‘Bloody workmen. You just can’t rely on them.’
Emma cringed as Matt slammed the phone down. ‘They were supposed to be here at seven. I wanted to brief them about the layout.’ She knew what was coming next. ‘Can you sort this out, Emma, love?’ he wheedled, giving her a boyish grin that had once charmed her into agreeing to most of his requests, reasonable or otherwise.
‘You know I have to go to the office. I’m late as it is.’
Before she could answer, he’d grabbed the car keys and was already on his way out.
‘Of course, Matt. No problem, Matt,’ she muttered irritably to the empty kitchen.
She’d planned to spend the day working on an essay for her counselling course.
Sighing, she made herself a strong black coffee. She needed caffeine. It wasn’t that she minded sorting out the builders. It was the assumption that she would, without question. Being taken for granted. She tried the number again, but there was no reply. The builders were probably on their way over. She glanced at the clock – eight fifteen. She was sure they’d be here soon. They weren’t unreliable – just a bit lax when it came to timekeeping. But they did a good job, took pride in their work. Nice couple of blokes, really – brothers Steve, who was twenty-five and Gus, eighteen. She knew their ages because after they’d finished work on Friday night and joked over tea and biscuits Gus had mentioned his recent birthday party and complained that his brother was getting ‘past it’ at twenty-five, which made her laugh. Then he’d tried to guess her age.
‘Twenty-one at most,’ he’d suggested.
‘And the rest,’ she’d replied, blushing. She was already thirty-three when she’d met Matt and they’d been living together for nearly ten years. She sometimes wondered where the time had gone. Still, it was flattering in a way, even though she knew Gus probably played the same game with all his female clients. He was quite good-looking too, in a rugged sort of way. Muscular, strong, well-built. It came with the territory, she supposed. All that lifting and carrying and hammering and screwing.
There was a knock on the door.
‘Where’s Steve?’ she asked, surprised to see only Gus unloading tools from the battered Escort van.
‘Hangover,’ Gus replied. ‘We went to a night-club last night. Poor old sod, I told you he can’t keep up the pace. Don’t worry, he’ll be here later. It’s okay, we won’t let you down.’
As Gus disappeared up the ladder into the new loft conversion, Emma hoped he was right. They’d agreed to get the job finished by six-thirty, on the dot. It was to be a surprise for Matt, who wasn’t expecting the work to be completed for another two days. The old loft, over a period of weeks, had been slowly transformed into a spacious extra room. There had been problems with the structure, delays in getting the right materials, but soon it would be ready. A new office space for Matt, with a computer, fax and modem, and big oak desk that Matt had already ordered from a catalogue he had brought home from work. The walls had been painted white-with-a-hint-of-plum, contrasting with a subtle shade of chalk blue for the ceiling. Pine bookshelves and a luxurious swivel chair, black leather and chrome, were stored in the garage, protected by plastic sheeting, awaiting their unveiling.
Hopefully, with such a great space, Matt would work from home more often and they would get to see more of each other. He always put work first, but at least this way he would be home for dinner more often, although she sometimes wondered if it was really work that kept him out so late. They both knew that their relationship was hanging by a thread – a flimsy one at that.
‘Some people have children to cement a relationship – we convert the loft,’ she had joked bitterly to Steve over tea one morning.
He’d smiled and she wasn’t certain whether it was sympathy or pity.
‘So, what is it today – custard creams or bourbons?’
Gus had come back downstairs quietly, without her hearing and was standing behind her, close enough to feel his breath on her neck.
‘Chocolate hobnobs,’ she replied, without moving away. ‘Your hair smells good,’ he said suddenly and for a moment she felt her heart racing. Quickly, she moved away and clattered mugs and plates, tearing the biscuit wrapper with shaking fingers. Pull yourself together, Emma, she told herself fiercely. You’re acting like a silly teenager.
‘How’s it going?’ she asked briskly. ‘Think it will be finished on time?’
Gus nodded. ‘Trust me.’ He took a swig of tea. ‘That’s a nice blouse you’re wearing this morning.’
‘I bet you say that to all the girls,’ she replied.
‘Only the pretty ones,’ he laughed.
Emma groaned. ‘I wasn’t born yesterday, you know.’ ‘Worth a try,’ he retorted. He glanced at the clock.
‘Where’s that delinquent brother of mine? I’d better give him a call.’ He had just started to key a number on his mobile when Steve arrived.
‘The back door’s open,’ Emma shouted through the window and Steve came in through the patio, carefully wiping his boots on the mat.
‘Just in time for tea break,’ he said, heading purposefully for the hobnobs. ‘I hope you’ve saved something for me,’ and Emma thought that he winked at Gus.
Despite being unable to get on the computer, Emma spent a productive afternoon, writing notes for her essay, with the background sounds of Radio One punctuated by
drilling and hammering from above the ceiling. By six fifteen, chicken was roasting in the oven, the wine was chilled and the strawberry trifle had been spooned into a cut glass bowl. She had prepared a special meal for a special night. In twenty minutes Matt would be home. She just had time to change.
‘Ready for your inspection, madam,’ announced Steve, peering into the kitchen at six forty, then added, ‘Wow!’
Emma didn’t often dress up – there never seemed to be the opportunity and suddenly she felt self-conscious in a clingy lycra dress, stockings and high heels.
Ignoring his gaze and feeling flustered, she said swiftly, ‘Is it finished?’
‘Come upstairs and see,’ he responded, gesturing her to follow.
It wasn’t easy ascending the loft ladder with stilettos but the struggle was worth it. When she saw the room, Emma felt quite emotional. It was a dream of a room.
‘It’s perfect,’ she breathed.
‘Glad you like it,’ replied Steve. ‘Now, before we go, is there anything else you need us to do?’
She hesitated. ‘There is something. I hope you won’t feel I’m taking advantage by asking.’
‘If you don’t ask, you won’t get,’ joked Gus.
‘Well, could you possibly bring up the bookshelves and leather chair from the garage?’
‘No problem.’
‘Thanks, I do appreciate this. It really is a lovely room.
Thank you.’
‘Don’t mention it. Oh, and payment in cash of our outstanding fee would be nice.’
‘Yes, of course.’
Back downstairs, fumbling in her purse for the right cash, Emma felt a warm glow. The meal was going to be perfect. The room was perfect. She even felt good about herself. It was going to be a perfect evening.
Then the phone rang. It was Matt. ‘Sorry, love – I really hate to do this to you, but we have a major problem at work, need to meet an important deadline. Have to stay late and I have an early start tomorrow, so I’m going to book into a hotel.’
Feeling crushed, Emma put the phone down.
‘Anything wrong?’ asked Steve, who was hovering in the doorway.
‘Nothing I’m not used to,’ she muttered quietly. ‘Hey, are you sure you’re alright?’
‘No. I’m not, actually. But it’s my problem. I’ll get your money, if you can just hang on a minute.’
Staring at herself in the bedroom mirror, feeling ridiculous in her black fuck me dress, Emma visualised her relationship with Matt spiralling down into a vortex, taking all the anger and upset with it. To her surprise she began to laugh. How ironic – their relationship was finished at the same time as the completion of the loft room. It was both funny and pathetic. Why was she wasting her energy and emotions on someone who clearly didn’t feel she was worth the effort? Emma took a deep breath and went back into the kitchen, where Steve and Gus waited awkwardly.
‘Would you like to stay for supper?’ she heard herself say. ‘I mean, it seems a shame to waste all this food. Anyway, I hate eating alone.’
Gus opened the wine and they polished off the chicken in double quick time before starting on the dessert.
‘This is delicious,’ commented Gus. ‘Terrific,’ agreed Steve.
‘You’re right,’ said Emma, spooning the creamy substance between her lips and licking the spoon provocatively.
‘Here, you’ve missed a bit.’ Steve leant across and wiped cream from the corners of her mouth, his fingers lingering. Gus watched with interest.
‘Actually, I hadn’t realised just how hungry I am.’ And with that, she took hold of his finger and began to nibble.
‘You’re tipsy,’ laughed Gus.
‘Not tipsy enough,’ she replied, pouring more wine. ‘Hey, steady on,’ said Steve.
‘Bloody men,’ she complained. ‘All the same.’ ‘No we’re not,’ protested Gus.
‘Show me, then.’
Gus leaned across the table and gently kissed her on the mouth. Responding instantly, Emma pulled him towards her and their tongues entwined. Simultaneously she felt Steve’s hands around her waist. He had got up from the table and was standing behind her, kissing her neck. She groaned and his hands slipped between her legs, feeling her wetness. Her head was spinning.
‘Let’s go upstairs,’ she gasped. ‘I want to christen the loft room.’
On the newly polished wooden floor, Emma lay spread- eagled, her dress indecently hitched up around her waist with Steve between her legs, tonguing and licking her, while Gus peeled off her stockings. She came quickly, her eyes swimming, while she was sucking Gus’s delicious cock, and while she was still recovering, he thrust his throbbing hardness into her. She heard a woman’s voice scream – ‘Screw me to the floor, you fuckster!’ and realised it was her own. She was amazed at Gus’s stamina and he kept going until she came again, which wasn’t difficult when Steve was pinching and sucking her breasts while simultaneously caressing her clitoris. While Gus was getting his breath back, Steve slid into her welcoming pussy and she came again in waves, melting into what she imagined she could describe as a state of fuckstasy. They did it on the floor, against the wall, on the rug, twice on Matt’s new desk, and on the leather chair. Emma hadn’t realised it was possible for one woman to enjoy so much pleasure and attention. Finally, exhausted, they slept.
They awoke in the early hours, limbs entwined. Emma stretched languorously and went down to the kitchen, naked except for her high heels, and made them coffee. Soon after, Gus and Steve packed their tools away and kissed her goodbye and she thanked them for all they had done.
When they had left, Emma gradually returned to earth with a thud. She couldn’t quite believe what had happened, that she had behaved so wantonly. She told herself it wasn’t her fault, that it was a combination of frustration, neglect, a need for attention – perhaps even revenge on Matt for making her feel invisible.
As soon as he arrived home from work that night, Matt knew something had changed. He couldn’t articulate what it was, but for some reason, Emma seemed different. When she said, ‘I have a surprise for you,’ he wondered what to expect. Taking him by the hand she led him upstairs and asked him to follow her up the loft ladder. Then he saw the completed loft room and he was quite overwhelmed.
‘God, Emma, I don’t know what to say. I love it. It’s wonderful.’
He kissed her lightly on the cheek. ‘I feel dreadful now about last night, for spoiling everything you planned for me.’ Suddenly he put his arms around her waist and
pulled her towards him, holding her close so she could feel his hardness pressed against her. ‘I know you think I’m work obsessed, but I really missed you last
night. I hardly slept at all.’
‘Neither did I, darling,’ she replied, her clit still tingling from the night before. ‘Shall we christen our new loft room?’
