Page 53 of Sisters Making Mischief
‘Good, that sounds like fun,’ he said.
There was a loud thump from upstairs and we both looked up at the ceiling. What was she doing? Was she rummaging through his cupboards, if he had any? Had she knocked herself out on a beam and fallen to the floor unconscious?
I went to look out of the kitchen window at the view down to the river, and of course beyond it the distinctive outline of Potato Farm with the two chimneys. Maybe he stood and looked out and pondered what we were doing, just as I did with him.
‘I wonder what Isabel is up to,’ I said at last, ‘I can’t believe she has got lost.’
‘I expect she has a plan,’ he said.
‘Nothing she has told me about,’ I said.
He looked down at his feet, slightly uncomfortable, or perhaps nervous?
‘The truth is, Felix told me that you are on your own – he thought I should ask you out to dinner. I’m guessing Isabel is giving me some space to do so, trying to encourage me.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’
I gave a careless laugh to disguise my feelings. Even Felix was in on this. I think I felt slightly annoyed, and yet there was something exciting about it too.
He smiled. ‘Silly, isn’t it?’
What did he really think?
I thought about going out with him, trying to imagine him in some smart clothes, a suit and tie perhaps and me in an elegant outfit. I liked the idea of that. But I probably didn’t have an elegant outfit with me. Perhaps I would have to buy something. I tried to control my thoughts, he hadn’t even made the suggestion, I was three steps ahead of myself.
‘Anyway, you don’t like people,’ I said foolishly. ‘I’m told you prefer to be left alone.’
‘I did for a while, for my own reasons. But now, well…’
‘Oh, I see.’
‘You are an interesting woman, I’ll admit that. But?—’
But I don’t find you attractive, was the unspoken end to that sentence.
It was on the tip of my tongue to laugh, to correct him, to tell him that I wasn’t at all interesting. That after I retired from teaching, my life had been filled with other people being interesting while I did the washing-up and the ironing. I’d sorted out family squabbles and problems. I’d helped with babysitting and sewing on name tapes to school uniforms, that sort of thing. Just for once I found the pause button and didn’t say any of that.
Then I wondered what it was about me that made him come to that conclusion in the first place. I believed I was kind, evidently had some artistic talents if my sister’s praise was anyindication, I was a good cook and I liked to look after people, but was I interesting?
‘Oh dear, I’m making a mess of this,’ he said at last.
‘No, not at all.’
I tried to sound as though I didn’t care, but all of a sudden, I realised I did.
I would have enjoyed having dinner with him, getting to know more about him, maybe even making friends with him. But now the possibility seemed remote.
How did women manage this sort of thing? I knew nothing about the rules of dating for people my age. Not that this was dating, but it was the closest I had come to it for a very long time. And I’d blown it. Not so long ago I would have felt relief, but at that moment, I didn’t. There was something about him I liked, and it wasn’t just his good looks, or his dark eyes, or the way he smiled.
‘Would you like more tea?’ he said.
Probably not because then I would need the loo, but it would have been nice to carry on chatting to him, finding out more about his plans for the house and the neglected garden.
At that moment we heard Isabel coming back down the stairs, far more noisily than was probably necessary. She came into the kitchen with an innocent look on her face.
‘You’ve done a lovely job up there. The bathroom is glorious. Nothing like it used to be.’
The moment between us was broken, and for some daft reason I felt a bit annoyed with her.
