang as bridesmaids. One Christmas Eve, I’d called everyone with the news. My granny had whooped with glee, my mother had said she hoped I knew what I was doing and my brothers demanded to meet him and asked if he was any good at football. My dad asked if he got a discount at the club now. I told him he was barred.

      Next I called Kate’s house, hoping all my pals would be there, and they were. They’d all huddled around the phone, and when I’d told them I was engaged they’d shrieked with excitement for me. I promised I’d bring Joe back to meet them soon, but it hadn’t happened. The problem with owning and running clubs pretty much single-handedly is that there’s no one to take over when the boss wants a break. Chad could cover for a few hours, but he had his hands full on the door. All our staff were part-time, so – other than me – Joe didn’t have anyone he could trust with managing things in his absence. Add to that his workaholic nature, and I was beginning to wonder if we’d ever get a break. Every time I mentioned it, Joe would promise me we’d get a holiday soon and my hopes would rise, then fall again as more time passed and it still didn’t happen.

      On a freezing cold night in January, as I made my way to work, I knew it was going to be a quiet night. I was on my own, because Joe was out scouting other clubs, searching for his next investment. There were few tourists at this time of year and the six inches of snow on the ground would stop most of the locals coming out. By midnight, only a few tables were busy as I worked the room, chatting to all the regulars. At a corner table was a couple I’d never seen before, so I introduced myself as I passed them.

      ‘Pleased to meet you,’ the guy replied. ‘It’s a great club you’ve got here.’

      I stopped in my tracks. It was the broadest Glasgow accent. I turned and smiled.

      ‘You’re from Glasgow!’ Why did my stomach just do a somersault in glee? And why did I want to hug them? ‘Let me buy you a drink,’ I offered, suddenly excited. Maybe it wasn’t going to be such a dull night after all.

      When I took over their drinks and joined them, they introduced themselves as Fraser and Wendy. They were over on a weekend break and as we chatted, it transpired that not only were they from Glasgow, but they were from the same area as me. In fact, Fraser played in the same football team as my brother, Callum.

      I interrogated them for stories of home. How was Callum? Did they know Michael? What about Kate, Carol, Sarah and Jess? Fraser told me that my brother had broken his leg the week before. I was stunned. Callum had broken his leg and I didn’t know about it. What kind of a sister was I? I felt like I’d been overtaken by a variety pack of emotions. On the one hand, it was great to talk to people from home. But on the other… well, it was strange – I had never been homesick before and now waves of it were sweeping over me.

      At closing time, they staggered out, drunk on the drinks that I had been plying them with as thanks for answering my relentless questions all night. I let all the staff go and as I waited for Joe to collect me, gloom descended. I tried to pinpoint what was wrong, but I couldn’t understand it. Suddenly, I just wanted to get on the first plane available and go home.

      I sat silently in the car all the way back to our apartment, then listlessly undressed and climbed into bed. Joe put his arms around me.

      ‘Make love to me, Joe,’ I asked.

      ‘Sure, babe. Why don’t you tell me a story first?’

      He didn’t get it. I didn’t want acrobatic sex and horny fantasies. I wanted him to make slow tender love to me. To make me feel better. To make me feel like I belonged here.

      I rolled over and stared at the photo on СКАЧАТЬ