That would give her the space she needed. That would stop them rushing things.
She needn’t have worried. Having crept down the stairs (a small amount of ‘natural’ make-up having been applied), she opened the living room door to find that he was not there. The sofa was empty, the duvet had been neatly folded into a pile, and a small note had been scribbled on the notepad on the coffee table.
“Hey Sasha. Had to head on. Footie today. Text you later. S x”
Sasha read the note with a mixture of relief and disappointment. Relief that she didn’t have to do the awkward morning small talk. And disappointment that perhaps he was avoiding her. She chided herself for her negative thinking. There’s no pleasing you, she scolded herself. First you don’t want him there, then you do want him there. What’s it to be?
She sat on the sofa and rotated his note in her hands.
Say he regretted the night. Say he was disappointed that he didn’t get a shag. Say he thought it was all a waste of time and he was moving on quickly.
Sasha mused over the idea, toying with it. What’s the worst that could happen? she thought. That he was only after a shag? She let the thoughts settle down on her, feeling the fear, feeling the insecurity. Had she not learned anything from Kirk? she told herself. The insecurity has got to go. If Sam was only after her for a shag, then he wasn’t worth it at all.
If he doesn’t come back, then it’s good riddance.
If he does come back, then he’s passed the test.
And really, whatever his actions, it was no reflection on her.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Sasha kept herself busy that day. She refused to obsess about Sam. Will he text? Won’t he? Was he just after a shag? She wasn’t going to go down that route.
Instead, she went to dance class. She knew that the music would lift her and that concentrating on the moves would take her mind off things.
Afterwards, she went for coffee with the girls – Sonia, Katie, Julie.
When Sonia was standing next to her in the queue and the others were out of earshot, she whispered; “So, any update on you and Sam, then?” She gave her a little wink and had that playful look in her eye.
Sasha’s eyes widened. “How did you know?” she exclaimed. Her heart was hammering with a mixture of surprise and excitement.
Sonia giggled. “Because Sam told me that he fancies you.”
Sasha’s eyes widened further. “Shut. Up. He did not.”
“He so did!” Sonia nodded knowingly.
“Oh my God!” Sasha’s heart was leaping with joy. Surely this was a good thing, that he was confiding in friends that he liked her?
Katie and Julie joined them in the queue then, so their conversation was cut dead. Sasha didn’t feel ready to tell them about it yet. It was too soon; too early. She didn’t want to put a jinx on things. Well really, she didn’t want to raise her hopes up in case it all came to nothing.
But Sam, true to his word, did text her later.
“Hey Sash, how’s it going? Was great to see you last night. How about we meet up again soon? Say, next Saturday night? Dinner and a movie? X”
It was the perfect message. Relaxed. Chatty. Yet assertive. Making plans for the following weekend.
Sasha waited the requisite three hours to reply. She knew it was game-playing. Yes, she was playing it cool. But things were going to be different this time.
So, a few hours later, she replied; “Hey Sam. It was a lovely eve, yeah. Next Sat would be cool! Sash x”
The following Saturday rolled around quickly enough. Sasha did her best not to obsess but instead, just to go about her normal day-to-day activities as usual.
On Saturday, she booked in to get a wash and blow dry at the hairdressers. Her hair always sat perfectly when they did it, whereas when she did it, she had a hard time trying to control the frizz. She wore her favourite Joe Browns dress – a green floaty number with cute pockets.
Sam met her at the station. Her stomach had that awkward, lovely, excited adrenalin feeling. It had been such a long time since she’d felt that. So many dates had been dread and disappointment. But this was new; exciting.
He smiled broadly when he saw her and gave her a hug. Immediately they fell into an easy walk and chat. After only a few minutes, her shyness fell away and she felt relaxed. This was Sam; easy-to-talk-to Sam. Comfortable, chatty, lovely.
They joked, laughed, chatted; it was all so simple. At the cinema, he placed an easy arm around her shoulder, as though they’d been together for months.
During the film, they cosied up to each other effortlessly. It just fitted, she thought.
Strolling on to dinner, the chat flowed about the film. During dinner, they talked about family, friends; endless topics. It was all so easy.
The negative voice in Sasha was trying to squeeze a word in edgeways.
There’ll be a catch, it said. Things always seem perfect at the start. Something will go wrong.
Sasha tried to brush the negative voice under the carpet like unwelcome dust.
Just relax and enjoy the night, she told herself. But the negative voice continued. No. Uh-uh. He’ll be expecting a shag tonight. Second date. He’s paid for cinema and dinner. He’s expecting a shag. If you don’t give it to him tonight then don’t expect to hear from him again.
The voice had a point, Sasha reasoned. How long would he put up with this – the wining and the dining – before he expected her to take her kit off? And yet – she didn’t feel ready. It felt too soon.
Well then I won’t, she reasoned with herself strongly. I am only going to do what I’m comfortable with. If he doesn’t like it, then he wasn’t worth it.
After dinner, they went for a drink in one of Sasha’s favourite bars. It had a crackling real fire, a large ornamental Buddha sitting cross-legged, the most gorgeous aroma of some sort of patchouli oil or such like. It was calming, comforting; relaxing.
“This has been a great night,” Sasha smiled.
Sam smiled back and played gently with her fingers; placing them in his. “Well, hopefully it’s not over yet,” he said, mischievously, as though that meant he’d be coming back to her place for kisses and cuddles.
“What do you mean?” she giggled playfully, even though she knew exactly what he meant.
He gave her a meaningful look, placed his arm around her shoulder and said, “Meaning it’s only 11pm, and it’s Saturday night. The night is young yet.”
He leaned in her direction, his lips landing gently on hers and kissing her. They felt soft, tingly, then harder; a little pressure.
When she pulled away from the kiss, she said, “Sam…?”
“Hmm?” he mumbled softly.
“Just so you know, I’m in no hurry to… you know…?” She was trying to be assertive, really she was. But it wasn’t working. Instead she was communicating through raised eyebrows and nigh-on sign language.
He looked at her, amused. “In no hurry to… shag?” he asked pointedly, his mouth showing a faint line of amusement as he placed extra emphasis on the word ‘shag’.
She nodded her head slowly, suddenly feeling embarrassed and immature.
Jokingly, Sam picked up his coat and stood up. “Right, I’m off,” he joked.
She giggled, despite herself.
“What?” he asked, mock-defensively. “No point hanging around here if I’m not gonna get a shag.”
She laughed. “Fine. Fuck off then.” She playfully hit him on the leg.
He sat back down, placed an arm around her and said, “Silly, I don’t care. It’s cool with me.”
And actually, she believed him. And she felt a little bit silly for highlighting the subject.
But whatever, it was a test.
And he passed.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Sasha and Sam rolled along in happy bliss for a few weeks. It was that honeymoon phase; when everything seemed perfect and it appeared nothing could go wrong. Those endless dates where they sat up until th
e early hours of the morning; chatting, finding out about each other, getting to know each other. There was so much to talk about; so much to discover. Of course there was always that nagging little voice in Sasha’s head; the one that wondered how long it would last. The one that wondered when the first argument would be; when he would show his true colours. Yes, it was pessimistic of her; she knew that. But she was going on experience, wasn’t she? She was going on Kirk. She was going on her mum and dad. Why wouldn’t she expect it to go wrong?
It was for that reason that she held off on sex with him. She knew that once she had sex with him, her feelings would soar from ten to ten thousand. So she waited; gave herself time to get to know him; gave herself time to assess his character, before she gave everything to him.
She thought he would have got bored; resented this practically virginal existence; moved on to the next girl. But actually it seemed to have the opposite effect. The more she held back from him, the more he chased after her.
“Whatcha’ doing tonight? x” he texted. “Shall I come over? x”
She grimaced at his text. He was getting too familiar already. Expecting her to be sitting around with nothing else to do but wait for him. Or to drop everything else like hot coals the minute he wanted to hook up.
In the olden days she would have let him, of course. She would have said, “Sure! Come on over! Any time!” And then she would have run around like a blue-arsed fly getting herself ready super-quickly. She would have tipped her hair upside down and sprayed dry shampoo on it. She would have taken a face wipe and cleaned quickly around her private parts and under her arms. She would have taken a razor to her legs and run a dry shave over them. And then she would have put on slinky lingerie and draped herself over the sofa like a willing escort.
He would have turned up, shagged her and left. The chase would be over. There would have been no anticipation; no build-up, no mystery. But a long pursuit, followed by a crescendo of a climax, would be far more enjoyable for him. Much better than presenting the goods on a plate; no gift wrapping, no suspense. It was like a cat, Sasha mused. The longer you dangled a toy in a cat’s direction, the more frustration and enjoyment the cat experienced. The moment the cat got possession of the toy and there was no more resistance, it immediately got bored with it and walked away. This had been the story of Sasha’s life; presenting the ‘gift’ too readily to fuck-buddies so that they immediately got bored and walked away. The game would be over; zero mystery, case closed.
But this time it was different. This time she waited three hours to reply. By then it was after eight and too late to organise anything anyway.
“Sorry hon, I’m busy tonight. Any other eve suit? x”
She didn’t need to tell him what she was ‘busy’ doing. She could have been at a VIP gig with another potential suitor for all he knew. As it was, she was having a pamper night. A long soak in a bubble bath, taking time to Immac her legs, apply a hot oil hair mask; all lovely girlie things.
“Aw…” his reply pinged back immediately. “Saturday night as planned then? x”
Yes, that’s right, boy. Learn that you need to book me in advance.
“Saturday night would be fab,” she purred. “I’ll look forward to it. x”
Then she resumed her decadent posture in the bubble bath and smiled to herself.
Her dry shampoo and face wipe days were well and truly over.
It was about a month later when Sam really proved himself.
Sasha had organised a birthday party. It was in a fit of cheery optimism, when she was feeling brave and manic and positive. She imagined a large group of close friends congregating in her apartment. She saw the gifts and cake and laughter. She imagined how popular she would feel; her friends singing happy birthday, Sam sitting by her side smiling adoringly at her. She would marvel at herself – how far she had progressed since the days of Kirk; how Kirk had arbitrarily imposed those no contact rules on her so that she was sitting alone on New Year’s Eve, not having had enough time to make other plans. She imagined all those parties she’d missed; all the clinking of glasses, all the warmth, and togetherness, and hope for the year ahead. Meanwhile she had sat home alone, having had another no contact phase imposed on her by her boyfriend; the love of her life, the one who wanted to marry her.
Thinking about her upcoming birthday party plans, Sasha started to feel the levels of panic rise in her body. She was experiencing the ‘what if’s:
• What if it’s a disaster?
•What if it’s raining and people trample through the garden and bring in huge layers of mud?
•What if I mess up the cooking and I set the smoke alarm off?
•What if no-one shows up and I look extremely unpopular to Sam?
Or worse, what if too many people show up and it’s a chaotic mess?
Unfortunately, Sasha couldn’t hide the panic she was feeling. Sam picked up on the vibes when they were out on a date together.
“Are you okay, hon?” he asked tentatively. “You seem a bit quiet?”
As per instinct, Sasha shook her head and denied it, saying the usual, “I’m fine,” rather than confessing her fears.
She knew what would have happened if she’d had this conversation with Kirk. He would have responded abruptly with, ‘You’re not fine. What’s up?’ He’d have spat the words out with contempt, impatient at yet another hormonal imbalance from her; another episode where she fell short of the ‘perfect girlfriend’ ideal that he had envisioned for her. The girlfriend with the constantly cheery disposition, the continuous flat-lining balanced mood and a consistently calm tone of voice. She would have given in to his abrupt questions about ‘what’s wrong?’ and she would have confided her fears to Kirk. He then would have patronised the hell out of her.
‘This is all your stuff that you need to deal with,’ he would have said. ‘It’s all borne from fear. Self-centred fear. Worrying what people think of you. You should have learned this stuff years ago.’
It was as though he was standing on a very high pulpit looking down on her, a lowly ant, a mere speck on the floor.
Of course she had believed him at the time. How low her self-esteem was; she knew that she had to change. She knew it was all her fault.
But now, sitting with Sam, it was a different story. He took his hand in hers and gave her a warm, caring look.
“You’re not fine, hon,” he said softly. “Something’s on your mind.” He rubbed his finger gently along her hand, as though trying to coax her thoughts out of her.
How different this is to Kirk, she thought.
If it had been Kirk, he would have become impatient with her silence. He would have descended into a talk-a-thon of epic proportions, criticising her tone of voice and her vibe.
Sasha took a deep breath. Okay, so this was another test. She would try. She would dip her toe in the pool of trusting Sam and see how things turned out.
“Okay…” she took a deep breath. And then she told him. She confided all her fears about the party. All the ‘what if’s’. All the worries. And then she waited. For his response. For the possibility that he’d laugh. Or brush it off. Or tell her not to be so silly.
But he didn’t do that. Instead, he said, “Okay, let’s talk this through.”
He got comfy on the sofa. He lay on one end while she lay on the other. He pulled a blanket over them. And they chatted.
“The rain/mud thing. Right, if it’s raining, there’s a rule. Shoes off at the door.” He made a ‘tick’ sign in the air.
“The cooking/smoke alarm thing – I’ll help you with the cooking. We’ll shut the hallway door to the smoke alarm and we’ll open the kitchen window.”
“The not-enough-people-turning-up thing – well, small parties are nice – they’re more chilled. The chats are more open and honest.”
“And if there’s too many – well, they’ll spill into the kitchen or outside for a smoke. We could always call cabs and head on to a club.”
Sasha watch
ed him as he effortlessly reeled off one solution after the other. She felt a well of emotion rise inside her.
“You’re amazing,” she found herself blurting out.
He stopped mid-flow and looked at her in surprise.
“Aw…” he said.
She smiled, slightly embarrassed.
“Well, you are,” she said quietly.
He sat up and manoeuvred himself so that he was lying next to her.
“And so are you,” he whispered.
And then he kissed her. A long, deep, meaningful kiss that felt more like love, rather than just physical attraction.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Sasha’s birthday gathering turned out much better than expected. All her initial worries (not enough people/too many people/smoke alarm going off/mud being trampled through the apartment) turned out to be unnecessary negative fantasies.
Sam helped Sasha with the cooking, effortlessly balancing a baking tray in one hand and a serving dish in the other. His keeping an eye on the oven for Sasha gave her the chance to open the door to new arrivals and get them settled with a drink.
Mercifully, it wasn’t raining when the newcomers arrived, so there was no need for awkward conversations about, ‘please remove your shoes’. Almost everyone she had invited had turned up, so there was a nice amount of people in her apartment; busy but not overflowing.
Once all the hot food had been cooked (sausage rolls, cocktail sausages, bacon rolls and so on), it was time for Sasha and Sam to sit down and relax. With everyone settled with a drink and plate of hot food, the conversation and banter began to flow.
Sasha looked around the room, an inner glow radiating through her. She felt full of gratitude that all these people had made the effort to come to celebrate her birthday; that cards and gifts were being bestowed on her; that Sam was looking at her with a mixture of warmth and pride. It really was a beautiful birthday, a hundred times better than that birthday she had had with Kirk; the one where she was sent to the spare room like a naughty child, punished for being jealous.
The Year of No Rules Page 16