When You Were Mine Read online

  When You Were Mine

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Epilogue

  A Letter From Lisa

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright

  When You Were Mine

  Lisa Swift

  For my lovely agent, Laura Longrigg – thanks for everything.

  Chapter One

  ‘Don’t get me wrong, he’s a lovely man. Considerate, sweet – everything I want in my life. It’s just that he’s, well… not very good.’ The woman lowered her voice. ‘You know, in bed.’

  ‘Ah.’

  Maggie had suspected sex would be at the root of it. Although officially her job was to advise people going through relationship crises, most of the couples who came to see her had what Carol, the oddly prudish manager of Applecroft Couples Counselling Centre, called ‘bedroom issues’.

  It was rewarding work. A healthy sex life was a key part of any stable, loving relationship and Maggie enjoyed helping people achieve that. Just that day, she’d advised a young woman struggling to put an abusive past behind her, a couple trying to heal after a miscarriage, and a husband and wife in their seventies who wanted to spice things up with a bit of light BDSM.

  The irony was that it was well over three years since she’d last been to bed with anyone herself. At the tender age of thirty-four, her sex life had essentially been retired. Maggie was starting to feel a twinge of envy mixed with the sympathy when couples confided their stories to her. Their relationships might not be perfect but at least they had someone to cuddle up with at night.

  ‘There’s no need to whisper,’ she told the woman, Nicki, flashing her a reassuring smile. ‘I know you feel embarrassed, but trust me, you can’t tell me anything I’ve not heard before. Consider me unshockable.’

  ‘That’s why I wanted to see you. I mean, a professional. There was no one else I felt comfortable talking to.’

  ‘Couldn’t your partner join you?’

  ‘No,’ Nicki said, flushing. ‘He doesn’t know I’m here.’

  ‘How long have you been together?’

  ‘Not that long – three months.’

  ‘And has he noticed you’re having problems?’

  ‘No. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Well, you can’t just come right out and tell a man he’s not satisfying you in the bedroom, can you?’

  Maggie smiled. ‘I know; they’re fragile creatures when it comes to sexual performance critique. Little loves.’

  Nicki laughed. Sensing her client was starting to feel more comfortable, Maggie got up from the sofa they were sharing and went to flick on the kettle.

  When she’d started work at the centre five years ago, her room had looked more like a headteacher’s office than somewhere people might feel relaxed discussing their most intimate sex and relationship issues. Maggie had dug her heels in right away, insisting Carol invest in a complete refurb. She’d got rid of the intimidating steel desk and high-backed leather chairs and brought in modern, comfortable furniture – a couple of squishy sofas, a glass coffee table. Clients ought to feel they were chatting with a friend over a cosy cuppa, not being bollocked for sub-par exam performance. The only nod to the fact that this was an office rather than someone’s sitting room was the brass nameplate bearing Maggie’s name and job title – Dr Maggie Nightingale, Relationship Counsellor.

  There was even a radio, providing background music from a local station that did a good line in forgettable chart-toppers.

  ‘Hey, is this Route 69’s new single?’ Nicki asked as a fresh song started.

  ‘Not sure.’ Maggie hunted in the cupboard for the coffee jar. ‘Their stuff all sounds kind of the same to me.’

  ‘You’re not a Jordan Nash fan then?’

  ‘I preferred his earlier work. You?’

  ‘Yeah, love him. Who doesn’t these days, right?’

  ‘Just me, I think,’ Maggie said, smiling. She grabbed a couple of mugs. ‘Tea or coffee?’

  ‘Coffee, thanks.’

  When she’d made them a drink, Maggie handed Nicki a mug and sat back down.

  ‘So your boyfriend hasn’t realised there’s a problem,’ she prompted.

  ‘No. I’ve kind of been faking it.’ Nicki looked up to meet Maggie’s gaze. ‘That’s wrong, isn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t know about wrong. It’s definitely a bad idea.’

  ‘I know it’s not very modern or feminist,’ Nicki said, swirling her coffee. ‘But when I look at his little face, all earnest… he’d be miserable if he thought I wasn’t enjoying it.’

  ‘Is he enjoying it?’

  ‘Well, he manages to… you know. But he’s so uptight, I’m sure he must find it hard work.’

  ‘So what’s the problem exactly? Isn’t he aware of your needs?’ Maggie leaned against the arm of the sofa as she sipped her coffee: her relaxed, open posture signalling she was every inch the non-judgemental, tell-me-anything counsellor lady. Her clients, she knew, felt less embarrassed when they were reminded this was an everyday occurrence for her. Talking about sex, that is. Having it, sadly, was something of a distant memory.

  ‘That’s the problem,’ Nicki said. ‘He’s too aware.’

  ‘Too aware of what?’

  ‘Of me. Every two minutes he’s stopping to check he’s doing it right. “Do you like that, Nic? How about this?” How can I relax when I feel like I’m expected to give a bloody step-by-step tutorial?’ She sighed. ‘And the poor boy looks so anxious, I end up saying whatever I think will reassure him.’ She met Maggie’s understanding eyes. ‘I really want this to work out, Maggie. That’s why I booked a consultation.’

  ‘Well it won’t work out if you carry on like this. Sex needs to be satisfying for both of you or it’s going to cause problems eventually.’

  ‘I know. I just don’t know how to talk to him about it.’

  Ah, the British: happy enough to have sex but scared stiff of talking about it. Maggie supposed she should be grateful for people’s natural bashfulness on the subject. At least it kept her in work.

  ‘Perhaps you could try something new,’ she suggested. ‘Something to help him learn to read your responses so he doesn’t feel the need for constant verbal affirmations, kind of a bonding exercise.’
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  Nicki frowned. ‘Kinky stuff, you mean?’

  ‘Not necessarily. Just something you can experience for the first time together.’

  ‘What kind of thing?’

  ‘Well, how about erotic massage? Treat him to some oils and spend an evening really getting to know each other’s bodies.’

  Nicki looked thoughtful. ‘Yeah, that might work. I could tell him I was feeling tense after a rough day at work.’

  ‘There you go, now you’re getting it. Oh, and quick tip: skirt, no knickers. There’s not a heterosexual man alive who can resist that one.’

  Nicki laughed. ‘I hope the man in your life knows what a lucky bloke he is. If you’ve got one.’

  Not one who appreciated the skirt-and-no-knickers gambit, unfortunately. Maggie drained the last of her coffee to avoid giving a reply.

  Nicki glanced at the clock. ‘Well, looks like my time’s up.’ She stood and put her coat on. ‘Thanks for listening, Maggie, you’ve been brilliant. It’s such a relief to have someone to talk to.’

  ‘That’s my job,’ Maggie said. ‘See you same time next week?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘Bring your boyfriend too, if you think it might be helpful.’

  ‘It’d scare him to death. I’ll give the massage and commando combo a go first and report back,’ Nicki said with a smile. ‘Hey, have you got another client now?’

  ‘No, that’s me done for the day.’

  ‘Maggie… look, tell me if this is out of order, but do you fancy going for a proper drink? I’ve got nowhere I need to be for an hour.’

  Maggie felt a twinge of regret. She’d enjoyed chatting to Nicki. It was hard to meet people you could feel that spark of connection with as an adult, and it’d be nice to make a new friend – a female one. As lovely as her best mates Ibby and Other Max were, she longed for a bit of girl-talk sometimes.

  ‘I’m afraid I’m not allowed,’ she said. ‘We’ve got this whole code of conduct about socialising with clients.’

  ‘Oh. That’s a shame.’

  ‘But when you don’t need my advice any more, look me up, eh? Remember, communication’s key. If the massage doesn’t do the trick, just talk to the boy.’ She shook Nicki’s hand. ‘Good luck.’

  Chapter Two

  ‘Okay, what about this one?’ Maggie said in the pub after work.

  Ibby took one look at the phone and passed it back.

  ‘Nope. Don’t fancy him.’

  ‘What do you mean, you don’t fancy him? I fancy him if you don’t.’ She turned the phone round to look at the Tinder profile again. ‘He’s got abs, Ibs. Actual abs! You know, like the blokes in the shaving ads?’ Maggie subjected the surfer in his board shorts to a hard stare. ‘Never seen any in real life before. I was starting to think they were a PR stunt by the people who invented Photoshop.’

  ‘Exactly. Meathead gym bunny,’ Ibby said. ‘I’m not playing second fiddle to the guy’s rowing machine. Swipe left.’

  ‘That’s seven now, you know.’

  ‘Can’t just throw myself away, can I? Come on, who’s next?’

  ‘Matthew. Twenty-nine, works in media—’

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  ‘I haven’t even shown you his photo yet!’

  ‘You’ve told me all I need to know. “Works in media” is something people write on dating profiles because they think it sounds better than “ad sales”.’

  ‘What’s wrong with working in ad sales?’

  ‘Nothing. It’s the pathetic attempt to sound cool and edgy that gets on my pecs.’

  ‘Right.’ Maggie shoved the phone back. ‘I give up. You can find your own bloody boyfriend.’

  ‘Aww, come on.’ Ibby put on the face he thought made him look adorable and puppy-like, but which always reminded Maggie of a constipated gerbil. ‘You’re better at finding good ones than me.’

  ‘You know I do this stuff for a living, right? You should be paying me.’

  ‘Please, Mags. All I seem to find are weirdos who want me to walk on their backs in their mum’s high heels or play Call of Duty in the buff.’

  ‘That’s your usual Saturday night, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah, but not with anyone looking. And I’m classy enough to keep my pants on.’

  ‘Fine. But if you don’t like the next one, I’m resigning as your official pimp.’

  ‘Better make him good then.’

  ‘Haven’t had a text from Other Max while you’ve been Tindering, have you?’ Maggie asked. Other Max and his new girlfriend had been due to meet them at their local, The Blue Lagoon, ten minutes ago. ‘If he doesn’t get here soon we’re going to miss him.’

  Ibby grinned. ‘He’s been here quarter of an hour,’ he said, nodding to the window. ‘In the beer garden.’

  Maggie glanced out. An earnest red-haired man was leaning across one of the tables, saying something to a blonde woman with both her hands clasped in his. She had her back to them but Maggie could easily picture the half-bewildered, half-terrified look that tended to settle on the faces of those confronted with Other Max in freefall anxiety mode.

  ‘Oh God, the poor girl. He hasn’t been talking at her like that the whole time?’

  ‘Yep, warning her what awful bastards his best mates are. She must think we’re hellspawn by now.’

  Maggie knocked on the window, and Other Max looked up. He gaped when he saw who it was.

  ‘Come on,’ she mouthed. ‘You can run but you can’t hide, Other Max.’

  ‘Good timing.’ Ibby finished his lager. ‘It’s his round.’

  ‘Hey, this one looks all right,’ Maggie said as they waited for their friend to join them. She passed the phone to Ibby to show him the Tinder profile she’d just found. ‘Nat, thirty-one. Researcher for local radio. I think he’s a bit adorable, personally.’

  Ibby fixed the phone with an appraising gaze.

  ‘Yeah, I could cope with him. Nice eyes.’

  As Ibby swiped right on adorable Nat with the nice eyes, Maggie’s own eyes widened.

  ‘Shit!’

  Ibby looked up. ‘What?’

  Maggie’s gaze had locked with Other Max’s girlfriend’s. The woman turned red to the roots of her short blonde hair, and Maggie thought for a minute she was going to run for it.

  It was Nicki.

  Which meant that the boyfriend who couldn’t make her happy in bed was…

  Oh God. Poor Other Max.

  ‘Mags, what’s up?’ Ibby said. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

  ‘Nothing. Just… remembered something I need to do at work.’

  She slapped on a reassuring smile for Nicki and nodded towards the empty chairs opposite.

  ‘Um, hi fellers,’ Other Max said when he reached them. ‘This is Nicola. Nicki. My girlfriend.’ He guided Nicki forwards, his right eyelid trembling with terror. ‘So behave yourselves, okay? Please.’

  ‘Don’t we always?’ Ibby said.

  ‘No.’

  Maggie shook Nicki’s hand, holding eye contact as she tried to transmit vibes of guaranteed client confidentiality. ‘Nicki. Great to meet you at last.’

  ‘Hi,’ Nicki said, smiling uncertainly. ‘Er, you must be…’

  ‘Maggie.’ She nodded to Ibby. ‘This is our friend Ibby. Pay no attention to a word he says.’

  ‘Charming.’ Ibby shook hands too. ‘Nice to meet you, Nicki. Can you tell your boyfriend it’s his round please?’

  Nicki smiled, relaxing slightly as she absorbed the fact that Maggie wasn’t about to drop her in it.

  ‘It’s your round, sweetie.’

  ‘It usually is.’ Other Max glanced from Ibby to Maggie. ‘Okay, I’m going to the bar. Don’t show me up me while I’m gone, you two.’ He pointed an accusing finger at Ibby. ‘You especially.’

  Ibby held up his hands. ‘Me? Maggie’s worse than I am.’

  ‘Maggie doesn’t do the Harrison Test. I swear that scared off my last three girlfriends.’

  Colour
rose in Nicki’s cheeks, the full reality of everything she’d confessed about Other Max’s sub-par sex technique obviously flooding back, and Maggie jumped in to rescue her.

  ‘Nicki, take a seat.’ She looked at Other Max. ‘The usual for us, we’re not driving. Cheers.’

  ‘So any juicy cases on at the moment, Mags?’ Ibby said when Other Max had gone. ‘Maggie’s a sex therapist,’ he told Nicki.

  ‘Relationship counsellor,’ Maggie said. ‘And you know I’m not allowed to talk about that stuff. Applecroft Couples Counselling takes confidentiality very seriously.’ She caught Nicki’s eye. ‘So do I.’

  ‘I knew you’d say that,’ Ibby said. ‘Come on, can’t you manage a bit of sauce to fill the conversation while we wait for our drinks?’

  ‘No I can’t. Professional ethics.’

  ‘Spoilsport.’

  ‘Why don’t you tell Nicki about all the blokes you’ve rejected on Tinder today, if you’re so desperate to talk about someone’s sex life?’

  ‘Nicki doesn’t need to hear what a hot piece of ass I am. She can see for herself.’

  ‘So, um, what’s this Harrison Test?’ Nicki asked, looking a little dazed.

  Maggie groaned. ‘You had to ask.’

  ‘The Harrison Test, young Nicola, is a cunning pop quiz I devised to make sure my best mates don’t throw themselves away on unsuitable partners,’ Ibby said.

  Nicki frowned. ‘So I have to do a quiz?’

  ‘All love interests have to pass it when they do The Meeting of the Friends. Helps sort the wheat from the chaff early on so we don’t waste time on wrong ’uns.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Maggie said to Nicki. ‘He doesn’t mean to be rude. Calling people chaff is just his way of showing love.’

  ‘So. The Harrison Test,’ Ibby said.

  ‘Do you have to, Ibs?’

  ‘We made a pact, didn’t we?’

  ‘A drunken pact. In the first year of uni. Fifteen years ago.’

  ‘A pact’s a pact. Legally binding for life,’ he said, clasping a hand to his heart. ‘Right, Nicki. Han Solo, Indiana Jones or Rick Deckard?’

  ‘What?’ Nicki said, blinking.

  ‘You have to pick. Solo, Jones, Deckard. And you must show your workings.’

  ‘The best character, you mean?’

  ‘If you like.’