Just the Two of Us

by Georgie Capron

  ‘I bought the house five years ago from an American couple who were desperate to get rid of the place,’ explained Rory.

  ‘Why on earth would anyone be desperate to get rid of this house?’ asked Lucy, bewildered. ‘It’s incredible!’

  ‘They had inherited it from a distant relative and had no interest in owning property in the UK; they wanted the whole thing over and done with as quickly as possible. I was selling my house and looking for somewhere new to develop, and it all just sort of fell into my hands!’ said Rory. ‘I was in the right place at the right time, I suppose.’

  ‘Did you have to do much to it?’ asked Lucy.

  ‘Oh yes, it was completely decrepit. Apparently the actual owners hadn’t set foot in it for years… the building was so run-down. As soon as I was granted planning permission I gutted the whole place and redesigned it entirely.’

  ‘Were you the architect?’

  ‘I was indeed!’ confirmed Rory.

  ‘Oh my goodness! You are so talented. I mean, this place is just the dream home. I can’t imagine living anywhere more incredible, and the location too!’ exclaimed Lucy.

  ‘You are too kind!’ said Rory, taking a miniature bow and laughing. ‘It’s really not that hard, when you know how!’

  ‘I’d love to know how to do this. I was completely obsessed with Changing Rooms when I was younger and drove my parents crazy redesigning my bedroom. I can’t tell you how many different looks my childhood room has had over the years!’

  ‘Did you have any disastrous moments as a novice interior designer?’ asked Rory.

  ‘Oh my god too many to even mention,’ chuckled Lucy, rolling her eyes at the memory. ‘I think my parents really had a fit when I decided to streak my yellow silk curtains with fluorescent pink hair mascara. Turns out that isn’t such a good look.’

  Rory laughed at the thought, telling her that she needed a tree house to experiment on far from her parents prying eyes, like the McCullan kids.

  Looking at the clock and noticing that it was now half past two, Rory asked Lucy if she would like something to eat. Her stomach started to rumble at the very thought of food, and before she knew it he had thrown a whole packet of smoky, streaky bacon into a frying pan and started sizzling the rashers on the hob. Soon the room was full of the mouth-watering smell of bacon; Rufus suddenly perked up and looked pleadingly at Rory, almost begging not to be forgotten. Rory set Lucy the task of cutting wedges of fresh white bread, straight from the bakery that morning. She dropped them into the toaster and opened the fridge to see if she could find butter and tomato ketchup. She was relieved that he had both; a bacon sandwich was just not the same without ketchup. When the bacon was crispy enough, they set about making their sandwiches. Rory cracked open a bottle of chilled Sauvignon Blanc and poured them two enormous glasses, chinking Lucy’s glass with his. His bright blue eyes shone and his crow’s feet crinkled whenever he smiled at her; Lucy could barely take her eyes off his face.

  As she sipped the wine, the soothing, sharp liquid ran down her throat, flooding her senses with that heady relaxation only alcohol could give. They sat at the table and ate their sandwiches, talking about their families and Rory’s eclectic collection of brothers and sisters. His mother was called Catriona and his father Padraig, but everyone called them Trina and Paddy. Then he had an older brother called Ronan, an older sister called Trish and a younger brother called Dermot. They were all scattered about Ireland: only Rory had moved to the UK when he had started studying architecture at UCL. He had met his wife, Abigail, at university, and stayed with her in London to be near her family when they got married several years later. He had stayed in London ever since. Lucy asked him if he missed living in Ireland.

  ‘I do miss it, yes. Everyone is so much friendlier and relaxed there. I miss the sense of community, and the lushness of the countryside. It really is the Emerald Isle. I’m not so sure about the rain though…’ he winked at Lucy, and they both laughed.

  The conversation flowed as though they had known each other all their lives. Lucy felt so drawn to him; it was as if he were emitting some kind of magnetic pull. She wanted to get to know him on every level; he intrigued her as no man had ever done before. There was such a gentle side to him; she could sense a certain vulnerability that she imagined came from knowing such deep and harrowing loss. This was coupled with the most engaging sense of humour and a genuine interest in the world around him; it was an incredibly endearing combination. Rory told her the most wonderful tales about growing up as a young boy in rural Ireland, helping the farmers with the harvest, pinching apples from the neighbour’s orchard, getting into all sorts of mischief.

  ‘I once got into terrible trouble for burning down the hay barn next door!’ he laughed.

  ‘No way!’ said Lucy. ‘How did you manage that?’

  ‘It was an accident caused by a contraband match that I’d stolen from my father’s desk. I was a total pyromaniac and, unfortunately, a somewhat clumsy ten-year-old!’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Lucy. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Unbeknownst to me, Trish was hiding up at the top of the haystacks…’

  ‘No!’ shrieked Lucy.

  ‘Yup! Don’t worry, as soon as I heard her squeals I clambered up the burning bales, grabbed her and deposited her safely on the ground. However, Trish was more concerned about her new pink gloves which remained where she had been sitting. She insisted I risk my life to rescue them, which I duly did!’ he laughed, shaking his head at the thought. His lilting Irish voice added extra charisma to his storytelling, and Lucy found she could picture him very clearly as a scruffy, dark-haired child. She loved the way his boyish charms had stayed with him until this day.

  Her tongue loosened by the wine, Lucy told him about her own childhood growing up in Cornwall with Ollie. The scavenger hunts and rounders’ matches on the beach, the barbeques in the sand dunes and endless games of forty forty. He asked her so many questions, curious to know every detail about her, as though he were trying to piece together a puzzle to find out what had made her who she was today. He made her feel like she was the most fascinating person on earth; she basked in his attention as if soaking up the sun’s rays.

  When the bottle of wine was empty, Lucy wondered whether Rory would want her to leave. It was becoming dark outside; the dull shades of dusk were lowering slowly over the city like thick fog. The log fire was so warm and cosy, the company so excellent, that Lucy couldn’t bear the thought of making her way home. Obviously having the same thoughts, Rory asked her if she had made plans for the evening or whether she would like to pop out to a local cocktail bar down the road for another drink. Relieved, and unwilling to part from his company quite yet, she said yes, though she suggested that it would depend on whether her clothes had finished drying. Rory went into the utility room to check, and, pausing the tumble dryer to open the door, declared them dry. He took them out, passing them to Lucy who retreated to the bathroom to change.

  When she was ready, or at least as ready as she would ever be without her make-up bag to hand, Rory opened the front door, leaving Rufus munching contentedly on a huge bowl of dog biscuits, and they stepped out into the crisp, cool evening. The clouds had dissipated since their outpouring earlier that day, rolling back to reveal a clear sky. A huge moon hovered low above the rooftops, surrounded by a halo of orange light.

  ‘What a beautiful evening!’ cried Lucy. ‘Look at that moon… it’s enormous!’

  ‘Stunning. That’s another thing I miss about Ireland,’ said Rory. ‘The sky at night, you really can’t beat it. It looks almost heavy with stars, as though you could just reach up and pluck a handful.’

  ‘It’s such a shame we can’t see the stars properly in London. Too much light haze and smog,’ said Lucy.

  ‘I’ve always been fascinated by space… the planets and stars and so on,’ said Rory as they walked down the street towards the wine bar. ‘It’s just mind-boggling.’

  ‘I read that there are
more stars in the universe than there are grains of sand on earth!’ Lucy told him. ‘Can you believe that?!’

  ‘I know! And apparently Earth can fit into the Sun one million times!’ he said. They both walked for a moment in silence, marvelling at the enormity of the universe above them, humbled by the reminder of their own insignificance.

  As they rounded the corner, they came to the bar, Penhaligons. A crowd of smartly dressed people were clustered around the door, smoking and chatting. Rory and Lucy made their way through, squeezing into a space with two free barstools near the wall, which was papered with a decorative print. The bar was decked out in a speakeasy style, with twenties music playing from a crackling gramophone in the corner. Lucy loved the revival of prohibition era bars that had recently sprung up all over London; she perused the typewritten menu, scouring all the tantalizing cocktails on offer. She had asked her doctor whether it was safe to drink in the weeks between fertilization and implantation and she had reassured her that it was fine.

  Rory ordered a Campari-based cocktail, the smell of which made Lucy want to retch but that he declared was delicious. Lucy ordered a mojito. As they sipped their drinks, they hypothesized on the personal histories of the people around them… one of Lucy’s favourite pastimes, and Rory’s, as it turned out. He explained how, in the years following Abigail’s death, he had spent an awful lot of time on his own. He had realized that he needed to get used to his own company and would come to restaurants or bars after work, often too tired and emotionally drained to cook, where he would people-watch to pass the time. He had found it very reassuring to muse over the lives of others, taking comfort in the knowledge that he was not alone and enjoying the happiness of those who were lucky enough to be with loved ones.

  They finished their cocktails and ordered another round. As they perched on their barstools, their knees touched. Lucy felt acutely aware of how close she was to him, she wanted to reach out and rest her hand on the denim that covered his thighs. The dark grey jumper he was wearing stretched slightly over his broad chest; she could see how muscular his physique was underneath. His arms and shoulders looked so strong that she could imagine him picking her up and throwing her over his shoulder with ease. For an instant a crazy image of him doing just that before marching her back home to ravish her in his bedroom flashed into her mind. She blushed at the thought, thankful that he couldn’t see into her overactive imagination.

  Realizing she was now hungry, she suggested that they might eat some dinner. They had only had a bacon sandwich for lunch and she was starving. Rory paid for their drinks and they left the little cocktail bar, turning left and walking further down the road past a row of shops and a bank before arriving at a little Italian place.

  ‘This is my local Italian,’ said Rory as they neared the restaurant, ‘and, in my opinion, it serves the best Italian food in London.’ Fantoni’s was written in large italic script across the dark green door. Dark wooden tables and chairs were scattered about inside, with bunches of flowers and candles on every surface. The smell of freshly baked pizza wafted from the open pizza oven, where a chef stood shovelling round discs of dough into the mouth of the fire, pulling them out a few minutes later, risen and bubbling. Lucy’s mouth watered.

  Lorenzo, the owner, greeted Rory warmly, chatting to him with a heavy Italian accent, asking him how he was and what was new in his life. He gave Lucy the once-over, smiling his approval at Rory and congratulating him on his beautiful choice of companion, before ushering them to a little table towards the back. Lucy ordered a Diet Coke, Rory ordered a Peroni and they both pounced hungrily on the basket of warm ciabatta, drizzling olive oil and balsamic vinegar all over it before biting into the chewy dough.

  Lorenzo brought the menus over. After several minutes’ perusal, they both decided to get pizzas, they just looked too tempting to resist.

  ‘Oh how I love Italian food,’ said Lucy. ‘I could have ordered anything on that menu!’

  ‘I can never decide between pizza and pasta, it’s really the food of the gods!’ agreed Rory.

  ‘Have you been to Italy and eaten real Italian food?’ asked Lucy.

  ‘I’ve been a couple of times.’

  ‘Whereabouts?’

  ‘Venice and Florence, both beautiful cities. What about you?’ asked Rory.

  ‘Well I did a history of art degree; one of my modules was on the Sistine Chapel so I managed to go to Rome to get an up-close and personal look at the place as part of my course! I ended up doing my dissertation on the Baroque period in Italian art, Caravaggio is my favourite artist, so I travelled around Italy one summer, exploring and visiting lots of art galleries and churches,’ explained Lucy. ‘I’ve actually visited quite a lot of Italy, and Rome is definitely the best city.’

  ‘I’m ashamed to admit that I have never been to Rome,’ confessed Rory.

  ‘Shameful indeed for an architect,’ agreed Lucy, teasing him. ‘You should go!’

  ‘Maybe you can give me the grand tour?’ suggested Rory, smiling at Lucy with a cheeky look in his eyes.

  She knew that he was joking, they had only met twice after all, but she was encouraged nonetheless that he would even make such a suggestion. Could it mean that he thought they might see more of each other, that he might like to? She wondered if he was feeling as deeply drawn to her as she was to him. She crossed her fingers and toes and said, ‘Yeah, maybe, if you’re lucky!’ laughing it off with a shrug.

  ‘Anyway, Rome isn’t the most beautiful place in Italy; there is somewhere else that wins hands down. Do you know the Amalfi coast?’ asked Lucy.

  ‘I’ve heard of it but I’ve never actually been, I think Dermot might have been there when he went inter-railing as a young lad. Is it near Naples?’

  ‘It’s about an hour and a half from Naples; you can catch the ferry the whole way there, following the coastline. It’s such a stunning journey. Anyway, there’s a little town called Positano, it’s just a cluster of pastel houses scattered on a steep hillside across a cut-away valley. The sea is bright turquoise and crystal-clear, the whole place looks like it has been dreamt up for a fairy tale, it’s just the most breathtakingly beautiful place on earth.’ Lucy reminisced about her time there as a student, she had taken the train to Naples with another friend from her course and stayed in a little hostel with magnificent views of the town beneath them.

  ‘I’m sold!’ said Rory. ‘It sounds amazing… I can’t imagine how there are people in this day and age who have never left their own country, or worse, their own county! There’s such an incredible world out there to explore.’

  Lucy nodded in agreement, loving Rory’s enthusiasm for just about everything.

  Just then their pizzas arrived, piping hot. Strings of melting cheese stretched from slice to slice as they pulled them apart. They devoured them hungrily, chatting happily about all the places they had visited and making a wish list of top destinations still to explore. It was such a happy evening.

  Lorenzo brought over huge bowls of gooey tiramisu for pudding accompanied with little shots of limoncello, the sharp sweetness the perfect digestif after the richness of the cream and coffee. Lucy felt so full and so content; her cheeks were glowing with a combination of flirtation, good food and drink. She knew that Rory must be feeling the same way too, they hadn’t run out of conversation even for a moment and they seemed to have the same views on all sorts of unexpected subjects.

  As the last customers trickled out of the restaurant, Rory asked for the bill and insisted on paying for Lucy’s meal. As they walked down the road, Rory took Lucy’s hand in his, it felt like a perfect fit and she felt energy coursing through her at the physical contact. Her heart felt like it was skipping every other beat. They didn’t speak, they just walked along in silence, their breath like little clouds of mist in the cold air. She thought about stopping to flag down a taxi to take her home, but every atom of her body refused to leave his company, all she wanted to do was talk to him more, look at him more and memori
ze every gorgeous part of him. She had never felt like this before; she was amazed at the strength of her attraction towards him.

  Before she knew it they were back outside his house. Her heart was hammering in her chest like a stampede of wildebeest. He turned to face her, his hand still holding hers, staring with those mesmerizing blue eyes into hers. She opened her mouth, about to thank him for dinner, her breath coming in shallow gulps of air; she couldn’t believe the physical reaction her body was having to him. The chemistry was palpable. And then his face was nearing hers, as if in slow motion. His lips brushed against hers, the lightest graze, sending shivers of electricity through her body. She dared not move, willing him to kiss her again, unable to breathe. He stroked a lock of blonde hair behind her ear, smiled tenderly at her, and then kissed her again, still barely brushing her lips with his. He repeated the exquisite torture a few more times, each time pressing his lips a little harder against hers, each kiss lasting a little longer. The heady smell of his musky aftershave was having a dizzying effect on her.

  Suddenly, it was as if he could resist the temptation no longer; he put one hand behind her head and the other around her shoulders and kissed her properly, pressing his body firmly against her. She almost fainted with the rush of blood from her head down to her pelvis; it was as though her libido had been jumpstarted with an electric shock from the National Grid. Lucy kissed him back, wrapping her arms around him, running her hands through his thick, brown hair, oblivious to any passers-by. She knew that every rule book ever written would tell her to go home right this second, to end it now before he got what he wanted and completely lost interest, but there was no way she could stop.

  Pausing for breath, he held her face in his hands, brushing her cheek with his huge thumb. She felt so tiny and fragile in comparison to him, like a dainty porcelain doll. Looking tenderly into her eyes, he whispered, ‘You are the most beautiful, intriguing woman I have met in a long, long time. You have no idea…’ he muttered, his eyes shining with emotion.