by Karen Botha
‘What are you doing with this?’ I indicate the length of it with a sweep of my hand down my thigh, at five foot eight, Paula is not of the petite range.
‘I wear it as a top over leggings,’ and all is explained. How outfits can change by mere model alone.
‘You don’t have to be drab because you’re going to a pub quiz, you’re on a date with Giles primarily; pub quiz is a means to an end.’ She’s right – again…
Twenty minutes later, I hurriedly slam my car door and head off home ready to engage in some serious preening. Two hours to go!
Of course I’m waiting for him when he arrives, but I don’t let on. I allow his knock to go unnoticed for a few seconds before I rush to answer as though taken off guard. It’s silly really, we’ve arranged this, how could I be caught unaware? But show me a woman who wouldn’t do the same. He has a different car, not sure what it is, but it’s little and a sporty shape. Guess he’s pulling out the stops.
‘Hi again,’ he smiles when I eventually open the door.
I'm shy and blushing to my neck. Thank goodness I didn’t wear that low cut top, my crimson flush would have been highlighted all the way to my bra line.
‘Hi,’ I grin back and step over the threshold before he has a chance to come in, ‘different car?’ I hurriedly lock the door firmly behind me.
‘Yeah this is my fun car, the 4x4 is for practicalities.’
I bend low and slide into his passenger seat, the stitching catches my exposed thigh. I thank goodness the seat, although cold, is leather. Men don’t appreciate how fabric seating can grip the hem of a girls skirt – or maybe they do! I make and inward sigh in thanks to Giles choosing leather seats for our first date.
As he drives to the pub, I enjoy the smell of his aftershave which floats round the small interior. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. I was too nervous when I answered the door to notice properly. He is still flipping fantastic - a well cut white t-shirt with stone washed Levis. It’s so easy for guys to be stylish with minimal effort.
I stroke down the hem of my skirt and listen to the silence. I’m usually fine with not talking. I’m one of those people who is happy with my own company, but right now the silence is crushing. The energy hanging between us is heavy, begging to be filled with words to ease the strain. I can’t call to mind any suitable conversation, nothing at all and so we sit; dead-air dangling, teasing out a crescendo of tension.
‘How was your day?’ He breaks the quietness.
‘Yeah good thanks, and you?’ Staccato words, interspersed with more quietness.
‘Yeah also good. Didn’t get up to much, you?’
‘Not much, had a browse around town earlier, but nothing special.’ Liar!
I search the passing scenery for inspiration, but it’s not that interesting. I turn my attention to the car's interior. The small analogue clock is chic, a simple black face with white dial and SMITHS printed at the bottom. Absent of conversation, I wonder why I’ve never heard of Smiths clocks.
Finally, the short journey ends. I can’t get out of the claustrophobic space quick enough, taking a deep breath and filling my lungs again. It’s not fresh, but it’s air. The temperature has dropped, and it bristles the hairs on my arms. Giles wraps his arm round my waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world, rubbing the top of my exposed skin.
‘Come on inside.’ He hurries me through the door in front of him.
I could have predicted it, the place is heaving with white hair and spectacles, flowery carpets lead to groups ensconced around fruit machines. It’s not my scene and I contemplate for the first time if I’ve got Giles wrong, is this what he likes? Or has he got me wrong? I kind of knew what was coming, so I’m not sure why I’m shocked when the reality delivers. Nor why I’m disappointed in Giles for bringing me here.
‘What would you like to drink?’ I consider my options. Pubs don’t generally do the best wine.
‘Which dry whites do you have by the glass?’ I plump for an adequate sounding glass of New Zealand Sauvignon.
We must be late because we end up scrunched in a corner at a tall table with stools that are way too high for me to sit at in a dignified fashion in this dress. My short legs hang awkwardly unable to rest on the foot bar. I try to hook my heel over it for stability and end up slipping, my elbow shooting outwards as the rest of me struggles to regain balance. Perched uncomfortably, I chastise myself for not having plumped for jeans.
‘To be honest, this isn’t my erm usual scene,’ Giles confesses and I could cheer, ‘I needed an excuse to get you out again so soon.’
‘Well that’s a relief because this certainly isn’t my scene either. I was starting to wonder if I’d got you all wrong,’ I’m surprised at how easy I find it to be candid with him.
There’s a small pause, ‘shall we give it a miss?’ He nudges me lightly. I have to give him credit for admitting he made a mistake and being prepared to move on so easily.
‘Let’s!’ Although strictly speaking not outrageous, it feels it, and we both giggle. ‘Can’t waste a good drink though, so whilst we’re polishing them off, tell me something I don’t know about you.’
I’ve caught him off guard. His eyes rise upwards as he evaluates what I guess is the relevancy of his potential tales. Looking back, I wish I could remember if his eyes veered to his left for the truth; or the right.
‘Well, let me see,’ he buys time.
‘Do you have kids?’ I’m unaware at this juncture of the importance his silence could have been if I’d only given it time. There’s a flash of shock on his face in response to my prompt.
‘No, no kids. My wife got sick, so it wasn’t on the cards.’
Whoa, wife?! ‘So you’ve been married?’ I manage in a disappointingly high pitched tone.
He’s quiet and serious, and there’s a pause before he answers.
‘She died, three years ago.’
‘Oh, OK, I’m sorry, what happened, are you OK talking about it?’
He ignores my second question and only briefly replies to my first, ‘she had a hereditary heart disease.’
‘How come?’
‘OK, so erm… it’s a bit complicated,’ I wait, silent. ‘Essentially she was born with narrow arteries which meant blood and oxygen didn’t travel to her heart effectively,’ he tilts his head to one side. ‘Nothing to do with her lifestyle.’
‘Ah, OK, so you knew when you married her?’ I pause and am acutely aware as I often am, that my inquisitiveness is making me insensitive, but then he starts to answer so I leave it.
‘No, she was really energetic at that point. We’d go away for weekends all the time, hiking and rock climbing and stuff. And she loved skiing. But she was always tired. We thought it was because we had all this busy life, you know, active jobs and social life, it takes its toll.’
‘Yeah I’m sure it can, so what happened?’
‘She was in the Fire Brigade and she failed her fitness test,’ he pauses a second and fidgets in his seat. He’s motionless, only the slightest movement as he picks his finger nail. ‘That’s when it was discovered. Someone that fit shouldn’t have any problems passing the bleep test.’
He’s on a roll but I have no clue what a bleep test is, so I have to ask. Apparently it’s a timed run between two points which gets increasingly more intensive. A bleep alerts the runner to the time allowance.
‘She was missing the targets and running way slower and using more oxygen than you would expect someone of her capacity to achieve.’
‘Oh wow, so did she pass out or something?’ Maybe that’s a bit keen, but he answers.
‘No, but she had to go straight to hospital. It kind of ground on a bit with tests, heart monitors, and then she had a couple of operations - which didn’t work. She was off work a lot of the time and really miserable. It err changed our life you see,’ and I’m struck by the effect this could have on a couple’s choice of lifestyle.
‘Yeah I can imagine,’ my voice low as
I’m half speaking, half imagining being in their situation.
‘Then I arrived home from work one day and found her. She’d not been great that morning, she was complaining of her back and had a bad stomach, but it wasn’t unusual for her to be unwell. I left her in bed when I went to work, but that was pretty standard by then anyway. She was still there when I came home, but she’d gone, no warning.’
Time slows allowing me to engage in the pointlessness of both of their losses. I sit closed mouthed, the quiz masters tinny microphone far in the distance.
Eventually I ask, ‘what did you do?’
‘Well it’s all a bit of a blur, but the police came and I was taken for questioning, obviously. I understand why that had to happen, but I’d just discovered my wife dead in bed and rather than grieving I was carted off to a cold interview room. I was a mess, so I assume my body shut down as self-preservation. An anaesthetic. It’s strange, I didn’t feel – at that point.’
I’m quiet, I really have nothing to say to this so instead reach out and hold his hand as it rests on his leg. He appears dejected. I want to hug him tight, make it all OK.
‘Without my Mum afterwards, I'm really not sure if I would have made it through,’ his head is hanging low, he gulps.
We sit speechless for a while, each with our own thoughts.
‘Well, this isn’t how I expected tonight to go,’ he announces suddenly, biting through the mood, ‘but at least you’ve finished your drink now. Shall we?’ He holds his arm out showing me the way to the door. It’s already too late to head on somewhere else.
‘Would you like a night cap at mine?’ I ask.
GILES
I thought marriage was forever. My first wife was so full of life, she drove me to be a better, more fulfilled person. Made me do things I would never have dreamed of.
Our first date was at a roller disco – can you believe that? She turned up in leggings and a neon tu-tu with hair back-combed like a bird's nest. To be fair, not my idea of fashion, but I appreciated the effort.
That woman forced me out of my comfort zone more times than I’ll ever remember and it was exactly what I loved about her.
But that is gone so I clicked my internal off-switch. I needed to move on.
It’s not easy though. To find someone who thaws your heart again. Someone larger than life left a hole. I’d love it to be filled. I’ve been searching, but it’s not easy to take another risk on someone. I’ve tried a few times but they’re always rather disappointing. Not big enough to pack the hole she left in my heart. I have a checklist of everything I’d like, but they always let me down.
And then I noticed Lucy online. I like to do my homework. I needed a massage and came across her site. I remember the first time I saw her picture. She was the most vibrant person I’d seen in years. You could tell from her photo, she is beautiful inside aswell as out. Yes, it showed unexplained amusement towards someone behind the camera, but it portrayed a depth of character in her smile. Her eyes bright and intelligent, but losing none of the warmth towards her photographer. I’ve wondered countless times who took that shot.
Social media is such a help when searching for someone who won’t let you down. You can’t get people wrong when you have access to their life in pictures. Granted people only post what they want you to see, but the version of themselves they promote is who they aspire to be. It makes it easy to tick their boxes if you're aware of what they're after in advance. I spent hours over several months, watching her online. I needed to make sure she wouldn’t be another mistake. I liked what I saw; it gelled with who I wanted to be and who I wanted to be with.
I’m not one to rush in though.
My next step was to form an impression of who she really is, in the flesh. I took my research to the next level to find out how she interacted with her neighbours, her patients and her friends. It all needs to be taken into consideration.
I checked out where her clinic was. I took more than a few trips to get a sense of her before I took the plunge and booked my massage.
I waited at the end of her Close and watched any number of different individuals come and go. I really wanted to get a sense of whether she was kind to people. Did she laugh at jokes? What were her expressions when she thought her guests weren’t paying attention? Essentially, was she genuine?
I answered all these questions over the months I sat and watched her from a distance. I’d often lose track of the time as I grew ever closer to the person I had in mind for my future. I fell in love with her before she even knew I existed.
‘Sugar?’
She disturbs my mental meanderings, jolting me into the present. I'm in Lucy's house, in her kitchen and she's making me the first coffee of our relationship, ‘three please?’
‘Three? Really? Why aren’t you the size of a house with only eight teeth?’ I get the impression she’s asking in all seriousness. I laugh to deflect my first telling off in our relationship. We’ve only got as far as her modern kitchen and already it’s a night of firsts.
I take a grey and cream spotty mug from her, she keeps the matching pink one for herself. She flips the button on the toaster, springing up it’s charred contents. Without asking if I want butter, I note she spreads a liberal covering.
I follow as she leads me unspeaking into the lounge. I’ve seen in here before on several occasions when I posed as a leaflet deliverer, so the décor and layout are no surprise. I am taken aback at how different the style of this room is to the kitchen. In contrast to the functional work surfaces and hard flooring, this room is soft. She has chosen a shaggy beige carpet, and has faux beams on the artex walls. Albeit offset with a vibrant colour palette, the difference between the two styles is stark. I take this as a hint of someone with the zest for life and multi-faceted personas for which I’ve been searching.
‘Love the lime green sofa,’ I have to make the compliment, it’s expected.
‘Really? I’m surprised, it’s not to everybody’s liking.’
‘I can imagine,’ I tease, munching through a corner of blackened toast.
I feel her body even though we’re not touching. She’s seated on the corner chaise end. Following her lead means I can plant myself in the centre of the sofa. I lean toward her, she doesn’t move away, I take this to be a good sign. She must have noticed, but doesn’t let on. She picks up the TV remote and moves it out of her way.
‘So what do you do in your spare time?’ I lean in a little further.
‘Oh all sorts, I’m not really one to say no to something if it sounds a little interesting and different. Oh, and I have my furniture restoration projects aswell.’ Ah, now that makes more sense, I’ve seen her carting around odd bits of ugly furniture and wondered what on earth she was up to.
‘What do you do with that?’
‘It depends really. Mostly I’ll paint things and re-cover chairs, but I’ve made a few custom pieces too. I love power tools.’ I sneak a little closer to her, having edged near enough to reach out and brush her hand.
The hairs stand up on her arm as I make contact, and I’m encouraged to continue. I glide my fingers upwards to the top of her arm and gently stroke towards her fingers which are lying flat on the cushion. The conversation has stopped as I repeat my movement, the pulse of desire coursing through my veins. She has dimples at the top of her arms and they’re rougher than I expected and I delight in the new knowledge I'm gathering.
Her breathing is faster, still light, but definitely more rapid.
I stroke the back of my hand around her neck, turning her face gently towards me with firm fingers behind her head. Our eyes meet and I understand their smokey consent. My fingers trail under her chin and down to meet the lowest part of the V on her neckline. I allow them to linger for a long moment, then tease them around from one side of her beautiful neck to the next, gently scratching her skin awake with the slightest touch of my nails. My fingers are hot, even they are aroused by finally touching this wonderful creature I’ve admired f
rom afar for so long.
All thoughts of the past vanish and I’m lost in this tantalising moment. I gently kiss her, a fleeting tease. I trail my mouth down her neck, up beneath her ear and nibble. She shudders and my groin, constrained by clothing which can not yet be removed, thumps. Our lips meet again; this time we linger, hers a little harder now, firm pressure behind them as she communicates her desire.
I’m not in control anymore, she is hungry and again our mouths meet but now gently part. Her urgent breath is inside my mouth as it caresses every sense, breathing in new life and hope. As our mouths discover each other, we wait for the right moment for our tongues to meet. Content for now with evanescent touches, a taste of more, but neither of us allowing too much, too soon.
She reaches to caress me, the gentle fingers of her right hand against my chest. Electricity sears through my heart. I’ve waited so long for her to do this, spent so many hours imagining the warmth of her wanting me. Our tongues join without thought, and the simple pleasures of sensing her desire is all consuming. There’s no rush, I’ll enjoy the laboured pleasure of lust before the novelty turns into daily reality. I pull away trying not to appear as unbalanced as I feel.
‘I have to leave,’ I don't recognise my gruff voice.
‘Why…?’ Her inhalations rapid.
‘I have an early start in the morning.’
‘Do you need to leave right now?’ My stomach does a flip at the unfamiliar pull of being wanted. I kiss her fleetingly on the lips, the briefest of touches and make my decision. ‘We have the rest of our lives together if we choose, but I have a big project handover at work tomorrow. I need to be in a fit state,’ I try to make light and smile, ignoring the gnawing in my innards.
Her eyes widen, matched by her mouth which forms an oval cavity of shock.
‘What did I say?’
‘OK, the rest of our lives, hey?’
‘Yeah, sure, why not?’ And she bursts out laughing - actually really laughs at me!