Page 91 of Sisters Making Mischief
Are we going to take this any further?
I took a deep breath.
‘I’ve been on my own for four years.’ I rubbed the place where my wedding ring had been. I could still feel a tiny groove there. ‘I am used to living on my own, not doing much that is different. I’ll admit I have been stuck in a rut, and coming here has made me –youhave made me – realise that there is more that I could be doing. I’m tired of doing everything for other people, for taking the blame when things go wrong, for making excuses for other people. I want some life for me.’
He nodded. ‘I agree, I feel the same way.’
‘Oh. Okay. I hadn’t thought that there would be— that I could— that— that you would— I mean Stephen didn’t?—’
My voice faded as I struggled to find the right words.
His expression relaxed as he probably realised what I was trying to say.
‘That I might find you attractive? Think about you when you weren’t there?’ He took a step towards me. ‘Want to spend time with you? Find out more about you? Kiss you? Want perhaps more than just to kiss you?’
I suddenly understood. We were as bad as each other, hesitating and vacillating, being indecisive. One of us needed to take the first step and I wanted it to be me.
‘Yes, those things.’
‘But of course I do. I would have thought that was obvious. But now I see in you the same hesitation that is in me,’ he said, ‘the fear of failure, of rejection.’
How? How could a man like him have any doubts about himself? He was intelligent, kind, thoughtful, and handsome. No woman with a functioning brain cell would reject him. But then, of course, he hadn’t exactly been‘out there’any more than I had.
‘Can we start off with coffee?’ I asked.
‘Of course, come in.’
And so we had coffee. We even ate a couple of biscuits, and then we looked at each other, over the table. One of us had to say something, and again, it was going to be me.
‘I’ve come to pick up my car,’ I said at last.
‘I know, it’s been quite safe,’ he replied.
I finished the last of my biscuit. Under other circumstances I would have had another, because they really were quite delicious, but…
‘Show me the rest of the house?’ I said, ‘I’d love to see what you’ve done.’
‘I hope you like it,’ he said, and he stood up and held out a hand to me.
I took it. I didn’t need to, it wasn’t as though I needed his help, but this was different. It was one of those moments.
‘I will,’ I said, ‘I know I will.’
Another look passed between us, and I think both of us were aware of what I was saying. What we were doing. At least I hoped so otherwise I was going to look a complete fool.
We went upstairs together, our shoes echoing on the wooden steps, and I followed him, my free hand trailing on the smooth painted surface of the bannisters.
I followed him into the rooms, one after the other, and he explained his plans. This would be a guest room, look atthe lovely view, perhaps this one would be a study. There was a tiny box room where he had stored his suitcases, and a battered leather briefcase he had used when he was working. The bathroom was beautiful, with shining tiles and a big shower cubicle.
Some of the rooms were still empty, waiting for furniture and curtains and the sort of things that make up a home. He said he needed to buy a few items, maybe Isabel might have a nightstand or a cupboard.
I didn’t want to think about Isabel, my family or anyone else at that moment. I didn’t want to consider anybody but him. And me. The tension between us was almost palpable, sizzling through the air between us.
I had never felt anything like it before. A sort of sick, trembling insecurity, mixed with anticipation. Was I, at my age, allowed to feel like this? What would my family think if they could see me?
No, I didn’t care.
At last, we reached his bedroom. There were white, wooden shutters at the window, which could be closed against the light. The walls had been painted pale blue; the carpet was slightly darker. There was a painting on the wall of a sparkling sea, framed by white voile curtains. The room felt fresh and clean, airy and filled with light.
