The Bewitched Box Set

by W. J. May

  “Hi, my name is Rose,” I stammer, “Rose-Mae Cunningham. I’m nineteen, and live locally.”

  I can feel myself growing in confidence as there is no one on the other end, just me talking to a machine.

  “I’m just enquiring about the barmaid job ... erm, okay, thanks, bye.”

  I hang up. damn! I didn’t even leave a number for them to get back in touch with me. I’m not ringing back. I curse again, feeling like a complete fool. This evening of all evenings I am not looking forward to watching melancholy romances with Tristan.

  I run the brush though my long dark hair and tie it back with an elastic-band. I slip out of my clothes and into my more comfortable blue onesie, and put on my warm slippers.

  Not wanting to appear rude, I walk into the lounge. Tristan is sitting at the far end of the room, perched on the window sill with one leg crossed over the other. The window is slightly ajar, and I watch as cigarette smoke billows from his nostrils and the breeze outside lifts up the netting. He flicks the nub from between his fingers.

  I presume he hears me enter, as he swivels round to face me. My eyes wander to his T-shirt strewn over the back of the black leather settee. I tremble as indecent thoughts jump around my head. I think it is due to looking at a man’s physique with the sun beating down upon it.

  Lifting my shoulders, I smile to myself. My thoughts confuse me; it feels as if Jai’s birthday is allowing me to move on, as if he is giving me his blessing. Brick by brick, the wall I have built around myself is beginning to crumble and make way for me to live my life.

  My eyes follow Tristan’s physique as he meanders across the lounge towards the settee and sits down. He picks up the remote control and presses the play button. I hear the intro to the film, and watch as he lifts his free hand from his lap and taps the cushion beside him. I can never imagine myself looking at him the way I used to look at Jai. My gaze follows his hand as he lifts his arm and scratches his side. I pause on seeing his slim tapered waist and prominent arm muscles, and something inside me awakens. I know in time I do want somebody, a man in my life.

  “Well don’t just stand there, it’s starting.” His laugh holds a touch of sarcasm, followed by a rather large grin.

  I’m too lost in my own imaginings to answer, so I simply oblige and sit at his side. I sink into the cushion and my eyes roll as I feel his arm wander around my back, his hand resting loosely on my shoulder. His skin exudes the scent of tobacco. The bitter aroma and our closeness almost choke me, for smoking is not a habit I like. I gaze up at him from under my lashes, looking for any flaws to his face, but there appear to be none. Even the dark stubble he fashions sits perfectly across and under the line of his jaw. His olive complexion is one undisturbed by even the slightest blemish, so perfect in fact that his skin could have been made of plastic. Throwing my memories back further to shopping as a young girl, he is more like the doll I chose as a partner for my favourite Barbie when I was about six years old. I look more in depth and have to admit that Tristan is almost his double. I giggle to myself; I happen to be sharing my flat with a life-size Ken doll.

  “If you want to take a picture, you can.” It is now more of a smirk than a smile he wears. “But saying that,” he continues, “no, stay where you are, I quite like this up close and personal.”

  He reaches into the pocket of his jeans and unwraps foil from a strip of chewing gum which he pops into his mouth. One of his dark eyes relays a slow wink. I feel the looseness of his arm around me tighten and his fingers as they walk themselves down my arm, and he manoeuvres me closer into his chest. His minty breaths play upon my brow, and all that prevents our lips from meeting is the slight lift of my head.

  I sense the room fall into silence, though Tristan’s hands have not once moved towards the TV control to mute the volume. He has not released me. Questioning this I frown and cannot help but glance around; everything is still. The actors on the TV are motionless, though I cannot see the pause button displayed on the screen or the VCR. The breeze lifting the netting only moments before also seems to have ebbed. I gaze up at Tristan, who is now sitting straight-faced and devoid of emotion. He resembles no more than a cardboard cut-out. I feel as if I am the only breath of life sitting within an unexplainable stillness. It’s like the room has been transformed into a 3D photograph. No, it’s more like the remote has been pressed, magically pausing the lounge.

  “Tristan?” My voice quakes, but as I utter the last syllable of his name I feel his lips, soft and moist, against my own.

  My eyes wander to the open window and I notice the breeze slipping back into the room, slightly lifting my hair, accompanied by the volume of the TV. Could it be that an invisible hand has hit the play button and returned the room to how it was only seconds before? My eyes widen as I take a glance at Tristan, whose eyelids are closed, his face in mine. I can still feel his lips pressed against my own, but my lips do not oblige, and stay closed. In an instant I feel him pull away.

  “Why don’t you kiss me back?” he asks, sweeping his finger across my cheek.

  I can see every crease in his brow.

  “Have I misread the signs?”

  I can hear the tone of his voice lower as he tilts his head, and I’m sure I can see a twinkle in those grey eyes of his as they goad me to want him back.

  “Signs?” I ask. I think back, but I’ve never led him on or given him any encouragement. “Tristan, I don’t understand...”

  “Couldn’t I make it more obvious?”

  I break eye contact.

  “Yes, maybe you have,” I snap without meaning to. “I’m sorry, you know how it is...”

  “I love you, Rose. Please let me in and allow me to make you happy. I know I can’t replace Jai, I’m not trying to, but maybe in time...”

  I can see the top of his crown as he lowers his head into his hands, his voice escaping between his fingers.

  “I’m hoping one day you can love me back...”

  Again he lifts his eyes to meet my own.

  “If it’s only a fraction of how much you loved Jai,” he continues, “then I’ll settle for that. No matter what, I want you.”

  His hand settles against my temple. He holds my gaze, and on this occasion I don’t look away. I could kick myself, for this moment was one I was trying to avoid; I didn’t want this intimacy. I guess Jai was right when he said you can’t be best friends with someone of the opposite sex; it gets too messy. Yet without Jai here with me I feel so alone, and yes, I do need a friend. Tristan has no idea how much I need him, though without complication. He’s been my rock, and I can’t imagine life without him. Once again, his breaths near and mingle with my own.

  My response is automatic. I lift my arm, throwing my palm against his chest to push him away, but as I do, his hand covers mine, where it holds me still, allowing me to feel the rhythmical beat of his heart. After a short while, with the edges of my hand held tightly between his fingers, he guides my touch until it rests against his lips, almost giving me a reassurance, and just as quickly he withdraws the hold he has. I cannot help the glide of my fingers as they pass against the stubble on his face and trace the outline of his narrow lips. It has been so long since I have had such closeness with a man. Sensations build within me and momentarily I feel myself losing control as my body leans into him. My senses have taken leave, and on regaining them I am quick to pull away.

  “It’s no good; I’m just not feeling this.” My head shakes in unison with my words. “Tristan, you can’t unbreak what has already been broken, and I can’t love you with a broken heart.”

  I feel both embarrassed and awkward, and he doesn’t wear his disappointment well. His eyes close against my words and I see his lips fall.

  “It’s probably not a good move on my part, being the day that it is,” he mutters whilst playing with the pocket of his denim jeans. “I didn’t plan this, you know.”

  I move forwards to the edge of the settee and slowly stand to regain my space.

  “Rose,
tell me, is it still Jai, or is it that you need time ... or is it me?”

  “I don’t want to lose what we’ve got. We’re too good together as friends.”

  I open my mouth to continue, but I think I’ve said all there is to say. The air around us feels heavy, stifling. I know he’s hurting, but there is nothing I can do about that. I didn’t ask him to feel the way he does. I don’t turn to meet his pain; that’s something for Tristan to come to terms with. I leave him with The Notebook for company and amble out of the lounge, along the narrow hallway towards my bedroom.

  I turn the brass handle closing the door on the day, and let out a loud sigh. I open my arms and allow myself to fall back onto my bed. I’m swallowed up by the warm quilt as I snuggle down into it and I cross my arms around my chest. My low mood is lifted momentarily as once again my eyes catch the canvas on the wall to my left.

  “Jai, you are looking down at me from the day of our prom. Nobody would have known how ill you were from the photos, and nobody could even imagine the pain you were in. You told me later that day, but your face hid it so well. It was the last perfect memory you were able to give me, to give us.”

  I always wanted the fairytale ending, and it’s such a shame we never reached our goal, our happy ever after. I lie here looking up at Jai, but it is Tristan’s face that flashes before me. A pang of guilt surfaces and I turn onto my stomach, burying my head in the thick fibres of my pillow.

  “Well, are you going to invite me in?”

  I surmise that I must have slept for a while because darkness has fallen. The vivid highlights of the sun are now replaced by the silvery glow of the moon, which dances its way towards Tristan’s silhouette. I watch as he walks towards me, towards the bed. I gasp as he nears. His masculine physique sends tingles up and down my spine. I throw back the quilt and invite him in. Reaching for his hand, I enjoy the touch of his fingers as they glide across mine. The mattress dips as he slips in next to me. Turning onto his side, he shuffles closer. I feel his muscular physique as he leans against me. My breaths falter as I sense his warmth. One finger at a time, I explore the rippling muscles of his back and torso. I feel his hand on my head, the gentle spiralling of hair between his fingers, and my head lowers in response. We lie face-to-face and he places a solitary kiss on the tip of my nose,

  My eyes snap open and I lie in a cold sweat. But both the night sky and Tristan have vanished.

  “God!” I clasp my hand over my eyes. “That felt far too real to be a dream.”

  I can still feel Tristan’s touch and surprisingly I’m not sure that I really wanted to wake up.

  A heat rises to the pores of my face, and my cheeks flush red. The sun has moved slightly in the sky, its rays still managing to shine in; they flicker on Jai’s face, who looks down at me from the canvas. I’m wracked with guilt; it’s almost like I’ve betrayed him. I’ve never dreamt about anybody else, well, not like this. I can’t help wonder how Tristan found his way into my dreams.

  I’ve had the best; Jai gave me it all, romance, love and fire. It’s almost too hard for me to think about, but maybe the dream is a sign that it doesn’t get any better than him, and I should settle and just live my life being content. Tristan ... why not? He’s good in so many ways, he’s always there and will do anything for me, and all I have to do is ask. I lie back as my head mulls over his many pluses, and maybe, just maybe in time there could be more between us.

  I feel my phone vibrate and reach down into the small pocket of my onesie. Struggling to set it free, I gaze at its illuminated screen. My battery is about to die, but it allows me long enough to scan my inbox while I plug in my charger. My eyes are met by a number of sympathetic messages. Can’t they all leave me the alone? Because to be honest I can’t be bothered to read any of them. What gives people the right to comment on how I’m feeling when they haven’t got a clue? Before switching my phone off, I read a message from Gloria, Jai’s mom. It’s a shame really, for I don’t see her nearly as much as I did when he was alive. I miss that closeness, having a family. I used to look forward to driving down on a weekend. She keeps asking me to visit any time I’m free, and just because he’s gone she doesn’t want me to become a stranger. I guess having two sons she looks upon me as the daughter she never had, and losing my own mum so young she became the next best thing. I know she’s feeling as low as me.

  “Why did you have to leave us so soon?” I ask him with a returning glance to the wall.

  I clutch my phone with my hand, about to turn it off. My finger is poised ready, and then I notice a text from an unknown number: It’s Gaz, from the Silken Kite, got ur voicemail. Come for an interview and trial tonight at 8pm.

  I’d totally forgotten about the job. I’ve got a couple of hours to make up my mind whether to go or give it a miss. Can I be bothered? I shrug my shoulders as I think of the bills piling up on the hall table. They aren’t going to pay themselves, so I suppose I have little choice.

  I sit on the edge of the bed and stretch my arms. I can hear my stomach growling in hunger. I haven’t eaten all day apart from a few segments of a mandarin orange, but that didn’t satisfy me. My mouth waters at the scent of curry that greets me as I walk into the hall. I’ve got to admit that Tristan’s culinary skills aren’t bad, and it saves me cooking. I chuckle to myself; he’s like the perfect house husband. We complement each other in so many ways, and I’m sure an outsider would think we’d been married for years.

  It wasn’t long ago that Tristan was homeless, down on his luck. I used to see him hanging out by the shops on my way back from the cemetery. He would be wandering around and always looked so lost. I’d overslept and was late one particular Friday morning, so I didn’t reach the shops till near lunchtime. I saw Tristan and thought he looked pale. Surmising he was hungry, I threw him a sandwich on the way out and that was how we broke the ice. Every day after that he would meet me at the cemetery and walk me home. Me being me, I asked him in for a coffee. He sat in the lounge, staring into the kitchen as I boiled the kettle. When I placed his coffee before him, he would look down into it, stirring with a teaspoon until it went cold; apparently that was the way he liked it. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. He didn’t smell, but his hands and face were dirty, his hair greasy and ruffled. We were only a couple of weeks into our coffee mornings when I asked him to move in.

  Dad had not long moved to Jersey with his fiancée, Becky, and my sister. When I phoned him and just happened to mention Tristan, he went mad, gave me a right earful, said I must be out of my mind to let a strange man into my flat. I’m sure he thought I hadn’t pulled myself together and said I could move to Jersey with them if I wanted. His girlfriend and I had never really seen eye to eye. I thought it was just too coincidental when Dad finally got the money from the sale of his steelworks company and she began hanging around like a dog on heat. Twenty-five, not much older than me ... does she think I’m stupid? There was no doubt she was in love with him, but it wasn’t my dad who had won her heart. Shame of it is, even now he’s still too blind to see. Knowing what I know, I thought it best I give his offer a miss. I didn’t care what he said, and didn’t intend kicking Tristan out. He had made his bed with Becky, and I’d made my mind up about Tristan.

  I enter the lounge.

  “Yours is in the microwave,” he utters from the settee without looking up.

  I glance over at the TV. It seems he’s far too engrossed in the highlights of today’s football to spark up a conversation.

  I stand for a moment or two and actually take the time to look at his face. It’s the first time I’ve really looked at him, probably because he isn’t looking at me. I feel so alone I’m almost swallowed up by emptiness. I’ve never needed to be held more than I do at this moment. Maybe it’s the day, maybe it’s the dream, I just don’t know, but I want the feeling of a man’s arms around me. I want to inhale their scent and know as they breathe that they’re taking in mine.

  “Tristan...”

  I watch him
as he sits forward, reaches out towards the coffee table, picks up the remote control and presses his index finger on the pause button; the football is forgotten.

  With a slight turn of his head, he repeats, “Yours is in the microwave.”

  “Damn it! Kiss me, won’t you?”

  I watch the arch of his eyebrows as they knit together. I know he is in shock, but I can’t help but smile as his lips are only seconds away. I feel the swoop of his arms, their embrace helping to take away this awful pain. His lips are velvety soft and graze against mine. He steals my breath away. I close my eyes as he lifts me up into his arms. My arms are circled around him, my lips kissing him back.

  I picture my waltzing lashes as my eyes flicker ever so slightly, and then momentarily I allow them to open. The leather upholstery groans as he lays me down so gently between the cumbersome arms of the settee. We lie entwined on a makeshift bed of his choosing, the cushions dipping beneath me. He rests his first two fingers on my chin and tilts my head. I don’t wish to pull away, and allow his minty kisses to float in waves across my neck. I enjoy the moistness of his lips as they weave their way from one side of my collarbone to the other. In the next moment my head is held within his firm palms.

  “Rose,” he whispers.

  I open my eyes; it’s a searching look I see and yet somehow I’m unable to read its meaning. His eyes are etched with such feeling as I gaze into their watery mist.

  “Rose...” His whisper fans out, reaching my ears.

  His fingers slip away, releasing my face. Now I find my hands clasped between his and my brows rise, for he radiates sincerity. I’m confused as he shakes his head and cannot fail to pick up on the sudden look of disappointment on his face. There is a pause in our intimacy as our eyes meet, and again I see the shake of his head, though reading between the lines it seems more of an apologetic gesture.