Every Touch

by Parke, Nerika

  The intercom buzzed and she walked over to it, studying it for a few seconds before picking up the handset and pressing one of the buttons.

  “Hello?”

  “Your hot, delicious,” there was a pause, “pepperoni and mushroom Mountain’s pizza is here,” a bored sounding man’s voice said.

  She smiled at the words that were obviously meant to drum up enthusiasm delivered with such total apathy.

  “I’ll be right down.”

  Grabbing her purse and keys, she left the flat and went down to the lobby in the lift. A young man was standing outside the glass entrance door, illuminated by the lights of the building. He was dressed in jeans with a blue and green top and baseball cap, both bearing the words ‘Mountain’s Pizza’ emblazoned in red. He was holding a pizza box.

  Obviously a pizza delivery guy, she told herself. Obviously.

  “Sorry,” she said when she reached the door, “but could you just open the box and show me the pizza?”

  He looked at her for a couple of seconds as if she’d just escaped from a mental facility, then opened the box and tilted it towards her. It looked like a perfectly normal pepperoni and mushroom pizza.

  “Thanks,” she said, smiling and unlocking the door.

  He shrugged. “No problem.”

  She noticed him looking her up and down as she took the money from her purse.

  “You just moved in here?” he said. “I’ve never delivered to you before.”

  “Yes,” she said, handing over the money quickly, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.

  He handed her the pizza and smiled. “Well, I live just around the corner so maybe I’ll see you around.”

  She held the box in front of her like a shield. “Um, maybe.”

  “Yeah, I...”

  The door suddenly slid from her grasp and slammed shut. She looked at it in surprise. It almost felt as if it had been pulled out of her hand.

  “Sorry,” she said through the closed door, shrugging and smiling, “I think a gust of wind must have got it.” She couldn’t feel any wind, but that was the only explanation. “Thanks for the pizza.”

  She turned and walked quickly back to the lift before he could say anything more, leaning against the wall in relief once the doors had closed.

  “Thank goodness for gusts of wind,” she muttered to herself, smiling.

  Twelve

  “Is the library in your zone?”

  “What happened to you yesterday?” Oliver said as he walked up to the door, lowering onto the step in his usual place opposite where Denny was sitting cross-legged on the lobby floor. “And yes, it is, right on the edge.”

  “I’m sorry, I couldn’t get away.” He looked down, suddenly feeling awkward about his reaction to Laila. “The new tenant moved into my flat.”

  “Oh, dude, I’m sorry,” Oliver said, his face the picture of sympathy. “And they’re that bad that you didn’t trust them enough to leave alone? You going to go all poltergeist on them?” He grinned and Denny smiled.

  “No, it’s nothing like that. It’s a woman.”

  “Is it?” Oliver said after a pause, his face expressionless.

  Denny nodded. “A young woman.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes.” He lapsed into silence.

  “Pretty?” Oliver prompted when Denny didn’t offer up more information.

  “Beautiful.”

  “And so you were...” he paused and raised his eyebrows, smirking, “...otherwise engaged yesterday?”

  “What? No! Get your mind out of the gutter. I don’t do that sort of thing.”

  “I wish I had the opportunity to not do that sort of thing,” Oliver sighed.

  “If you must know, she was crying and I didn’t want to leave her.”

  His friend frowned. “Crying? What did you do?”

  “I didn’t do anything,” Denny said indignantly. “She just burst into tears after her sister left. And she’s afraid of something. She tried to leave to fetch a pizza last night and she couldn’t, like she was afraid to go out. And when the one she ordered arrived, she was really nervous opening the door to the delivery guy. I had to slam the door in the jerk’s face when he started coming on to her. I’m worried about her.”

  Oliver smiled. “Sounds like you have a crush.”

  “I’m too old for crushes,” Denny retorted. “I’m just concerned is all.”

  “We’re ghosts,” Oliver said, “crushes are all we can have. What does this have to do with the library?”

  “She works there. I was just thinking that maybe you could walk her there and back tomorrow. Make sure she’s okay, that nothing’s going on there.”

  “A hot librarian? I’m intrigued.” He waggled his eyebrows and Denny laughed.

  “Stop it. And I saw her first.”

  Oliver snorted. “Sure, I’ll walk the hot librarian to work. What time does she leave in the morning?”

  “She left at eight thirty today.”

  “Got it. What’s her name?”

  “Laila,” Denny said, smiling.

  “Oh, dude!” Oliver exclaimed, laughing. “The look on your face when you said her name! You have got it so bad.”

  Denny felt himself turning scarlet. “I may never speak to you again.”

  Thirteen

  The next morning, Denny rode down in the lift with Laila.

  She was wearing a pretty white dress with red flowers and a denim jacket under her winter coat, looking so gorgeous he hadn’t been able to tear his eyes from her since she’d walked into the living room earlier where he was sleeping on the sofa. She was carrying a pile of books, holding them to her chest, and all he could think was how jealous he was of those books with her arms around them, pressed against her body.

  He’d spent almost every moment she was in the flat with her since she had moved in two days before. Oliver was right, he did have it bad. Denny loved women, had dated so many of them in the sixteen years since he discovered at seventeen that smiling blue eyes and a quick wit could get him pretty much any girl he wanted that he’d lost count. But he’d never felt quite like this. He was undeniably attracted to her, so much it almost hurt, but he also felt fiercely protective of her. Something about her made him want to wrap his arms around her, keep her safe and make her happy. She had cried herself to sleep again last night. He’d spent the first half of the night sitting on the floor by her bed, feeling helpless, but unable to leave her side.

  His emotions were all over the place. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how she felt. She seemed so vulnerable and yet, despite her obvious fear, here she was going on with her life. Her strength amazed him.

  He emerged from the lift with Laila to see Oliver leaning casually against the window next to the door, watching the people pass by on the street. He left her checking her mailbox and strolled over. Oliver pushed his sunglasses up into his hair, staring at Laila.

  “I think I am getting an inkling as to why you are so gone on this girl,” he said, looking her up and down. “Mama.”

  “She’s smart and funny too,” Denny said.

  “I try very hard to keep chilled and away from any negative vibes, but I am deeply jealous of you right now. I don’t envy you trying to keep your vow of chastity around her though.”

  “Could you keep your dirty thoughts to yourself and just make sure she’s okay getting to work?”

  Oliver snapped to attention and saluted. “Yes, Sir!”

  Denny shook his head and smiled. He watched Laila walk out the door, wishing desperately he could go with her, look out for her, keep her safe.

  “Laila,” he said as she went, “this is Oliver. He’s a pervert, but he’ll keep you safe.”

  A grin tugged at the corner of Oliver’s mouth.

  “Carry your books, ma’am?” he said to her, affecting a southern drawl.

  Denny rolled his eyes, watching Oliver follow her down the stairs and fall into step at her side, waving as they disappeared from view.

&n
bsp; ***

  Oliver returned half an hour later to report that nothing untoward had happened on their way to the library and he would walk her home again that afternoon. It reassured Denny that she was safe and that Oliver was looking out for her when he couldn’t, but he still couldn’t stop thinking about her.

  At nine thirty, Denny went to Eric’s flat to play the piano in an attempt to take his mind off Laila. After almost an hour of playing nothing but love songs, he gave up. He wandered around the other flats to see who was around. Mrs Emery was in, so he spent some time with her, watching her fry endless batches of delicious smelling chicken while she had deep conversations with her eight cats. He sat next to Tiger, a huge long haired tabby relaxing on the sofa with his paws tucked under his chest, and stroked him, smiling as he began to purr. The cats couldn’t see him, but like Vanilla, Enid’s Chihuahua, they always knew he was there and seemed to have no objection to an invisible hand touching them.

  He wondered idly if Laila would feel the same way if she knew he existed, and if she’d purr if he stroked her in the right place. Glancing down at his crotch, he rolled his eyes. Life was not going to be easy if he couldn’t get his mind off her. He didn’t relish the idea of spending the foreseeable future with a permanent erection. Returning to their flat, he spent a leisurely time taking care of his hard-on, then turned on the TV, hoping the endless repeats of CSI would help to distract him.

  Fourteen

  It was three weeks after Laila moved into his flat when Denny realised he was in love.

  She had cried herself to sleep again.

  It wasn’t happening every night now. Sometimes she even went a couple of nights in a row without soaking her pillow with tears. But when she did, it tore at Denny’s insides like he was being ripped apart by some wild animal. Her pain became his pain.

  He couldn’t understand why he was having such a deep emotional reaction to her. It went beyond anything he’d ever felt with any of the women he’d had relationships with, but then none of them had been like Laila.

  Sometimes she seemed happy, especially when Kelly was visiting. She would even laugh, a sound that gave Denny more of a buzz than any alcohol ever had. But other times she would sink into a deep melancholy that had him feeling helpless. She seemed to be on an emotional rollercoaster and he was going with her.

  When he confided in Oliver about it, his friend had commiserated with him then told him he needed to talk to a psychiatrist. Denny had said that was what he was for, to which Oliver replied, “Take two Prozacs and see me in a week and that will be two hundred pounds. I don’t take cheques.”

  This night when Laila finally fell asleep, her eyes red and swollen and a handkerchief clutched in her hand, Denny stayed by her bed and ended up falling asleep with her. Sitting on the floor propped up against the side of the bed, his head resting near to hers, he stayed there until the first soft light of dawn began to brighten the room. When he woke, his backside was numb and he had a severe crick in his neck.

  He raised his head with a groan. On the bedside cabinet, the digital clock’s glowing red numbers read 4:30am.

  “I wish I hadn’t done that,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes and shifting his behind in an attempt to restore his circulation.

  Laila stirred on the bed in front of him and he stopped, watching her as she gradually emerged from sleep.

  Her breathing became shallower, she took one deep breath and her eyes opened slowly. His face was directly in front of hers and for a few seconds it appeared to Denny as if she was looking straight at him. He caught his breath, gazing into her beautiful green eyes, his heart first skipping a beat then feeling like it was going to burst from his chest.

  “I love you,” he blurted out suddenly.

  The moment ended as she rolled onto her back and sat up.

  Denny remained seated on the floor, stunned, not even looking up when she stood and walked into the bathroom.

  I’m in love, he thought. I am completely, hopelessly in love. This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me!

  He stood up, grimacing at his aching muscles, and plodded through to the living room. Falling face first onto the sofa, he screamed into the cushions.

  Fifteen

  As three months passed, Denny settled into a routine.

  It became obvious to him fairly rapidly that his feelings for Laila were not going to go away. He was in love and there was no getting away from it. More than that, he was deeper in love than he had ever been before, experiencing thoughts he’d previously never even considered. Thoughts of marriage, buying houses, having babies. Settling down. All the things he could have had when he was alive, but didn’t want, but now couldn’t have and did. All because of Laila. He knew she was the one Trish had always assured him he’d find one day, the one woman he would want to spend the rest of his life with.

  The irony of finding her after he had died was not lost on him.

  Once Denny managed come to terms with it, which involved much frustrated yelling and a lot of unloading on Oliver, who listened patiently every time, he devised a strategy to cope with the whole unrequited situation.

  He’d learned some things about the human psyche during the time he’d dated a therapist, so appreciated that a coping mechanism was a useful thing to have. Actually, Cathy had been his therapist until it became clear to him that a more intimate relationship with her was going to do a lot more for his general mental well-being than therapy sessions and he’d stopped the therapy so he could ask her out. And he’d been right, it had. Plus, she’d thrown some vignettes of therapy in for free, when they were lying together in bed after the frequent psyche-blowing sex. It had been a win-win situation for both of them. Until she found someone smarter than him. Well, not smarter, just more educated. Denny knew Cathy had always regarded their relationship as just fun, something to distract her until she found Mr Right with a PhD to match hers. And five months after they had got together, she did and that was that.

  When he really thought about it, that had been a theme to many of his relationships. He was like a stepping stone, a fun time without it getting too serious, for most of the women he had dated. It always seemed to go along the lines of, “I like you, you’re lots of fun, the sex is great, but you’re not lifelong commitment material.”

  It hadn’t bothered him too much before because that was more or less the way he always expected things to go. It occurred to Denny that, if he had met Laila when he was alive, any relationship between them may have gone the same way. At least, as it was, he wouldn’t need to deal with rejection from the one woman from whom he wouldn’t be able to take it.

  He tried to take comfort from that and established a way to work with the situation.

  When Laila was away from the flat, at work or with Kelly or, very occasionally, out with a friend or co-workers, he would go about his normal routine. He kept up with the other people in the building, played Eric’s piano, hung out at the door with Oliver. Behaved as he normally would.

  When Laila was home, however, he spent his time with her, doing things any couple would do. They hung out, he chatted to her, they watched TV together, they ate together. Or rather, she ate and he watched and talked and sometimes salivated. He did sometimes wonder if it was reasonable behaviour in the circumstances, but as he wasn’t aware of anything to compare it to, he had nothing to judge what reasonable behaviour should be.

  He had rules, however. Or rather, one rule. He always treated her with respect, which meant that, even though he was so attracted to her there were times when he would just stand and stare at her in awe, he gave her her privacy. He didn’t even know what she looked like naked. Although the amount of time he spent thinking about it was ridiculous.

  Most of the time, the frustration he felt was eclipsed by the simple joy of being with her.

  When Laila watched TV, Denny would sit next to her on the sofa and watch with her. Sometimes they would both laugh at something funny at the same time and then he would look at
her, her face lit up with her incredible smile, and know he didn’t want to be anywhere else.

  One morning, about three months after she’d moved in, he returned to the flat after a couple of hours playing piano to the sound of music. He walked into the living room and found Laila singing along to You Light Up My Life, which was playing on the radio.

  He stood watching her in amazement. It was the first time he’d ever heard her sing and he couldn’t ever remember hearing anything so beautiful. She was cleaning up in the kitchen, but every now and then she would stop and close her eyes and pour her heart into the words. Tears rose to Denny’s eyes as he watched her. After a while, he hesitantly joined in.

  He used to love to sing, when he was alive. He was the king of karaoke. When he was young he’d even thought that maybe he could do it professionally. But real life and the need to eat and have somewhere to live had put a dampener on that. And then real death. He had hardly sung at all since he died.

  But he knew the song, so he began to sing with her, adding his tenor harmonies to her soprano. Their voices blended perfectly, sounding to Denny like they were made to go together.

  As the song ended she stood still, looking around her as if she was searching for something, her expression surprised. Had she heard him? No, that wasn’t possible. Was it?

  She shook her head and shrugged, returning to wiping down the work surfaces. He stood and watched her, a tear sliding slowly down his cheek.

  Denny was able to endure the pain of unrequited love by being with the object of his adoration and, for the most part, it was working.

  That was until one day, four months after she had moved in, his carefully constructed little utopia with Laila came crashing down around him.