Page 85 of Sisters Making Mischief
‘Hmm, I don’t like anything goaty,’ I said.
‘Try it,’ he said, holding out a fragment of cracker with a little bit of cheese on the top, ‘you might like it.’
He popped it into my mouth and watched as I chewed. It was a very suggestive, almost erotic thing to do, and just then despite everything – my tight trousers, my pinching shoes, the need for two giant safety pins to hold my trousers together and the fact that the particular cheese was not to my taste – we didn’t seem able to take our eyes off each other.
‘I still don’t like it,’ I said, my voice a bit croaky.
‘More for me then,’ he replied.
For a moment it was as though the whole room was holding its breath, although obviously that wasn’t the case. I realised I was.
27
We finished off withcrème brulée, which was silky smooth, had a wonderful caramelised crispy top, and tasted like heaven. By then I had surreptitiously undone the top button of my trousers and hidden the fact by blousing the top of my tadpole patterned shirt over it.
‘Would you like adigestif?’ Luc asked as Arnaud took our dishes away.
‘Nothing more for me, thank you,’ I said.
It was on the tip of my tongue to say I was as stuffed as a sofa, which was something Sara had always said as a child, but wisely, I didn’t.
‘That was a wonderful meal.’
‘It was good, wasn’t it?’ he agreed with a smile, ‘I brought my brother and his wife here some years ago, I was afraid it might not have been as good as I remembered, but it was even better. And the company was excellent.’
Another of those looks passed between us and for a moment I was confused.
I was so out of practice with this sort of occasion. Was he sending me subtle signals? Was I unknowingly doing the same? What happened next? I couldn’t remember.
I shuffled around a bit, hoping the safety pins were staying closed.
Luc paid the bill and we returned to his truck. By then, a lot of the other cars had gone and the car park was nearly empty. It was nearly ten thirty, there was an obliging full moon to illuminate the path, and he offered me his arm as we made our way over an uneven patch of ground. I linked my arm through his, liking the way it felt. Sort of protective and masculine without being strange.
It made me realise how little physical contact I had on a day-to-day basis with anyone. The only people I kissed or embraced was my family on their occasional visits. People my age didn’t go in for a lot of hugging the way that young people did. I don’t remember anyone throwing their arms around each other and crying hysterically when we passed our O levels or got into university. Perhaps that was a shame.
There could be something pleasant and reassuring about the touch of another human; even so, I didn’t think I was going to start embracing the postman or my neighbours when I saw them. So, that was an interesting thought. When did people get to the point when touch did become a comfortable thing?
It seemed it was that evening.
When we got to the truck, he opened the door for me and when I stepped forwards, he put his arms around me, and there in the moonlit car park we had what could only be described as a good old snog.
As we stood there, some of the fancy cars began to leave, passing us with the occasional toot of their horns, but that didn’t seem to bother either of us.
I was consumed with so many emotions. Surprise, pleasure and underneath everything something I recognised as relief.
I was not past it; I was still someone who was kissed, I was not someone who was important solely because of the place I occupied in someone else’s life. I was me. I was still a part of the world. I was seen.
‘Wow,’ I said, when at last I came up for air, ‘wow.’
He laughed. ‘I have been wanting to do that for a very long time.’
‘Why?’
Oh yes, that was a clever question, beg for compliments why don’t you.
‘Because you are beautiful, funny, clever.’
I actually bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from disagreeing with him.
