Love Songs in Age

The funeral was well-attended. Very few people who'd met David ever forgot him, and I was touched by how many of them made the effort to come, in some cases travelling hundreds of miles for the service. I sent a message to my father to let him know, but he didn't come. I was relieved, if I'm honest.

David had already written a piece for me to read out at the service. I managed to make it through it somehow, even the parts where he teased me affectionately about my various shortcomings. Isobel was there too, sitting quietly at the back with her parents. She looked lovelier now than ever, I thought, seemingly having made that final transition from pretty girl to beautiful woman.

Her parents took her away for a few days after the funeral, a trip to the Lake District. They very kindly invited me to join them but I said I wanted to sort out a few more things. I was pleased to see that Isobel and her parents seemed to be getting on well now, a far cry from that slightly dysfunctional family I'd met just a few months previously. I wanted some time on my own to think about my own plans.

The more I thought about it, the more David's advice to go travelling seemed like the right thing to do. If nothing else, it would give me something to focus on. The sheer mechanics of getting from A to B to C would distract me, I thought.

And writing -- yes, that excited me. I had an idea for a novel, and for several short stories, ideas that had been floating around in my head for several years, and I suddenly felt ready to tell them.

But as for Isobel coming with me... no, I couldn't take that seriously. It was a romantic notion of hers, but not practical, springing more from her sense of gratitude for the hours we'd spent with her, rather than because of a genuine emotional connection. I told myself that must be the case, though part of me fervently wished it wasn't.

I did think about just leaving, and not seeing her before I left, but I decided that would be cowardly. Besides, I wanted to see her. But... I shouldn't give her too much time. I knew that if she had a few days she would try and convince me to let her come with me, and I wasn't sure I was strong enough to withstand that.

I sent her a message, taking a long time to try and get the tone just right:

Hey Izzy. Hope you're having a great time with your folks still. Those last pics you posted on Instagram were breathtaking! Glad you're getting some painting done too.

My tidying up all done now and I've decided I'm going to head off on Sunday. Not quite sure where my first port of call will be but I thought I might just head to the airport and choose a flight at random. Always wanted to do that! Could be a recipe for complete disaster of course.

I know you're coming back Saturday evening so any chance we could grab a quick coffee in the morning before I go? If not, no worries -- it's not goodbye, I hope, just farewell for now. But I think it's time for me to get moving.

Say hi to your folks from me.

About ten minutes later there was a blue tick to indicate she'd read it, but no response. I thought she was probably hurt or angry or some mixture of both. Or perhaps... relieved?

I waited another few hours to see if a reply came through, but nothing did. Should I send a follow-up message? No, I'd said what I wanted to say. I would be sorry -- desperately sorry -- not to see her before I left, but perhaps that would be for the best.

Saturday came and drifted by slowly. I packed my things into my backpack, decided I had too much, unpacked it all, packed it again. I stared at maps of the world on my tablet, wondering where I should go. Somehow it seemed less exciting now that I was faced with the reality of it. I kept glancing at my phone, hoping for the buzz of a message, but it stayed silent.

In the evening I got a takeaway and sat in the nearly empty flat, eating the food and staring at a film without really taking it in. She would be home by now. Perhaps... maybe I should go over to their house and say goodbye? But... if she'd wanted to see me, she would have replied. Let it go.

Then I heard the door open.

I knew who it must be. We'd given her a key months ago -- she visited so often.

I got up and went to the hallway. Isobel was there, dressed in jeans, a thick jacket and walking boots. She was also lugging what looked like a rather heavy backpack, which she propped up next to mine. In one of the side pockets I could see a battered paperback copy of Sense and Sensibility.

"Hey," she said cheerfully. "Sorry... thought I'd be earlier. Thank god so many shops in London stay open late. I had to buy a new backpack... mine had fallen to bits."

"A new backpack?"

She smiled at me. "Yes. And a sleeping bag. Though if you're planning we're going to sleep in luxury hotels all the way around the world, that'll be fine by me."

"So... you're coming with me?"

She walked over to me, unzipping her jacket as she did so. Then she stood in front of me, looking up into my face.

"Well, put it this way. I'm going to follow you to the airport. I'm going to get on the same flight you do. And at the other end, I'm going to trail after you wherever you go."

I was doing my best not to smile, though I don't think I'd ever felt a purer sensation of sheer happiness.

"Like a... kind of stalker, then?"

"Yes. Do you mind? David said you might be a bit difficult about me coming with you, but I should just ignore you, and you'd come round."

Then her faux confidence seemed to evaporate, and she looked anxious. "I hope he's right," she whispered. "I might just die if he isn't."

I looked at her for a long moment. Her blonde hair framing her achingly pretty face, Her clear blue eyes.

I slowly reached out and put my arms around her. "Yes," I said. "He is."

Suddenly she was in my arms and my mouth was on hers. Few things have ever felt as perfect or right. And then she was taking me by the hand, leading me to my room.

"Oh," she murmured. "I've wanted this so badly, Michael. You have no idea how badly."

Within seconds most of our clothes were on the floor and we were in the bed. I kept her body close to mine, pulling her in close so that our bodies touched each other as much as they could. My fingers couldn't get enough of exploring her smooth skin, tracing paths endlessly over her arms, back and neck. Her nipples felt hard and perfect against my chest as she lay on top of me.

Suddenly I was desperate to be inside her. My cock felt as hard as I could ever remember, lying like a hot rod of iron between our stomachs. I reached down and gently tugged at her panties.

"I need you, Isobel," I said. "God... I need you."

"I'm yours," she said simply, and lifted herself up so I could more easily slide the material down her legs.

Then I hesitated. "Condom," I said. "I think there are some..."

She put a finger to my lips. "No. It's all right. Please. I need to feel you."

I reached down and guided my cock so its tip pressed against her slit. I could feel her warm, sticky wetness and I took a moment to savour the feeling of her arousal. Then I pulled her head back down onto mine, our lips combining as I slipped deep inside her perfect tight passage.

She moaned, a sound of pure physical pleasure.

I have never felt such a primitive, basic, animal need for sex. I thrust deeply into her, back and forth, and she moved her body to match mine. I could feel slight traces of sweat building on her back under my fingers as we strained and gasped, that strange dance which sometimes feels as much of a battle as it does a celebration of passion.

"Fuck me," she murmured, almost inaudibly, her mouth pressed to my cheek. "God, fuck me just like this."

I knew this would be a short, frantic coupling that would be over in a few minutes, but I was determined that I would feel her climaxing before I gave in and allowed my own. I slowed my pace slightly, allowing her to lead, letting her control the rhythm and depth of our joining. I felt her breathing began to change, shorter, more desperate gasps.

"Fuck I'm going to come... oh god I love this so much... god I love you..."

And then she came, letting out a soft cry of pleasure as her body spasmed and tightened around me. I knew I would only be a few seconds behind her, and I held her body even tighter as I resumed my frantic thrusting.

"Isobel... so close..."

"Yes... please... I want to feel it... I want to feel you come in me..."

I exploded inside her, a glorious wave of release that left me gasping. I could feel my cock spilling and spitting my seed inside her, rope after rope until I thought I must be completely drained.

I lay there, gasping, still holding her tightly close to me as if afraid she would slip away. We lay there for a while, our breathing still laboured. She showed no inclination to try and escape from my grasp. If anything she seemed determined to burrow even closer into me, moving her legs so they rested on mine, our bodies in contact almost from head to toe.

"Oh my god," she finally managed. "That was... just so amazing."

I kissed her again. "For me too."

She lay there for a while longer, then twisted her head to look up at me. "But... honestly, how are you going to get any writing done when we're just going to want to have sex like that all the time?"

I shrugged. A very Isobel-ish gesture.

"DH Lawrence managed it," I said. "I don't see why I shouldn't try and follow his example."

"Good," she said. "Because if it's a choice between you writing, and you... fucking me like that... my gain will just have to be literature's loss."

**

Just before the train reached Heathrow I remembered something I'd been meaning to ask her.

"What did David say to you, just before you went into the exam?"

"Mmm? Oh -- that." She paused. "He said... don't let your lover boy down now."

"Lover boy? You mean... me?"

She giggled. "Afraid so."

"So... you and him... used to talk about me... and you?"

"He could see I was in love with you," she said quietly. "He was a horrible tease about it. Some of the things he said were so disgusting I could hardly believe them. But he made me laugh though."

"What kind of things?"

"I can't... I'm too shy! It's too embarrassing!"

I just looked at her, expectantly. She sighed, but leaned closer so she could whisper.

"Well... he used to ask me if I got wet knickers when we were studying together."

There was a silence.

"Well? Did you?"

"I'm not saying," she said primly.

She kissed my shoulder. "He told me that the first time you came back from meeting me he could tell you were smitten. Is that true?"

I thought about it. "Yes. I think it is. I'm not sure I was aware of it... but obviously he must have seen it."

"And then he said... that first time I came over... the way he saw you looking at me. He said he knew it was just a matter of time."

The train began to slow down, and people around us began to gather up their bags.

We stayed where we were for a moment longer, ignoring the activity. I was still relishing being able to have my arm around her. "And when we come back home? Have you thought about that?"

"No," she said. "But... we'll deal with that when that happens. Won't we?"

I nodded, and then hugged her closer. Then the conductor announced over the tannoy that we were pulling into Heathrow, and to remember to take all our belongings with us, and wished us safe and happy travels, whatever our destination.