“I could live a hundred lives and I doubt I’d ever meet somebody like you, Lucy.”
“But you don’t think this is too soon? I don’t want you to think I do this sort of thing all the time.”
“What? Lull unsuspecting men into your home and poison them?”
She playfully punches my arm. “No, this,” she says as she waves her arms theatrically.
“Ah, you mean this?” I parrot. “No, I don’t think you do this all the time. But seriously, if you want to go back downstairs I honestly wouldn’t have a problem with it. Some things are worth waiting for.”
My reply is greeted with a slight shake of her head and a snigger.
“How do you always manage to say exactly what I want to hear?” she says gently. “This is crazy, and I know we’ve only known each other a few days but it just feels…so right. I can’t find the words to explain it, but it’s like I’ve known you forever.”
She leans forward so our faces are only a few inches apart. “Please tell me my instincts about you are right. This isn’t just a one-night stand is it?”
It’s a closed question with only one realistic answer. Surely if I was intending to have my wicked way and disappear into the night, I wouldn’t admit to it. But that’s Lucy. Her optimism, or maybe naivety, has always been part of her charm. She prefers to seek out the good in people — even losers like me.
“No, Lucy. It’s not. I can honestly say I’m not that type of man. Never have been. Never will be.”
Seemingly happy to accept I’m worthy of her trust, she begins to slowly unbutton her nightshirt. I’m torn between watching her, or tearing off my own clothes. Before I can decide, Lucy gets off the bed, and slowly peels herself out of the nightshirt. Once removed, she holds it out at arm’s length before letting it fall to the floor. She stands motionless a few feet away, clearly at ease with her nudity.
I know it’s rude to stare but the sight of her naked body is mesmerising. After years of seeing it wrapped in an unflattering RolpheTech uniform, it feels like I’m privy to the first unveiling of a long-lost work of art. If I wasn’t rendered speechless, I may have even gasped.
At this point, any other man would be all over Lucy like a rash. I, on the other hand, can barely move. I’m no doctor, but I think I might be experiencing symptoms of mild shock. My friend for all those years is currently stood in front of me, naked as the day she was born. If this was the Lucy from my past, there would be a mutual awkwardness between us. I now have to carry that awkwardness on my own, and for some reason I’m finding it debilitating. How can two people who’ve been friends for so long, not feel just a little apprehensive about crossing this line? This is not heavy petting on the couch, I’m about to have sex with my friend. Actual intercourse. Full-on penis in vagina intercourse, with Lucy.
The theory was great, but the practice is something else. My head spins to the point where I’m not even sure I can go through with this. It’s all I can do to lie on the bed with a vacant expression plastered across my face.
“You okay?” Lucy asks, clearly confused by my inertia. “You look white as a sheet.”
“Ugh?”
She frowns and moves across to the bed, taking a seat on the edge.
“You’re not a virgin are you?” she asks, with obvious incredulity.
“What? No…I’m, um…”
“Unsure about your sexuality?”
“No. It’s just…”
“My body repulses you?”
“Christ, no. You’re stunning.”
“What is it then? It doesn’t do much for a girl’s confidence when a guy stares at her like he’s just seen his mother getting out of the shower.”
I’ve really surpassed myself this time. I’ve managed to offend Lucy without actually saying anything. And I’ve tarnished what should have been a beautiful, intimate moment. I don’t know what to say, how to explain how surreal this is for me.
“Sorry,” I murmur.
Pitiful.
Lucy gets up from the bed and snatches her nightshirt from the floor. I have no more than a few seconds to salvage this. This is not her fault. I need to get past my hang ups or risk destroying the only good thing in this life.
“Lucy, wait.”
I scramble from the bed and grab her wrist.
“What?” she snaps.
“It’s not you, it’s me.”
“Seriously? I’ll give you two out of ten for originality,” she snorts.
“Sorry, that wasn’t meant to come out that way. Please, just give me a second to explain.”
This is no time for subtlety. I can’t hold anything back if I’m to convince Lucy I’m not a sex-shy weirdo.
“Look, the truth is I really like you, Lucy. I mean, I really like you, a lot,” I profess. “I know it sounds a bit lame, but I was suddenly a bit overwhelmed.”
I take her other wrist and pull her closer to me. She doesn’t resist.
“I’ve never such a strong connection to anyone before, and if I’m honest, it just freaked me out for a moment. That’s all.”
Her frown fades and her opal-green eyes widen just a fraction. I’ve got a fairly good idea of what’s going on behind those eyes.
“Really? There’s nothing else?” she eventually asks.
“Really, there’s nothing else,” I reply. “You’re just a bit too good to be true. You’re funny, intelligent, beautiful…”
The edges of her lips curl upward and her dimples deepen.
“Keep those compliments coming,” she whispers as she pulls me into a kiss.
If I still had any qualms about enjoying a sexual liaison with my good friend, Lucy takes the initiative and quickly dispels them. Somehow, I have managed to turn the situation around simply by telling the truth. I then learn it’s surprisingly hard to reel off a list of superlatives while a naked woman is slowly unbuttoning your jeans.
“You’re lovable,” I add.
She grabs the hem of my polo shirt and lifts it up. I put my arms out in front of me, and a second later the shirt is lying on the floor.
“Enchanting...”
“More,” she purrs, while planting delicate kisses on my naked chest.
“Thoughtful…”
She traces the tip of her tongue across my stomach, slowly moving south.
“Witty…”
Her tongue flicks over a now-prominent part of my anatomy.
“Jeeesssus!”
Despite my precautionary wank earlier, I daren’t leave Lucy down there for more than a minute. I encourage her to stand back up while I extract my feet from the denim tangled around my ankles. We fall onto the bed together, and I take my turn to show Lucy the full extent of my sexual repertoire.
Back when we used to visit the pub after a day at RolpheTech, Lucy, and some of the other female staff, would gaggle together and discuss their love lives. I would sometimes stand nearby, and it was near-impossible not to overhear snippets of those conversations. I discovered that Tina, a part time sales assistant, enjoyed spanking. I learnt that Jill, a weekend supervisor, was partial to watching hardcore porn. And I was shocked to discover Elaine, our fifty-something stockroom manager, occasionally participated in swinging.
As luck would have it, I also gained some insight into Lucy’s preferences, modest as they were. It would be amiss of me not to take advantage of that insider knowledge. So I do, and with no further thought on the matter, Lucy transitions seamlessly from being my friend to my lover.
What ensues in the next fifty-one minutes is an awful lot of impassioned screaming, scratching, swearing, and sweating. It is, without doubt, the best fifty-one minutes of my life. We are just like those two Tetris pieces coming together, the perfect fit, almost as if we’d danced the dance a hundred times before.
Glorious. Incredible. Perfect.
Indeed, it was so wonderful, neither of us thinks twice about indulging in a second round. By the time we collapse into one another’s arms in a breathless finale, little of Tuesday
remains. Even less of my energy reserves remain.
As I lay there, with Lucy’s head tucked under my chin and my arm around her, I conclude I have never been happier. Despite all the grief, the guilt, the despair, despite everything I’ve been through, I am happy — and I think I’m in love. It’s a bittersweet irony that I’d never have experienced this moment if I hadn’t so monumentally fucked up my life. Lucy would now be living in Brighton and I’d still be married to Megan, unhappily. Maybe I’d still be looking for a job, and certainly the old man would still be a miserable bastard.
I don’t push my thoughts any further in that direction. Better to wallow in this moment and forget everything else for now.
“What are you thinking about?” Lucy asks.
“Honestly?”
“Yes, honestly.”
“I was thinking about that cheese sandwich. It was really tasty.”
She gently slaps my chest and smiles up at me.
“Seriously,” she chides.
I exhale a deep, contented breath. “I was thinking about how perfect this evening has been. If you overlook the food poisoning, oh, and my cold feet earlier.”
“Almost perfect then,” Lucy sniggers.
“I think I can safely say the last couple of hours more than made up for the less-than-perfect parts.”
“Agreed.”
She plants a kiss on my chest and nestles her head back under my chin. I pull her tighter to me, like she’s the last woman on earth and I daren’t let her go.
I close my eyes and let every muscle relax, to the point where it feels like I’m floating. The silence in the room only adds to my bliss. I can barely hear Lucy breathing but I can feel her chest slowly rise and fall against mine. Minutes pass and her breathing slows. I wonder if she’s fallen asleep but I don’t want to disturb her. I close my mind and within minutes I follow her.
23
On my return from that weekend in 1986, I woke up in a hospital bed — back in my fat body, confused and in pain. It was the worst start to the worst day of my life. Today could not be more different. Today, I wake up to the sound of birdsong, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and Lucy’s smile.
“Morning sleepyhead.”
Lucy is kneeling next to me on the bed, wearing her white nightshirt.
“Sleep well?”
I blink a few times to ensure I’m not dreaming, and return her smile.
“Yeah, like a baby. You?”
“Best night’s sleep I’ve had in years. Coffee?”
She turns, plucks a mug from the bedside table and hands it to me.
I sit up and take the mug. “Thanks.”
“I didn’t put sugar in but I can go get some if you take it?”
“No, it’s fine like this thanks, hot and strong.”
Lucy grabs her coffee and positions herself so we’re lying next to each other, mugs in hand, resting on chests. Silence returns but it doesn’t feel strained. We lie for a while, sipping coffee and simply enjoying the moment. Lucy speaks first.
“What have you got planned for the day?” she asks.
“Quite a lot for a change. I’m expecting a delivery and then I’ve got a few IT issues to resolve. You?”
“Got a meeting with my accountant at nine.”
“What is the time?”
“Just gone seven-thirty.”
“Right,” I casually reply. “I’m guessing you haven’t had a shower yet?”
“Not yet. Why?”
“I was wondering if I could offer my scrubbing services, you know, to save you some time?”
We turn to face one another.
“And you think your service will actually save time?” Lucy asks with a wry smile.
“Maybe. Probably not though.”
“Let’s go and find out.”
Coffee mugs are hurriedly slammed onto the bedside table as we make a frantic dash for the bathroom.
Turns out my service actually prolonged Lucy’s shower by a good twenty minutes. It’s gone eight o’clock when we return to the bedroom, both of us glowing from the hot shower, and the shenanigans that accompanied it.
In the thirty seconds it takes me to get dressed, Lucy is still deciding on what underwear to put on. I offer to wash the coffee mugs and leave her to it. Maybe it’s a hang up from my previous life, but I’m wary of women getting ready for work in the morning.
I skip down the stairs and into the kitchen, suddenly aware I’m whistling. I rarely whistle, and certainly not in the mornings. This is a new development. I smile to myself and pour another coffee. I sit down at the dining table and soak up the silence. Three of the four wine bottles we emptied are still present on the table. Despite our alcohol intake last night, I don’t appear to have a hangover. In fact, I feel remarkably chipper.
I finish my coffee and wash the mugs. I’m in the process of drying them when Lucy walks in.
“Ooh, you’re domesticated too. Wonderful,” she laughs.
“Thanks, and while we’re throwing gender-stereotypes around, I’m impressed you got ready in less than ten minutes.”
“Touché, Mr Wilson.”
It still feels weird hearing that name.
“Where did you park?” she asks.
“Err, I didn’t. I walked here.”
Lucy doesn’t question why I walked and offers me a lift home.
We leave the cottage and walk thirty yards down the lane to where Lucy’s red Audi is parked — Lucy’s almost new, very expensive red Audi.
“Nice car,” I purr.
“Thanks. Business has been really good in the last year, so I thought I’d treat myself.”
As we get in the car, I’m tempted to question Lucy about her business. I decide against it on the grounds I don’t want to come across as some sort of gold-digger. She fires up the engine and switches the stereo on. More James Blunt, only louder this time. I’m pinned back in my seat and close to being deafened as the car accelerates up the lane, Lucy grinning like a lunatic at the wheel. Nobody’s perfect I guess.
Within five minutes of our departure, Lucy’s manic driving is abruptly halted by the rush-hour traffic as we skirt the edge of town. We crawl along, the car never shifting beyond third gear. By the time we get within a few streets of my flat, it’s already eight-forty. Lucy doesn’t show any signs of impatience or concern for keeping her appointment as she happily sings along to yet another James Blunt track. I don’t share her patience though, and when a fat bloke slowly waddles across a zebra crossing in front of us, I can’t help but vent.
“Come on you fat bastard. Move your big arse,” I mutter.
Lucy stops mid-chorus, silences the stereo and turns to me. “Are you usually so judgemental about people you don’t know?”
At first I think she might be joking, but her furrowed brow suggests I’ve touched a nerve.
“Eh?”
“You don’t know that guy. He could be an artist, a poet, a musician, or a painter. He might be a doctor, or a charity volunteer. He might be a wonderful man with a wife who adores him and kids he dotes on. Just because he’s a bit overweight, doesn’t make him any less worthy of respect.”
It seems I’ve not so much touched a nerve, more hit it with a hammer.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it.”
I feel my cheeks redden. I have been well and truly told off.
“For the record, I was once overweight, as a teenager. I got bullied relentlessly for it so I’m a bit touchy about the subject. One thing I learnt from that experience is to judge people by their actions not by their physical appearance. And what makes you think you’re any better than that guy?”
“Well, nothing I suppose. But aesthetically…”
“What?”
Don’t say another word Craig. Don’t dig yourself into a deeper hole.
“I can’t imagine he has women queueing around the block for a date. I mean, you wouldn’t date him, would you? Honestly?”
“Honestly? I’m offended you think
I’m so shallow I judge people purely on their physical appearance.”
I warned you.
Lucy swings the car into a bus stop.
“I need to get to the office. You can walk from here.”
“Look, sorry, Lucy. I didn’t mean to offend you, honestly. You’re right, and I don’t have any right to judge anyone.”
She stares straight ahead and doesn’t reply. I lean across to give her a kiss but she turns her head away.
“I’ll call you later,” I sigh.
“Call me when you’ve sorted out that attitude. Not before.”
I get out of the car and it screeches away barely a second after I close the door.
Well-played Craig. Nicely done.
I look to the heavens and shake my head.
It’s only a three-minute walk to the flat; nowhere near enough time for a full analysis of my stupidity. I’m still chiding myself as I walk through the front door. While Lucy never told me about her weight problems as a teenager, I should certainly have known not to be so judgemental. Only eleven months ago I was that fat bloke. Now I feel like one of those sneering pricks who stands around in a gym, throwing contemptuous looks at anyone without a six-pack. It was because of such idiots I decided to stop visiting the gym in my previous life. Actually, that was just one of the excuses I used, but the point remains valid. I’ve experienced that prejudice and I should have known better.
I make myself a coffee and slump down on the couch. With no idea when the transformer is due to be delivered, I’ve potentially got enough time to reproach myself, and think of a way to placate Lucy. I catch a faint hint of her vanilla-scented perfume, captured on the fabric of my polo shirt. It only serves to heighten my sense of regret.
However, my sulking about the incident in the car is masking a much bigger issue. When the transformer arrives, it might bring with it the chance to go back, to return to 1986. My current guilt could prove to be totally moot if that’s the case. The circumstances that brought Lucy and me together will be deleted from history.
It’s a troubling thought.
I think back to the moment I found the Commodore 64 in Dave’s loft. The excitement, the relief, the prospect of undoing all the damage I’ve done. Up until last night, I would have given anything for that opportunity. But now? I have the chance of happiness with Lucy. No wife, no history, no baggage. We have a clean slate on which we can create a new future together. Do I seriously want to delete that? The utter certainty I want to go back has just dropped by some margin.
Beyond Broadhall (The '86 Fix Book 2) Page 18