One Day, Someday

by Lynne Barrett-Lee

  I clamped my mouth shut and looked into the water, muddled and unsure what to say next. I became aware that he was staring at me again. I turned and stared back. He was starting to blur. ‘What?’ I said.

  ‘What what?’

  ‘What are you looking at?’

  ‘You.’ His smile broadened. He continued to stare.

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Why?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I’d rather you didn’t.’

  ‘I can if I like.’

  ‘No, you can’t.’

  ‘Too bad. I am.’

  ‘Well, you shouldn’t. It’s rude to stare.’

  ‘I’m not staring at you. Just looking at you. Which is not the same thing at all.’

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘No, it isn’t. You have a pretty face and I’m looking at it.’ He hauled one leg from the water and parked a wet foot on the pool edge in order to sit facing me. As if, it seemed, to endorse the point. ‘Do you,’ he asked, putting the glass down beside him, ‘ahem - have a problem with that?’ But I was spared the necessity of answering, because he then said, ‘Jesus! What the fuck was that?!’

  I started. ‘What?’

  He pulled his other leg from the water, shaking it wildly as he did so. ‘Sorry, but - shit! What is that? Jesus, Lu. Look! There!’

  I did likewise, swinging my legs up alongside me, craning my neck to see what he was pointing at. There was movement and a faint splashing sound at the edge of the water, but our shadows made the darkness in front of us all but impenetrable.

  ‘Good God!’ he said suddenly. ‘It’s a rat! Look!’

  He was kneeling by now, and the movement had allowed more light to fall on the water. A small dark shape was moving frantically in front of us, a gloss of wet fur with a small rippling wake. I gathered up my dress and got on to my knees too. ‘No,’ I decided, peering. ‘Oh, bless. It’s some sort of shrew. Look - it’s got a pointed snout.’

  ‘That’s one bloody big shrew - Christ! It’s coming back this way.’ He edged back a foot. The animal, as if sensing our presence, ploughed on with renewed urgency, tiny limbs visibly thrashing at its sides. I looked around for the brandy glass.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ he exclaimed, as I picked it up.

  ‘I laughed. ‘Rescuing it, of course.’

  ‘What? Does it look as if it needs rescuing? God, there’s a thought! It probably bit me!’ He swivelled his leg to inspect his calf. ‘Rabid, no doubt.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be such a baby!’ Still giggling, I plunged the glass into the water. There was enough of a lip around the pool that the shrew wouldn’t be able to climb out unaided, but by scooping its back end into the glass I would be able to manoeuvre it forward, steering it towards the edge. I had just got it in place when - on seeing Joe’s horrified expression, presumably - it evaded capture and plopped back into the water.

  ‘Ugh! Lu! Leave it!’ he hissed.

  I threw him a look. ‘I can’t do that. It’ll die.’

  ‘So let it! If the bloody thing was silly enough to fall in the pool in the first place, then it bloody deserves to.’

  ‘It didn’t fall in, stupid. It’s a water shrew. But it won’t find anything to eat and it won’t be able to get out.’ I continued trying to scoop it into the glass. ‘Anyway, how’s it supposed to know the difference between a swimming-pool and a stream? Ah, there we are!’ I pulled the glass quickly from the water, and spilled out the frightened contents on to the stone surround. The shrew scrabbled wildly on its back for a moment, then finding purchase, skittered off into the darkness under the terrace, narrowly missing Joe’s feet as it went.

  ‘Ugh!’ he said again. ‘And stop guffawing like that, will you? You wouldn’t be guffawing if it was your leg it bit.’

  I sat back on my heels and grinned at him. ‘Pah! Come on, it didn’t bite you.’

  ‘It bloody well did.’

  ‘Where?’

  He stuck out his leg. I inspected it. ‘Rubbish. There’s not even a scratch there. It probably just brushed against it. Don’t be such a baby.’

  ‘Hurrmph! You say that now, but you wait. It’s in there now.’ He gestured to the darkness beneath the terrace. ‘You won’t be laughing when it scuttles out and climbs up your leg. Oh, no.’

  I shook my head and laughed some more. And carried on doing so, right up until the moment when I decided to stand up and found that my legs had been stripped of their bones while I wasn’t looking. I lurched a little, I grabbed a chair for support, then sat down on it heavily.

  ‘Hah!’ he said. ‘Hah!’

  I reached for my sandals.

  ‘Hah yourself, scaredy-cat. Can you pass me my book?’

  He was just doing so when the lights went out.

  He turned round. ‘Great. Must be on some sort of timer. There’ll be security lighting, though. It’ll come on as soon as we start moving around.’

  I wriggled my feet into my sandals and picked up my cardigan, while Joe bent to retrieve his shoes and socks.

  I peered pointedly into the blackness. ‘Shall I help you put them on?’

  He looked fretful for a moment Then, seeing my mischievous expression, he shook his head emphatically. ‘No, no. I’ll be just fine barefoot, thanks very much.’

  He took the shoes from me and tucked them inside his sling and, as the lights showed no inclination to illuminate our progress after all, we began to thread our way unsteadily back through the muddle of garden furniture. Oh, God, my head. My head! Up to now it had led me to believe that it would be in control of ambulatory functions once the need arose, but now it had decided to renege on the deal. Behind me, various bangs and scrapes, shufflings and grunts told me Joe’s had as well. Either that, or he was being molested by angry rodents.

  ‘God, I feel drunk all of a sudden,’ I moaned. I was, I realized, much more intoxicated than I had been in a long, long time. ‘This is all your fault. You’re a bad influence on me, you know that? I can hardly walk.’

  ‘Me? I like that! You were half cut when I got here. I’m just fine - ow! Damn! Owee! God, I’ve stubbed my bloody toe now.’

  He caught my arm to steady himself, while I reached to move the offending chair out of the way. ‘Hah,’ I said. ‘Hah! And neither can you.’

  He groaned and stooped to rub his foot. ‘Not drunk, Lu, merely incorrectly balanced. Sod it, that hurts. Here, watch that one, will you? Or you’ll have us both over.

  ‘I will?’

  ‘For certain.’ He tightened his grip on my arm as I led him unsteadily along in the blackness towards the path that ran down the side of the hotel. ‘So where are you taking me, exactly? On a bloody shrew-hunt? Or just a whistle-stop inspection of the hotel flues?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know a flue from a Frisbee. Back inside, of course. This is the way.’

  A branch thwacked his cheek. ‘Ouch! Lu, wouldn’t it have been simpler to go in via the terrace and through the restaurant?’

  ‘Probably, but then we’d have to go past Monsieur Deschamp again, wouldn’t we?’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Well, I told him I was going to bed an hour ago, didn’t I? Watch that one. It’s got nasty thorns.’

  ‘Ouch! Thanks. I had noticed. So? What do you think he’s going to do if he sees you - pounce on you, rip your frock off, and whistle the “Marseillaise” while he ravishes you?’

  I must have found this enormously funny because I realized belatedly that I was tittering at him again. ‘No, of course not,’ I corrected, clutching the wall for support. ‘But if we’re talking things that scuttle around and shimmy up legs, well … I just don’t like the way he leers at me, that’s all. He’s so slimy. I have a nose for these things. Anyway - oops! Mind that rock there - we’re almost back now.’

  We approached the corner, where the enthusiastic landscaping finally gave way to the less daunting prospect of the car-park and lobby. The Luxotel sign cast an eerie green light all around, in which fluttering moths an
d midges danced.

  ‘You see?’ I said, leading him forward. ‘Here we are, shrew-free, and all safe and sound.’

  ‘Indeed we are,’ he replied, closing the gap between us and peering ahead. ‘Civilization at last. But hang on …’

  I stopped. His arm was still looped in mine. ‘What?’

  ‘D’you mind …’

  ‘Mind what?’

  ‘If I just …’

  I swivelled on the path. ‘Just what?’

  ‘Just, well … just this.’

  And then he kissed me. With feeling. Full on the lips.

  My head - still, amazingly, on my shoulders, despite its manic spiralling - began to clear. I stared at him, stunned, for some moments. ‘Why on earth did you do that?’

  He smiled. ‘Oh. Did you mind, then?’

  I couldn’t think what to say. Couldn’t even think what to think. ‘Um. Yes. Yes, I think I did.’

  He dropped his arm. His smile vanished. ‘Oh,’ he said again. ‘I’m sorry. I thought you …’

  I shook my head, fuddled. ‘I think—’ I began. But my brain could no longer focus. So I turned and, without another look at him, made my way unsteadily inside and up to bed.

  Friday 4 May

  I didn’t make it down for breakfast. It had been almost three before my head had settled sufficiently that it could be trusted on the horizontal, and almost four before my brain gave up trying to remember enough of what had occurred that it could be trusted to give me an accurate account of it in the morning. I was supposed to be accompanying Joe on a full site inspection first thing, but by the time I had surfaced downstairs, it was evidently already over. Both he and his holdall were parked in the lobby, along with a short man in overalls and some fat rolls of blueprints. Joe, who was looking fresh, rested, and ready to paddle enthusiastically up the Amazon should the situation call for it, beckoned me over and made cheerful introductions.

  Monsieur Barbusse, it seemed, was the hotel’s maintenance manager. It would be he with whom I’d be liaising over the phone. We exchanged a few words about faxes and parts lists, then he left us to check his gauges and knobs.

  Joe began to gather up papers. ‘Want some breakfast? A coffee?’

  I sat down. ‘Just water.’

  He laughed. ‘Hah!’ he said. ‘It’s way too late for that.’

  He called for some anyway, which I sipped cautiously. My stomach felt like it had been comprehensively trampled by wildebeest. Which perhaps it had while I’d slept. ‘Congeners,’ he observed helpfully. ‘The darker the drink, the worse the hangover.’

  I looked up. Which was painful. ‘You seem OK.’

  ‘I have a well-trained and robust liver.’

  ‘You should have called and woken me.’

  He patted my shoulder before closing his briefcase. ‘Whereas yours, in contrast, is clearly well out of practice. I decided to be gallant and let you sleep in.’

  We left the hotel a little before eleven and began the long drive back to Calais and the shuttle. My stomach was settling, but my brain felt like a pea in a whistle. Fortunately, the motorway was all but empty, and the Jag wafted serenely and quietly along it in the sunshine, doing, as Joe had already pointed out to me, what it was best at - driving itself.

  Joe himself, now back in the front seat, was in a jolly, talkative mood. The coming year, boiler-wise, looked pretty rosy apparently: the Luxotel Group were already JDL’s biggest clients, and Monsieur Deschamp, he told me, had already intimated that once the deal was settled on the next site they were acquiring, yet another heating contract was already as good as his. ‘Which is excellent news, because it means I can offer permanent positions to two of the guys I’ve had on contract till now. Seriously sound characters. Wouldn’t want to lose them. Ah, yes,’ he stretched, ‘a very successful trip, all in all.’ He turned to look at me. ‘Very. You enjoy it?’

  I said yes, of course, because I’m a polite girl at heart, but my expression must have been less ambiguous, because he cleared his throat and went on, ‘Look, er … about what happened last night. Bit presumptuous of me, I know. But I thought you were - well, you seemed OK about it.’

  Oh. So he was going to bring it up. I had been so hoping he wouldn’t. I would have to make light of it. ‘I was drunk,’ I said.

  He smiled, too, then snorted. ‘Yes, but not that drunk.’

  ‘Perhaps you could tell my head that.’

  ‘Not that drunk,’ he repeated obligingly. Then laughed. ‘Come on. Look, you did kiss me back.’

  Oh, God. So it was true. It was true.

  I shook my head firmly. Which made it rattle. ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ‘Er, excuse me.’ He was grinning now. ‘You most certainly did.’

  Why? Why had I kissed him back? And how had I kissed him back? Reluctantly? Fulsomely? Had - oh, God! - tongues been involved? What on earth had possessed me? Post animal-hospital-routine euphoria? But surely he realized … I stared out through the windscreen. ‘Well, if I did, I really didn’t mean to. It was simply—’

  ‘Well, if that was an example of you kissing someone by accident, then, boy, would I—’

  He didn’t finish the sentence, but instead let it reach what was looking like becoming a very unfortunate conclusion, while he carried on smiling. His whole body was angled slightly towards me. Expectant. Waiting. Hopeful? Oh dear.

  ‘Really,’ I repeated. He was obviously misreading my current reticence as straightforward girly embarrassment. Or was just slow on the uptake. I would have to be firm. ‘Look, I’m sorry but I didn’t. I don’t - I mean, I’m not - well,’ I glanced across at him, ‘it was a mistake, OK?’

  His smile faded abruptly and he moved away a little. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, as it finally dawned on me that he really had been anticipating an altogether different response, ‘but—’

  He flapped his hand in the air to silence me. ‘No, no. Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘Point very much taken, Lu. Subject most emphatically closed.’

  I was back in Cefn Melin a little after six. Del was in their front garden, watering her pots. I pulled up, released the boot catch and got out, a little wearily. She scooted round to the back and started riffling through the bounty.

  ‘Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh! You are such a star, Lu!’

  ‘The Jag,’ I said, passing the bags out to her, ‘has a very big boot.’

  ‘Oh, and look at these! Oh! How much do I owe you? And you managed to get that cheese with the cumin seeds! Oh, joy! We must try some right now! Anyway,’ she took hold of six carriers and headed off up the path, ‘we’re all sorted for tomorrow evening. About seven thirty, OK? Don’t want to make too late a night of it as Ben has a tennis match in the morning. And Leo can sleep over again,’ she paused to let me catch up then nudged my arm, ‘so that you can take your artist home and have your wicked way with him. Hah! Oh, and I know it’s short notice but could you be an absolute angel and bring one of those lovely roulade things you make? I don’t want to go to a lot of fuss, but I thought I should at least show willing. Yes?’ She kicked open the kitchen door and dumped the carriers on the table. Anyway, sit down and let’s hear all about your trip.’

  I told her about the shrew, and I told her about the hangover, but I didn’t tell Del about Joe kissing me. I’d stressed and stressed about it all the way round Auchan (Joe, who clearly wasn’t talking to me for the moment, had elected to sit in a cafe and have conversations with someone else on his mobile while I shopped) but I didn’t tell her. Which was unlike me, because I always told Del everything. If this thing was of so little consequence - which it was - then why didn’t I tell her about it?

  It had certainly been a surprise. It had never up to that point occurred to me that Joe might be interested in me romantically. Never. And I was almost as sure it hadn’t occurred to him either. And now I had to carry that knowledge around with me, it made me feel rather uncomfortable around him. I even fretted, heaven help me - as if I needed to worry about it - that he would feel uncom
fortable around me as well. But surely I was worrying unnecessarily. Chances were, given the kind of guy he was, it was a simple case of opportunism. I was there, he was there, we had both drunk a lot of brandy, it was a warm, sultry night and our feet were bare. Situational. That was all. One of those things.

  But fancy Joe Delaney being scared of a shrew. It made him seem almost human.

  10

  Saturday 5 May

  Oh, and who cared? Who cared anyway? Who cared?

  I didn’t, for sure. I was way too busy. Busy with my little hand whisk and my Lakeland Plastics egg separator and my novelty bra and briefs apron, and my lemon and ginger mousse roulade recipe safe behind my natty Perspex recipe-book holder, and all was fine with the world. Which is a symptom of what I had clearly contracted: an all-consuming infatuation with Stefan. Believe me, when a person who tends to approach the realm of the Domestic Goddess (baking muffins, sewing, shagging to order) with about as much enthusiasm as a wayward tribal underling being brought to book over the disappearance of a bag of groats, then there is, irrefutably, something afoot. Clearly. Demonstrably. Goodness, I had even telephoned Del to ask if she’d like some hand-made truffles as well.

  I suppose I should have seen the writing on the wall some time back but, being thirty-five and in hormonal stasis, the word infatuation was not one I’d had recent acquaintance with. As far as I’d known, I didn’t do infatuation. Infatuation was one of those tedious pubescent afflictions one grew out of, wasn’t it? Nevertheless I considered myself fortunate. Even with the quantity of washing-up I was creating, infatuation, I decided, made a very nice change.

  One of the less fortunate side effects of developing a complete infatuation with someone, however, is that it tends to make you hang on every word the object of your affection utters, however ill those words might presage. So when Stefan announced, towards the end of Del and Ben’s soiree, that he thought the Roomaround thing might prove to be rather fun, I found myself not only agreeing with him but agreeing with him pretty damned wholeheartedly. I even, God help me, allowed a small but well-upholstered fantasy to take root involving him, me, a sea sponge, a stippler, and a rag-rolling roller, in Del’s garden shed. Sad, but true. It was really that bad.