I look up to see how over cast it is as I make my way home. I am feeling in good spirits, despite the low hanging grey sky, which seems to have become a permanent feature over London. The meeting I have had has gone well and I’m feeling reasonably optimistic about the potential outcomes, work wise. As I approach the traffic lights to cross the main road, the clouds give way under pressure and I feel the first scattering of rain. Luckily for me, and for what seems like the first time in my life, I am prepared and have a small umbrella under my arm. I stand at the edge of the road as the cars splash past and wait for the lights to change, and as I do so, I look around to my left, and that’s when I see her.
She stands there looking forlorn, her coat collar turned up and with her long thick dark hair cascading down over her shoulders. “Forgotten your umbrella?” I ask and immediately regret asking such a redundant question. ‘Forgotten your umbrella? Is that the best you can do?’ “Yeah, I didn’t realise it was going to rain” She says. “Where are you heading to?” I ask. “Just the supermarket, it’s down that way isn’t it?” “Yup, well I’m walking right past there, would you like to share mine?” “That’s so nice, thank you” she says, with a smile.
We walk down the main road towards the supermarket and break into conversation. “Are you from around here” she asks. “Yes, I live just down the road and I’m on my way home. How about you?” “No, I’ve just come from the estate agents back there. I’ve had a row with them about the flat they’re letting me.” “Right.” We talk more and it turns out that she’s an actress with a drama company just around the corner from where I live. Not only that, but she’s slightly bonkers too, which only serves to make me warm to her – that and the fact that she’s adorable.
We talk about job interviews and auditions and acting and then I realise that the supermarket is only 50 metres away. I slow up my speed and we talk about where she’s from and where she lives, 30 metres. We talk about the pubs we’ve been to locally as we try and compare notes, 20 metres. I start to marvel at the fact that I feel like I already know a lot about this girl and I’m wishing that the supermarket were at least another half mile away, 10 metres. And now we are edging towards the zebra crossing that leads directly to the supermarket and I realise the moment we part, that I will probably never see her again.
We pause and talk some more, before a short silence ensues. I break it by nodding my head towards the supermarket. “Well, I guess that’s you.” “Yup” she says “Well if you fancy seeing some drama sometime...” “Yeah sure” I say, “Or if you fancy going for a drink sometime...” “Yes I’d love to” she says.
I reach for my phone to take her number and immediately I’m embarrassed that I seem to have the oldest Nokia in London, and one that everyone has been ribbing me about. “Oh cool, you’ve got one of those – they’re so much easier to use.” Inside I’m beaming. Outside, I’m doing my best to maintain a cool indifference. She types in her number, attaches a girly face to it and presses save. “There” she says, as she hands me back the phone.
“So..” I say. “So..” she says
“I’d better go” she indicates, as she nods over to the supermarket, “Call me”
“I will – bye then”
“Bye”
Saturday 30 July 2011
Tuesday 26 July 2011
One Night and One Morning - Part 3
“Ok, just here on the left please” she says. I look out of the rain strewn window to see that the cab driver has pulled up outside what looks like an old office block. I look up at grey facade ‘Hmm, interesting’. Two minutes later however, and we are in the hallway of a clean modern flat, and one that confirms to me that we made the right decision of whose place we ended up at this evening.
I’m in need of water after the adventure at the rear of the mini cab and I head to the kitchen and fill a glass by the sink as she pops to the bathroom. I can’t remember a time when I wanted a drink of water as much as I do now. I down it in one go and refill the glass to take another gulp, just as she appears behind me. She takes it from my hand and enjoys two big gulps herself before placing it firmly on the marble kitchen counter, spilling some as she does. With her other hand she cups the back of my head and kisses me hard on the mouth. “Come on” she says, as she leads me out of the kitchen and across the short hallway to the bedroom, flicking off the lights as we go.
The next morning I wake up to what feels like a horse stomping on my head. I am alone in a very comfortable but strange bed in a seemingly strange flat and I wonder where I am. There is movement from somewhere and I hear voices as I recount the events of last night and realise that she is talking to the postman. The front door closes and her feet pad along the wooden floor of the hallway that leads back to the bedroom. I smile inwardly and wait for her to come back to bed. I’m struck by a desire to adopt a cool nonchalance in how I look when she walks in. Should I close my eyes and feign sleep.. No stay awake and smile as she comes in.. No, lie on your side and be half awake. The door opens as I am half way between the latter two as I stretch and open my eyes with a sleepy ”Moorninggg...”
She is fully clothed. “Right” she says “I forgot that I’m meeting a friend and have to leave in 10 minutes”. “Ah, hmm, right, ok” I say, not sure of how to react, as I scratch my head and climb out of bed to wonder where I put my clothes. “Nice place” I muse, pulling on a sock. “Thanks” she says as she rushes about from room to room getting ready. I’m bleary eyed as I wipe away the fug. This feels weird.
We walk to the station and minutes later we’re on a train into London and we’re silent. The previous evening’s activities are not mentioned as we occasionally pass comment on the scenery flying past the train carriage window. Sitting opposite us is a brassy looking older woman in a leopard skin coat who looks like she may once have come third in a Bet Lynch lookalike contest. She has her arms folded as she looks at us. Any notion of talking about last night is off the agenda and I wonder if it was ever going to be there to begin with. I want to talk about it though as it feels odd not to. I’m wondering about a repeat performance under conditions of sobriety. I’m also wondering if the revelatory nature of last night’s conversations and the ensuing passion has potentially uncovered the first buds of something that could bloom into a new and beautiful relationship – or was it just a fuck?
The hard looking face on Bet Lynch seems to be staring at me as if to say “Go on, ask her I dare you.” ’Well why don’t you fuck off and sit somewhere else and I maybe I will’ I think. But she doesn’t and so I don’t and soon we are arriving at our destination. We walk through the train station to the point at which we are both due to go our own separate ways – the tube escalator for me and the station exit for her. ‘Do it now, talk to her’ I think as we get to the point of goodbye. I part my lips as my brain scrambles for the right words... “Ok, bye then.” she says, “Say hi to G for me when you next see her”.
My question answered – it was just a fuck.
I’m in need of water after the adventure at the rear of the mini cab and I head to the kitchen and fill a glass by the sink as she pops to the bathroom. I can’t remember a time when I wanted a drink of water as much as I do now. I down it in one go and refill the glass to take another gulp, just as she appears behind me. She takes it from my hand and enjoys two big gulps herself before placing it firmly on the marble kitchen counter, spilling some as she does. With her other hand she cups the back of my head and kisses me hard on the mouth. “Come on” she says, as she leads me out of the kitchen and across the short hallway to the bedroom, flicking off the lights as we go.
The next morning I wake up to what feels like a horse stomping on my head. I am alone in a very comfortable but strange bed in a seemingly strange flat and I wonder where I am. There is movement from somewhere and I hear voices as I recount the events of last night and realise that she is talking to the postman. The front door closes and her feet pad along the wooden floor of the hallway that leads back to the bedroom. I smile inwardly and wait for her to come back to bed. I’m struck by a desire to adopt a cool nonchalance in how I look when she walks in. Should I close my eyes and feign sleep.. No stay awake and smile as she comes in.. No, lie on your side and be half awake. The door opens as I am half way between the latter two as I stretch and open my eyes with a sleepy ”Moorninggg...”
She is fully clothed. “Right” she says “I forgot that I’m meeting a friend and have to leave in 10 minutes”. “Ah, hmm, right, ok” I say, not sure of how to react, as I scratch my head and climb out of bed to wonder where I put my clothes. “Nice place” I muse, pulling on a sock. “Thanks” she says as she rushes about from room to room getting ready. I’m bleary eyed as I wipe away the fug. This feels weird.
We walk to the station and minutes later we’re on a train into London and we’re silent. The previous evening’s activities are not mentioned as we occasionally pass comment on the scenery flying past the train carriage window. Sitting opposite us is a brassy looking older woman in a leopard skin coat who looks like she may once have come third in a Bet Lynch lookalike contest. She has her arms folded as she looks at us. Any notion of talking about last night is off the agenda and I wonder if it was ever going to be there to begin with. I want to talk about it though as it feels odd not to. I’m wondering about a repeat performance under conditions of sobriety. I’m also wondering if the revelatory nature of last night’s conversations and the ensuing passion has potentially uncovered the first buds of something that could bloom into a new and beautiful relationship – or was it just a fuck?
The hard looking face on Bet Lynch seems to be staring at me as if to say “Go on, ask her I dare you.” ’Well why don’t you fuck off and sit somewhere else and I maybe I will’ I think. But she doesn’t and so I don’t and soon we are arriving at our destination. We walk through the train station to the point at which we are both due to go our own separate ways – the tube escalator for me and the station exit for her. ‘Do it now, talk to her’ I think as we get to the point of goodbye. I part my lips as my brain scrambles for the right words... “Ok, bye then.” she says, “Say hi to G for me when you next see her”.
My question answered – it was just a fuck.
Tuesday 12 July 2011
One Night and One Morning - Part 2
We walk through the busy Soho nightlife, dodging the Rickshaws and street corner dealers, and head to a mini cab office. After a bit of haggling on price, we are sitting in the back of a 10 year old Toyota Corolla, listening to Magic FM. Her hand is in mine and I feel excited as she looks at me. What has happened so far was the furthest thing from my mind when I came out this evening and suddenly I am filled with thoughts of new possibilities.
The driver seems more anxious to get to our destination than we do, and heads through London like a getaway driver on speed. A sharp turn left followed by a hard right together with hard acceleration and equally forceful braking ensures that the plentiful wine in my system is mixing itself like a shaken Martini. She squeezes my hand and looks at me and kisses me again and I close my eyes. Suddenly, the inside of the car starts to spin. I open my eyes to stop the spinning and focus on her. The spinning slows but doesn’t stop as I sink lower into the back seat and try to concentrate on a fixed position in the back of the driver’s seat. ‘Focus, focus, you’ll be out soon, it’s just the motion’ I think to myself. “Are you ok?” she asks. I smile sheepishly. “Yeah fine” I say, before realising that I’m not and the inside of the car is beginning to swirl again. “Actually I think I just need to get some air.” ”Ok” she says “Can you stop the car please” she tells the driver. The driver takes a sharp turn onto the kerb and I duck out.
I stand and lean on the back of the car, taking deep breaths. ‘You’re not going to do this, you’re ok, you’re fine, breathe... breathe...’ And then it comes. I’m hoping to God that she’s not looking out the back of the car. I look like a criminal waiting to be frisked as I lean with my hands on the boot, my legs spread as I desperately try to avoid ruining my shoes and suit trousers. I’m trying to be as discrete as possible, or as discreet as a man vomiting on a busy high street in the early hours can be. ‘Oh God that must be it, no more PLEASE...’ I mutter under my breath. My stomach decides that it wants to punish me though and twists and convulses as if to make sure that there is nothing more to give.
A couple of minutes later though and I start to feel better, that last one was it. My stomach is seemingly now empty and I have a second wind. I’ve pulled it together and the world has stopped spinning. I straighten myself, take a breath and get back into the car “Sorry about that” I say. “You ok?” she says. “Yeah, just needed some air”, I say with a manufactured smile. ‘Oh God, did she see me, I hope she didn’t, I’m sure she didn’t...’ She leans over and kisses me on the lips.
I was right, she didn’t.
The driver seems more anxious to get to our destination than we do, and heads through London like a getaway driver on speed. A sharp turn left followed by a hard right together with hard acceleration and equally forceful braking ensures that the plentiful wine in my system is mixing itself like a shaken Martini. She squeezes my hand and looks at me and kisses me again and I close my eyes. Suddenly, the inside of the car starts to spin. I open my eyes to stop the spinning and focus on her. The spinning slows but doesn’t stop as I sink lower into the back seat and try to concentrate on a fixed position in the back of the driver’s seat. ‘Focus, focus, you’ll be out soon, it’s just the motion’ I think to myself. “Are you ok?” she asks. I smile sheepishly. “Yeah fine” I say, before realising that I’m not and the inside of the car is beginning to swirl again. “Actually I think I just need to get some air.” ”Ok” she says “Can you stop the car please” she tells the driver. The driver takes a sharp turn onto the kerb and I duck out.
I stand and lean on the back of the car, taking deep breaths. ‘You’re not going to do this, you’re ok, you’re fine, breathe... breathe...’ And then it comes. I’m hoping to God that she’s not looking out the back of the car. I look like a criminal waiting to be frisked as I lean with my hands on the boot, my legs spread as I desperately try to avoid ruining my shoes and suit trousers. I’m trying to be as discrete as possible, or as discreet as a man vomiting on a busy high street in the early hours can be. ‘Oh God that must be it, no more PLEASE...’ I mutter under my breath. My stomach decides that it wants to punish me though and twists and convulses as if to make sure that there is nothing more to give.
A couple of minutes later though and I start to feel better, that last one was it. My stomach is seemingly now empty and I have a second wind. I’ve pulled it together and the world has stopped spinning. I straighten myself, take a breath and get back into the car “Sorry about that” I say. “You ok?” she says. “Yeah, just needed some air”, I say with a manufactured smile. ‘Oh God, did she see me, I hope she didn’t, I’m sure she didn’t...’ She leans over and kisses me on the lips.
I was right, she didn’t.
Sunday 3 July 2011
One Night and One Morning - Part 1
It’s late and we’re on our third bottle of wine. In fairness the wine has been shared with mutual friends. She is a friend of a friend of G, who has invited me to her birthday drinks. We have met a few times over the last couple of years and are two people who think we know each other reasonably well but who are shortly to realise otherwise. We haven’t seen each other in 6 months and so the conversation initially takes the form of catch up – How was Christmas? Did you go away on holiday last year? Have you had your hair cut? “Yes, 4 months ago” to the last one. As we talk the hairdresser type chit chat, the conversation an unexpected turn upon the new discovery of mutually shared experiences. She tops up our glasses and we take this new road of discovery, empathising and comparing the places we’ve been, the restaurants we have eaten in, the relationships we’ve had. “I’ve met you a few times but I can’t believe we haven’t talked about this before” she says. Suddenly we’re aware that we’re consumed in each other’s conversation to the point where we have separated off from the rest of the group.
We’re brought back in by G and some of the others who announce that they are leaving to go to a club somewhere deep in South London and we’re welcome to join them if we would like. We politely decline as G looks at me with her eyes narrowed. She gives me a hug and kisses the girl on both cheeks, agreeing to meet for lunch in the week. And then we are alone as she empties the rest of the bottle into our glasses. We then become further absorbed in deep conversation, the wine ensuring that some revelations and reactions are seemingly on a repeat loop.
We feel surrounded as the clientele jostles for position in a scrum against the bar. The barmaid doesn’t know who to serve first as money is waved in front of her face and half the crowd is fighting for her attention. In the middle of this we are pushed more closely together than we have been all evening. The noise level of the place gets to such a point that we are forced to speak closely into one another’s ear to make sure we are heard. I feel the warmth of her cheek against my own as I take in the smell of her hair and her perfume and I realise that I’m thinking about this girl in ways that I never expected to. And then suddenly we are kissing.
I don’t know who has kissed who first, but we are consumed and oblivious to those around us. She breaks the kiss “You won’t tell G about this will you?” There is something about the question that makes it feel more like a statement. “No, course not.” I say and she smiles and takes my hand and we leave to find a cab. “My place or yours?” she asks. I think of the unwashed dishes from last night’s dinner, the washing on a line in my lounge and the pile of clothes hanging on the end of my bed.
“Yours”
We’re brought back in by G and some of the others who announce that they are leaving to go to a club somewhere deep in South London and we’re welcome to join them if we would like. We politely decline as G looks at me with her eyes narrowed. She gives me a hug and kisses the girl on both cheeks, agreeing to meet for lunch in the week. And then we are alone as she empties the rest of the bottle into our glasses. We then become further absorbed in deep conversation, the wine ensuring that some revelations and reactions are seemingly on a repeat loop.
We feel surrounded as the clientele jostles for position in a scrum against the bar. The barmaid doesn’t know who to serve first as money is waved in front of her face and half the crowd is fighting for her attention. In the middle of this we are pushed more closely together than we have been all evening. The noise level of the place gets to such a point that we are forced to speak closely into one another’s ear to make sure we are heard. I feel the warmth of her cheek against my own as I take in the smell of her hair and her perfume and I realise that I’m thinking about this girl in ways that I never expected to. And then suddenly we are kissing.
I don’t know who has kissed who first, but we are consumed and oblivious to those around us. She breaks the kiss “You won’t tell G about this will you?” There is something about the question that makes it feel more like a statement. “No, course not.” I say and she smiles and takes my hand and we leave to find a cab. “My place or yours?” she asks. I think of the unwashed dishes from last night’s dinner, the washing on a line in my lounge and the pile of clothes hanging on the end of my bed.
“Yours”
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