Her lips curled up slightly but she didn’t answer. She sipped her tea and glanced at me once, then away again.
“So what do you do when your daughter is at school and your husband’s at work?”
She stared out into the distance.
“Laundry. Cleaning. Reading if I’ve got the energy. Visiting the horse. Some gym. Walks. I… find ways to fill the time. But I prefer this – being outside. Away from… other people.”
“So you’re not working?”
“Not for years now, no,” she replied. “As I said… I was young. Too young. I changed courses after Beth was born and I finished a degree… but I never really went back. I tried, of course, but…”
She shrugged.
“Children are hard,” I said. “I’ve seen the struggle. It… sometimes I’m not sure it’s worth it, when I see how my mates have to scrape and scamper to make things work for them.”
“You’re young. You should enjoy being young. Plenty of time to change your mind later.”
“You’re still young,” I said. I grinned at her. “You don’t look like the mum to a twelve-year-old. If it weren’t for you telling me I’d never have guessed.”
“That’s… kind of you.”
“It’s true though. Go on, then. How old are you, Sam?”
“Thirty one,” she said softly, after a brief hesitation.
“See? Still young. I’m twenty six,” I said, to keep things even.
“You look… younger. “
“I know. It’s my superpower – I look like I just took off my training wheels. The hair helps.”
“It’s certainly… striking.”
“That’s charitable,” I laughed. “I used to be blonde and boring, so one day I just decided to go as loud as possible. This was the easiest colour to reach on the shelf.”
“It takes a lot of self-confidence to be that bold,” she said. She risked another small smile for me. “It… it really flatters your eyes and your cheeks. I… envy you.”
“Thanks,” I said, happily. “Truthfully, though, I stopped caring what most other people think about me a long time ago. I had to. Can’t be who I am if I’m constantly scared of upsetting anyone – lots of people love to be upset about everything. So, Sam, I have thirty minutes, give or take,” I said. “Until I have to put some legs on it and get to work. How do you feel about… walking?”
“Walking would be nice,” she said softly. “It’s… been a while since I had anybody to do it with.”
“Well, now you’ve got someone again.”
She looked up at me, then flushed as she realised I meant it.
“Thank you,” she breathed. “You’re such a sweet woman.”
“Nah, that’s just the facade,” I smirked. “I’m a holy terror when I’m shmangled.”
And she laughed too, brief and muted but there nonetheless. Then she stood, and offered me her long, lovely, slender hand to pull me to my feet.
But what was very strange was, how after I’d packed and shouldered my bag once more, she took my hand again.
And tangled her fingers with mine.
And didn’t seem at all inclined to… let go.
I have no real memories of that first walk with her. Just brief impressions – the way she’d watch me while I was talking; the occasional smiles that broke through like sunlight through sea mist.
I couldn’t quite make peace with how good her hand felt in mine.
I remember feeling like Queen of the World; walking along with her by my side; our gaits nearly perfectly matched and her only the slightest bit taller than me.
I didn’t fix her sadness, obviously. I couldn’t.
But I like to think I gave her a moment of peace in between the pain.
And so we slowly looped around a segment of paths, and as my time drew to an end I walked with her back to her car.
And once again she hugged me, and I marvelled at her scent and the way I could feel all of her against me.
“Take care, you,” I mumbled, as I let her go at last.
“See you soon, I hope,” she said as she stared back at me.
“I’ll be here. I’m always here.”
“Okay,” she said. She gave me one last brief glance, then turned and climbed into her Range Rover.
And I thoroughly enjoyed the moment I got to spend watching her sublime bum.
I stood waving until she’d driven away.
.:.
Mornings became our time.
She began to come to the park more often – I’d now find her three or four times a week.
She’d see me, and immediately stand up from our chosen rendezvous bench so she could walk to me. She’d step in close and hug me – brief but so, so welcome – and then take my hand.
And I’d get to spend three quarters of an hour in heaven.
Occasional crises at home would intervene and call her away and abridge our time together, but mostly I had her to myself.
Soon enough we’d exchanged numbers, and we began a slow friendship-by-intervals.
Or at least she did.
I, on the other hand, developed the most savage crush on her.
I worked really hard to suppress any sign of it while I was around her, but late at night in my single bed in my small and stuffy room, I’d lie there – hot and bothered, thinking about little but her.
As time papered over the loss of Flora she slowly blossomed into a more expressive creature.
And she seemed to love my hugs – something I was very happy about, because she always managed to leave me ever so slightly breathless when she finally let me go.
And she’d be flushing a pretty shade of pink, and smiling.
(There was nothing quite so perfect as being hugged by someone who was exactly the right height to tuck their face in against me, cheek to my cheek, with the ever-so-enticing pressure of boob and tummy and firm thighs pushing so wonderfully against mine)
But every single night I had to remind myself that she was normal and I was so far from baseline they’d probably had to invent entirely new categories for me.
It didn’t help, though.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.
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