Chapter 25
Lesson 24: Be careful whom you limp in front of, unless you want to be put down.
Reading List: Persuasion by Jane Austen (read and reread)
Bridget Jones Tally:
moments of uncontrollable arousal— 2 , 1
We went to see the Bodleian Library in the morning, which was essentially a Gothic castle in the middle of Oxford that was
built in the Middle Ages, housing thirteen million books and encompassing rooms upon rooms upon glorious rooms of books to
read and research in. This included Duke Humfrey’s Library: a low-lit medieval masterpiece carved and painted, ceiling to
floorboards, and filled with leather-bound books, like something that had sprung from the pages of a fantasy novel. My mind
swam thinking who might have sat in that room over the centuries and what they might have read. Robbie led us on the tour,
and as always, enlivened centuries of historical information with fascinating asides and witty jokes.
Then we went to Merton College, which can be traced back to the 1260s—a year, not an address!—and where J. R. R. Tolkien was a professor. Here we got to visit Merton’s library, a small, wood-paneled, barrel-ceilinged room with ancient celestial globes and archaic books attached to their shelves with old chains, as if someone wanted to prevent them from wandering off or attacking the guests.
To cap it off, we went for lunch at the Eagle and Child, a small, dark pub where the Inklings, a literary group that included Tolkien and C. S. Lewis, used to meet to discuss mysterious bookish things. How lucky was I
to sip a pint with my butt in a seat that might once have supported Tolkien’s butt? I wiggled a little, thrilled by the notion.
I was also happy to take the weight off my ankle, which had begun to throb with the day’s exertions. I knew that I had overdone
it on my nocturnal escapade, with the heels and the long walks through the streets and meadows. But I never liked to be the
one at fault, so I decided it was probably gout.
Tristan turned up for a drink to say a quick goodbye to us before we set off for Bath. Is it possible that he has somehow beautified overnight? I, on the other hand, was back in my less-than-clean hobo muumuu and shuffled like something out of The Walking Dead .
Robbie said something and sat staring at me expectantly. He looked over his shoulder and spotted Tristan, and suddenly his
tone sharpened.
“Hmm? What’s that?”
“Well, actually, I asked you what things you needed to buy so that we could make a game plan for the shopping excursion. But
you don’t seem to be listening, or even the least bit interested in replacing your sewage suits.”
“I was just zoning out. I’ve got a lot on my mind. You wouldn’t understand. The only activity in your brain is the tumbleweed
rolling around.”
“Oh, I think it’s abundantly clear to us all just what variety of thoughts are tumbling around in your mind.” He kept his voice quiet enough to not be overheard, but I felt my face flush nonetheless. “Would you like a bib?”
I just hate him so much! Why was I so soft on him last night? Late-night insanity.
“Oh, shut up. You’re the one who needs a bib, you big baby!”
Before he could say some other stupid annoying thing, I got up and hobbled full-speed over to Tristan to catch him before
our time was up.
“Hey.”
I hoped the one word would carry more than its weight.
“Hey.” He had a sad half smile on his lips. “I hate to go, but I just wanted to duck my head in. I know you ladies need to
get a head start if you’ve got to drive all the way to Bath today.”
“Oh, it’s only an hour and a half away. That’s nothing by American standards. I’ve driven further than that for french fries.”
He smiled. “I suppose it’s not that far.” He ran a hand through his hair and it fell back into his eyes. “Well, Bath is a
lovely city. I’m sure you’ll really like it.”
“Thank you for last night. It was incredible. I feel like I would have missed so much of Oxford if you hadn’t shown it to
me.”
“No, no. I’m the one who’s grateful. I haven’t had that much fun in months.” He blushed slightly, probably fearing how the
admission made him sound. “So I’ll be moving this July. Would it be alright if I kept in touch? Maybe I’ll be dropping by
DC sometime.”
“Of course!” I laughed. How could he have felt he needed to ask? “And let me know if you need any information, or if there’s
anything I can help with. I’d be happy to show you around Boston. I think you’re going to like it!”
“I think I will too.” His eyes glistened. “I hope I see you soon, Alice.” He leaned in and kissed me softly on the cheek.
The brush of his lips on my skin reminded me of our kiss the night before, and I felt my face pinken.
I turned away just in time to catch Robbie in midscowl.
Jackass.
I felt like Catherine Morland in Bath. It was a sweet, white wedding cake of a city: perfectly measured and planned, tiered
and decorated with a careful, restrained Georgian hand. I wandered around, bright-eyed and happy, snapping shots of all the
beautiful views. I would have swung my bonnet by its ribbons if I’d had one. So many of my favorite books and movies had been
set in Bath that it felt like meeting an old pen pal for the first time: someone you had grown to know intimately over the
years, but hadn’t the chance to see with your own eyes.
After a whistle-stop tour that took us to the Roman Baths, the breathtaking Royal Crescent (where I had seen a breathless
Sally Hawkins run countless times in search of her Captain Wentworth), and Jane Austen’s House museum (where we dressed in
period costume and giggled our pantaloons off), we meandered our way to one of the oldest houses in Bath—Sally Lunn’s, circa
1482—for their famous Sally Lunn bun.
Afterward Robbie was to meet with Rosie, who was now supposedly back in tip-top condition (sarcasm) and trade back the more
modern (nameless) replacement bus (that had pooped all over my things). The other ladies were to doddle about town soaking
up the charming ambiance, while I, after four days of wearing the same abominable ensemble—clothes that I hoped never to see
again, clothes that by now could probably stand unaided and waltz themselves down to the Roman Baths—would finally be able
to shop for a few new things.
I decided that the first place to start would be the charity shops. Doris had suggested it, and I had to admit it did sound much more sensible than buying a brand-new wardrobe. I was delighted to find that British charity shops were small and curated—rather unlike American industrial-barn-size Goodwills—and each one provided funds to a different charity, so you could feel good about your purchases.
The first two shops yielded nothing more than a nice plaid scarf and a plain black top, despite trying on several different
items. Unfortunately, I was beginning to remember just how tiring shopping could be. I wished for what was probably the first
time in my entire life that I had not brought my camera with me, as it was like a millstone around my neck. My ankle was really
killing me in earnest now, and I dreamed wistfully of being in the filthy bowels of a Walmart, where I might take a leisurely
ride on a motorized shopping cart from which I would select a variety of one-size-fits-all attire.
The shopping was taking rather longer than expected, particularly when each step sent little slivers of pain crackling up
my leg. I didn’t think I was being all that choosy, but I promised myself that I would succeed in purchasing something that didn’t present me to the British public at large as an awkward teenage boy in a training bra nor a lumpy Amish schoolmarm
with body odor.
After about an hour and a half and three different shops, Robbie happened upon me lumbering to my next stop. He hung up the
phone and made his way over.
“You’re limping worse than Doris.” I was taken aback by his accusatory tone. “What have you done to yourself?”
“Well, all I’m saying is that Bath could do with a few more escalators, maybe a people mover here and there.”
It wasn’t a great joke, but I expected to get a chuckle, or at the very least a grudging smirk. Instead his face looked annoyed,
and he ignored my flippancy altogether.
“So you’re just going to continue making it worse? Is that the plan?”
With the pain in my ankle, and now a headache that was beginning to throb, I didn’t also need a pain in my ass. Usually, his jibes and harassment were at least partially good-natured, but his mood since the morning had been unaccountably sour.
“Well, I’m disappointed to have to explain this to you, but to exist within the culturally mandated social norms of the region,
I am expected to wear clothing to cover my body, and I don’t think that there will be any luck retrieving my poop suits from
London at this juncture, so yes, I am compelled to shop,” I replied haughtily. “Shop until I drop, if I must, though I feel
very unfortunate at having been forced to say such a thing out loud.” I hoped that I was irritating him at least as much as
was irritating me. I hoped that I was the gritty, impossible-to-fish-out eggshell in his bite of omelet.
“You’re going to end up back in hospital, and we’ve wasted enough time on this tour as it is without another trip to see the
doctor.”
“Well, honestly, Robbie, what are you expecting me to do? Shall I just wear this hideous dress every day until it fuses to
my body or dissipates in the wind?”
“Never one for drama, are we, Alice? There are other alternatives, obviously. For a start, I’m going to get your crutches
from the bus, so you can take some of the weight off that ankle.”
“But how am I supposed to shop with crutches? It’s difficult enough as it is. Then there’s my camera, and the shopping bags
to carry...”
“Then I’ll come along and help. I can help carry stuff, and we can use the bus for longer distances.” It was nice, but the
way he said it didn’t make it sound very generous.
“Thanks, but I already have enough trouble without adding a cranky Scottish pack mule to my list.”
He frowned at that. “Do you have a better plan?”
“Hmm. Oh, I don’t know. Go about my business and look after myself like a grown woman? That usually works just fine.” I heaped
on the sass, and it made me feel better. I didn’t need looking after. A sore ankle never killed anyone ( except for maybe unfortunates who got gangrene, or those multitudes of Victorian explorers who went to the Amazon and never came back ).
I didn’t like the way this made me feel. I was the person who looked after other people, not the one who needed looking after.
It was embarrassing that on more than one occasion I had needed Robbie’s help so far on this this trip, and even Helena’s.
“No, Alice Cooper, if it was working just fine, then you wouldn’t be limping around Bath like a horse that needed to be shot.
If you won’t look after yourself, then I’ll do it for you. So unless you’ve got a better idea, then I’m coming along.”
Normal Robbie could be tolerable, probably even fun to shop with, but today’s sour mood would render him insufferable. “Where
are you headed next?” he asked, shutting down the debate portion of our conversation. I looked sideways at him, my mouth ready
to make some excuse. “You’re not getting out of this one, so don’t even try. I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you
there if I have to.”
Some small, repugnant part of myself did a cartwheel as I looked up into his stormy face. It was sexy, moody, intense. My
mind tumbled headfirst into a vivid image of him throwing me over his shoulder and carrying me off to the bus.
He had sat next to me on the bench, close enough that I could see browns and reds in his dark stubble as the light hit it.
The sudden jolt of his proximity confirmed that, despite my evening with Tristan, something still stirred in my chest for
Robbie... and probably elsewhere.
His eyes rolled over my face like a thunderstorm. I couldn’t help it—my gaze lingered on his lips, wanting to feel the scrape
of his stubble on my neck, salty skin, pulses racing, the heat of his mouth on mine, biting, demanding, and insistent. I imagined
a public display on this little bench in the very proper and refined center of Bath.
The kiss we had shared had been so electrifying that I hadn’t been able to stop playing it over and over in my mind since it had happened. I was a junkie for the little butterflies it sent fluttering in the pit of my stomach. Even now that I had been kissed well by another man, Robbie’s kiss was something that I couldn’t let go of, no matter how much I had tried. It had been more alive somehow, hungrier. And I hungered back. I involuntarily sucked in my bottom lip, wishing there was still some part of the kiss left to taste. I looked up into his blue eyes, and I saw it there too—it was unsettling him. I knew what he was thinking. We didn’t need language anymore.
“Well, I’ve got to pee.”
Okay—I guess not.
“I’ll find a loo on the way back to the bus, grab your crutches, and meet you here in ten minutes.” He turned his head and
looked at me a little askance. “Why don’t you grab a coffee from that café while you’re waiting for me? You look a bit rough.”
Well, that’s just great.
“Alright,” I said. “You win.” My voice crackled out in a husky rasp like a phone sex operator, and I felt my face flush with
the embarrassment of my fantasizing.
“Alice?” he said in a fatherly tone. “Are you going to be sick?”
God. Is that what my aroused face looks like? Nausea?
“No.” I used my bratty teenager voice.
“Alright then. If you’re sure.” He stood to go. Then, with no half measure of annoyance, he said, “I know you had a late one
last night, but do try to stay awake, would you?”
He left me there alone on the cold bench, wishing I could vigorously slap myself about the face without drawing too much attention.