Chapter 5
5
ELENA
Radio blaring, as it had done the whole journey, Elena parked up outside her garage. She and Rory had agreed to take it in turns to drive to work. They got out and she made for the front door but had forgotten her bag. Elena ducked back into her grey Mazda to retrieve it and when she came out, Rory was by her side.
Gently, he pushed his body against hers sideways so that their arms touched. ‘I’m not going to mention it.’
‘What?’ she asked, avoiding eye contact.
‘Gary getting his revenge, this morning, on our amazing karaoke performance, by turning the fuel that drives our department into a slip hazard. My lips are sealed.’ He pointed to his mouth. ‘Nada coming out of here.’
‘But you did.’
He raised an eyebrow.
‘Mention it,’ she said.
‘Ah.’ He gave that boyish smile.
‘It was almost worth it, because afterwards Gary gave me the last of those lemon almond cakes Diego made for his coffee breaks.’ She gave Rory a wry glance. ‘It’s no big deal. Honestly. I… didn’t sleep well last night. That’s probably the reason I?—’
Rory held up his hand. ‘You don’t have to justify why you got upset. If you ever want a hug, I’m here, just saying. You only have to hug for twenty seconds for it to raise serotonin levels and lift your mood and?—’
‘Please. If it makes you feel better, just do it. My brain can’t take any more statistics today, not after an afternoon working closely with you and Caz.’
Rory pulled her towards his chest. Oh. He smelt… nice, like fresh linen, mown grass, and a favourite book, all rolled into one, instead of the sports shoes or rubber wetsuits odour she’d been expecting. She would have closed her eyes, for a second, were it not for Tahoor’s curtains twitching to the left. As rain started to spit, they headed indoors. Elena slid across the three bolts behind them, switched on the lights and heating and Rory went straight into the lounge to see Brandy and Snap. Elena had moved the tank in there. The day after moving in he’d prioritised finding the best fresh bramble branches, and a grassy verge alongside a nearby quiet road had obliged. He took the lid off the tank.
‘Hello, my beauties. How was your day?’ He lifted up a nearby plastic bottle filled with water and lightly sprayed the leaves. He put the lid back. ‘Right. They’ve got their evening drink. Fancy that bottle of red I bought at the weekend?’
‘As long as you don’t put a spray nozzle on it. I’ll get changed. It’s a pyjamas night for me. Might grab a shower first. Meet you in the kitchen in thirty minutes?’ she asked, surprising herself. ‘We’ve still got chicken left from Sunday’s roast.’
‘Want me to rustle up a stir-fry?’
She gave him a thumbs-up and went upstairs. Elena threw herself on her bed and stared at the ceiling like she had this afternoon when falling backwards. If Rory hadn’t been there to catch her today… He’d saved her again, like a guardian angel. Was that why he’d moved in? Was the universe using him as a puppet? Was it manipulating her day-to-day, putting her in danger, only to have Rory prevent the worst happening, to string out the torture until the grand finale? Her birthday, 21 December, was one month tomorrow. She only had to get through the next four weeks. Elena bit on her fist. She could do this.
‘Elena! Where are you? The stir-fry is almost ready.’ Rory stood at the bottom of the stairs. Elena came out of her bedroom, the aroma of fried vegetables wafting up the stairs. He frowned. ‘I looked in there five minutes ago. You’d disappeared into thin air. The shower wasn’t running. I called your name. I even checked in your office, but that was empty too.’
Her cheeks pinked up. ‘Oh… I had my ear pods in.’
‘Really? I didn’t hear the slightest movement in the bathroom.’ A timer in the kitchen pinged and he shrugged. ‘Anyway, looks like you’ve lost track of time. You’ve got five minutes to get into your pyjamas.’
But Elena was already walking down. She stopped, a few steps above him. ‘Love that sparkly top and its beading. Bit over the top, though, isn’t it, for a night in?’
‘Not at all! The gold goes well with the black jeans I’m wearing today. At least one of us is dressing up for dinner.’
Elena rolled her eyes.
‘It’s lovely and cool if I’m frying. I’d have been boiling in that jumper I wore to the office.’ He ran a hand over the beading and stared over her shoulder for a moment. ‘Don’t save anything for best, I say, because you end up never wearing it. ’
Elena couldn’t help admiring how the sparkly metallic top hung on him as if he were a Vogue fashion model. Whistling, he went into the kitchen, with a natural strut that would beguile the audience of any catwalk show. The doorbell rang. Elena pulled a puzzled face and slid across the bolts. She opened the door and faced an elderly man with a grey beard, beaming with the perfect flash of white that only dentures provided.
‘Tahoor? Everything all right? What on earth has brought you out in this rain? Come on in,’ she said and gestured with her hand, heart sinking a little. What did he want?
Tahoor strode in looking pleased with himself, raindrops pelting down now. He pulled off his hood and rubbed his hands together.
‘I’ve come round to introduce myself to your young man,’ he said and beamed. ‘Held off as long as I could, with my darling Isha’s voice ringing in my head, telling me I was being a nosy old so-and-so. Yet she would be so happy for you, my dear. And for me. My prayers have been answered. This cul-de-sac is distinctly lacking when it comes to men. Finally one moves in!’ He clapped his hands.
He had a point. Most of the cul-de-sac was home to women like Elena. Cherry, over the road, had got divorced and stayed put with the children. Beth had bought her long-term partner out, after they split. Whereas Julie and Sandra married each other last year. There were Deidre and Ivy too – they’d lost their husbands within months of each other. Tahoor really was outnumbered.
‘Where is he?’ Tahoor hissed. ‘So glad that you’re finally one step closer to marriage, what with your big three-o approaching.’
‘We’re not… Rory and I are definitely not… And in any case, I?—’
‘Nice to meet you, Tahoor,’ said Rory, having thrown down the tea towel, and hurried over, catching the end of their conversation. He put an arm around Elena and gave her a smacker of a kiss.
She gave Rory a glare as pointed as one of the kitchen knives. His eyes had filled with mischief and Elena braced herself, waiting for talk of weddings and honeymoons. Or comments from Tahoor about how the time was now nearing when she could finally leave her job and have children. She’d given up explaining that she’d still had many ambitions for her career. However, he’d gone very quiet and was pulling at his beard, eyeing Rory up and down. He’d pinned his hair back, whilst cooking, with one of Elena’s hair grips, and Tahoor studied the flimsy sparkly top and compass bracelet.
‘Oh…’ The old man cleared his throat. ‘My mistake. I thought you two youngsters… Jolly good. I went to Julie and Sandra’s engagement party, you know. I’m all for… Hurrah the BLT community.’
‘It’s LGBT,’ mumbled Elena, and she bit the insides of her cheeks, praying she wouldn’t catch Rory’s gaze again.
‘BLT stands for bacon, lettuce and tomato,’ said Rory in a controlled voice.
No… Elena, couldn’t hold it in. Rory was trying not to laugh as well.
Tahoor rubbed his forehead. ‘I suppose that means you and Elena aren’t…’
‘No, we’re not. But not because I’m gay. I’m as straight as Elena’s parking.’
‘Gosh. Super straight then. It’s just that top, it reminded me of my late wife’s gold sari that she wore to our daughter’s wedding. Very nice,’ said Tahoor. ‘So, Rory, m’laddo, are you watching the football at eight? City versus Liverpool. Go the Blues! It’s so long since I’ve had company during a match. No one in my daughter’s family is a fan. I used to watch with a married friend. He’d come over with his wife, and she and Isha would catch up on each other’s news and cook. But I don’t see him so much now that I’m not part of a couple.’ Sadness had crept into his voice with those last words.
‘Oh, Rory adores football and would like nothing more than watching men kick a ball around for ninety minutes,’ said Elena smoothly. ‘Please. Do stay and watch with him.’ Rory stood next to her looking as if he wished he’d poisoned the stir-fry. Tahoor’s face had sprung to life. Her chest pinched slightly. Perhaps she should have done more since his wife died in the spring. She’d taken his daughter Yalina’s number, agreeing to act as a go-between in emergencies, and Elena went round once a week, to check he was okay. But she’d never actually invited him in for a drink, despite lovely Isha often insisting she went into theirs for her homemade cardamom tea cake.
It would be fine, him staying for the match. She’d have no regrets over this, despite his attitude to her career and insistence that it must be terrible for her having to work until a man gave her a ring and got her pregnant. ‘A fizzy drink, Tahoor? Or juice? Coffee? Have you eaten? Rory, do take his coat…’
‘Thanks, my dear. I won’t get in the way. You get on with your housework or cooking, whatever you were doing. Right, after you, Rory, and let’s hope we’re not subjected to any of those bloomin’ woman commentators…’