Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
MAISIE
“I would love to have a vulva hanging from my ears.”
“That’s not a vagina, Mabel, it’s a calla lily. Where are your glasses?”
“That’s an excellent question.”
Maisie stood by, trying not to laugh at the small congregation bent over her phone. Vera had praised her earrings loudly enough for the whole room to hear, which led to half of the women flocking to ask about her business. She’d scrolled through photos of her jewellery collections for the last five minutes with the ladies oooing and ahhing.
“Do you think that you could make some that look like this?” Mabel passed her hand over the pattern of roses on her frilly blouse.
“I could absolutely make some custom pieces for you, Mabel.” Maisie jumped at the chance. “Anything that you’d like.”
“Well then take a photo, dearie, you’ve got yourself a customer.”
Maisie fought with herself to contain her excitement, turning on her phone’s camera to capture the print on Mabel’s blouse. The roses would look perfect as earrings on white teardrops, or an arched window shape. She could make a matching pendant for a necklace, too.
Nine in the evening, and Vera’s birthday party was still going strong (even if the music had been turned down slightly for the sake of the neighbours). Maisie had restarted the colourful disco ball video on Vera’s smart TV twice; her nain may have turned seventy-one and be technologically illiterate, but there was nothing that would stop her from kitting out her living room for a movie night that rivalled the cinema; and she was certain that she’d heard the current Tina Turner track playing from the sound bar three times already.
An array of party foods and a line of empty bottles of gin and wine filled the dining table. Strings of tissue confetti littered all over the carpet and sofas that had, like the table, been pushed aside. Maisie already knew she’d have to come over early in the morning before work to help tidy all of this up, cursing in advance whoever decided to bring party poppers.
This group of pensioners partied harder than she and her own friends did. She was sure someone had taken a nap on Vera’s bed, since the sheets were wrinkled when she’d gone up to close the curtains. At least, she hoped that’s what had gone on up there. It was hard to tell who slipped from the main room and who didn’t.
She finished taking her photos and checked them over.
“He’s waiting for you, honey,” Mabel hushed.
Maisie forgot for a second who Mabel could’ve been talking about. But then she felt it: the tingle of awareness skittering across the nape of her neck that made her draw herself up taller.
Step one in the plan that she’d made for herself was to convince the elders that she had a crush, which wasn’t too difficult to make believe when that feeling had been there for weeks. Turning her chin to her shoulder, she didn’t need to force the blush to her cheeks when she found who she searched for across the room.
Sipping his drink, Iain leant his shoulder against the door to the coat cupboard, watching her over the rim of his glass with eyes that caused a zing to travel down her spine. He certainly was good at playing his role in their dating ruse, because the fizzle of attraction that swam through Maisie felt very real. She’d have to get used to it if they were going to pull this off.
“Excuse me.” She turned back to the ladies, one of whom giggled as Maisie walked away, straining to hear what was mumbled between them before their voices were out of reach of her ears, and her hands within reach of Iain.
Play it cool.
She guided her fingers to his waist, resting on hard muscle that was so unusual to her senses.
Too cool, too soon.
Abort.
Maisie ripped her hand away, flattening the thin fabric of her dress over her soft stomach. They weren’t supposed to be all touchy-feely yet. Or maybe they were? Maisie had no clue where they stood on publicly displaying this fake affection. She needed a drink. Maybe two? Something to cool the fuzzy, heated bubbling inside of her. It was just nerves, worry that someone might see through their facade.
Iain rolled the rim of his glass against his lips.
“You don’t need to look so possessive,” she hushed, knowing full well that everyone in the room behind her would be focussed on them.
“We’re playing a game, aren’t we?” Iain answered equally as low. “One I mean for us to win.”
“Well it’s working. I’ve only had a couple of questions about having a boyfriend, which is ninety percent less than normal. And no one’s found some way to get us alone together yet.”
His chest rumbled an answer.
Maisie was too warm inside. Vera’s freezer called to her to open the door and press herself up against it.
She noted the emptiness of the glass in Iain’s hand and asked, “Can I get you another drink?” Partly for an excuse to leave the room to someplace cooler.
“Something soft, diolch .”
“Tonic without gin?”
“That’ll do.”
She led him into the kitchen that’d been abandoned for the dance floor, a couple of men taking a break outside the window.
“I don’t know how anyone can drink it straight,” Maisie said, grabbing another can of tonic water from the box in the fridge, “but Nain apparently forgot to buy lemonade.” She picked a fresh glass from the few she’d managed to rinse and poured.
Iain glanced at the wooden clock on the wall. “I can stay another half an hour, then I need to go back for Ted.”
“I should go soon, too. Those lot might not have to work tomorrow, but we do.” Maisie handed Iain the fizzing glass, the bitter scent of quinine strengthening with every pop.
“I’m going to walk you home, and it’ll make things obvious,” he said.
“What things?”
Iain levelled her with a look like she’d told a joke that landed wrong, staring at her for long enough that she remembered, yet again, how none of this was real.
“Oh. Riiiight .”
Maisie swivelled back to the fridge to get herself a can before she overheated in this dress. The house was stuffy, windows fogged up from all of the dancing in the other room, and the great big elephant between the lines of this conversation didn’t help either.
She took another highball from the drying rack and cracked open the cold can, leaning her stomach into the counter.
“Is it okay if I touch you?”
Her hand slipped as she poured, eyes bulging.
What kind of question was that? One that felt like foreplay to a night her body thought would end in that way. But Iain didn’t mean it like that … right?
Maisie pulled herself together before she spilled any more of the sticky liquid.
“What kind of touching?” The race of her pulse made her voice uneven, but at least Iain couldn’t see the crimson on her face.
“Nothing I wouldn’t do on a first date,” he answered.
“Your first dates sound pretty boring, then.” The jibe slipped out of her before Maisie could think better of it.
Clicks on the tiles said Iain stepped in closer behind her, so close that the air became thicker – difficult to breathe. His glass clinked on the counter as his arms straightened on either side of her.
“Do I have your permission or not?” he asked. The heat of his voice skimming along her jaw made the tiny hairs on the back of Maisie’s neck rise.
Cold condensation rolled down her palm.
She gulped. “Yes.”
She was so touch-starved that he could do whatever he liked and she wouldn’t complain. She couldn’t count how many times she’d cried herself to sleep at night because she just wished to be held. To have arms around her holding her tight. To feel someone’s touch that wasn’t her own.
It was almost a curse to be so alone but to want someone so desperately.
“Good.” Iain picked up his drink. “I’ll see you in there. You look like you need a moment.”
Maisie’s mouth hung wide as she whipped her face across her shoulder.
He clinked his glass to hers, toasting “ Iechyd da ? * ” before wandering off.
True to her word and feeling the pull of sleep, Maisie curled her hand gently around Vera’s arm half an hour later. “ Nain ? Nain , I’m going to go,” she said, having to lean in to be heard over the music.
Vera’s eyes rounded. “Go?”
“I have to work tomorrow. I’ll come by early to clean up some of the mess in here.”
“Oh don’t worry, sweetie. Ronnie is staying the night. He’ll help me.”
Maisie didn’t like the sound of the two of them having to tip the house upside down by themselves to get it cleaned. The gin stain on the rug would take time on hands and knees to come out completely.
“If you’re sure?” she ventured.
“I’m sure.” Vera patted her hand then closed her fingers around Maisie’s. “Wait, before you go, I have something for you.”
“It’s your birthday, Nain. ”
“It’s upstairs.”
Which is how Maisie found herself being guided through the dance floor of pensioners to the staircase.
Iain stepped into her path, still leaving room for her to pass. “I thought we were leaving?”
‘We’ sent a shock of something through Maisie’s system.
Her palm not held by Vera’s landed on his forearm when she leaned in. “ Nain just wants to show me something.” His eyes had watched her lips but Maisie quickly convinced herself it was just so he could be sure of what she’d said in this ruckus. Seriously, it was like a nightclub in here.
He nodded. “I’ll wait here.”
Vera had the strangest look of giddiness and pride on her face when they set off up the staircase, and Maisie couldn’t help but feel a fraction humiliated about the meddling plot that’d been unfurling right under their noses.
Iain had been by her side for the last half of the night, nursing his glass and watching the party around him whilst she was drawn into half-drunken conversations about this and that. She’d tried to get him to dance, too, but it was a feat with no reward.
The way he’d asked for permission to touch her was pantie-ruiningly hot, though the request had been unfulfilled so far since that moment in the kitchen. He’d chosen to caress her with his eyes instead, which didn’t entirely make sense when his brow was always taut with stress.
It’s all for the plan.
Another step up the darkened stairs.
It is all for the plan.
Vera looked back over her shoulder, a not-so-subtle smirk on her rouge-painted lips. “Going somewhere?”
It took Maisie a second too long to realise she referred to Iain’s ‘waiting’ comment. “He’s walking me home.”
“Good man.”
There she went, blushing again. She needn’t have bothered with the pink make-up tonight when her face supplied enough of the colour.
“Just watch your step, please. You already have one broken wrist.”
Vera turned the upstairs landing ahead of her. “If you want to kiss him on your doorstep, then I say good for you,” she hushed for no reason when there was no one up here to hear. And why would she finally lower her voice now ?
“We haven’t had an actual date yet, Nain ,” Maisie said, slowing by the myriad of family photos on the wall. “No one is kissing anyone.”
“Well that’s a shame. What are you waiting for? I’m not getting any younger – I’d love to see another grandchild married before I pass.”
Maisie’s focus snapped to her nain’s slim form retreating into her bedroom, and her worry that something was wrong spiked again. She wished Vera wouldn’t say things like that. Twice in one day she’d brought up the fact that she was still alive, and twice Maisie’s heart had lurched.
This is why you’re here.
Feeling the urge to finally say something, she took a deep breath, preparing for the worst, then entered to find Vera elbow deep in her tall set of drawers.
Beside the bed sat an old-fashioned, open leather weekend bag with a man’s items peeking out. Maisie guessed it wasn’t odd that Ronnie would have clothes here, especially if he would be staying the night. Maybe several nights given the volume of socks balled up on top of Vera’s laundry hamper.
The music from downstairs drummed through the walls in a dull hum. Now was as good a time as Maisie was going to get to bring up those morbid comments. “ Nain , could we talk about?—”
“Here, I found this when I was moving around some things in the attic earlier?—”
“What were you doing in the attic?”
“—and it’s for you.”
Maisie took the envelope that Vera offered – a thick one made of fancy paper you’d expect to find an equally fancy invitation in. The slight yellow discolouration said it’d once been white, but it had her name written on the front in a scrawl that felt familiar. She unstuck the fold and gently pulled out the card from inside: a single sheet like a postcard. When she turned it over, she immediately recognised where the image was of, but it wasn’t a photograph. The watercolour-painted picture of Aberystwyth’s beach and the pier was gorgeous. So delicate. Maisie edged closer to the light of the bedside lamp that Vera had turned on, reading the neatly written black ink beneath the painting.
If you ever miss home,
find your way to the water.
The familiar handwriting made her chest constrict one rib at a time.
“Did … did Taid do this?” The rush of nostalgic emotion that swept from her heart wasn’t what she expected to feel tonight.
“Your grandfather loved painting the ocean,” Vera said fondly, her eyes misty. “You probably won’t remember, but he used to take you up to the beach. You with your paper and pencils, and him with his sketch pads and watercolours. Your brothers were never interested, but you were.”
“I remember him walking up to the water with a cup and coming back with it.” The happy memory made Maisie’s eyes sting.
“For the paints.” Vera brushed her fingertip along the edge of the card that’d been living in the attic for upwards of fifteen years now. “It had your name, Moo Moo. You should keep it.”
“I will.” Maisie’s voice went thick. “Thank you, Nain .”
“You’re welcome. Now off you go. You don’t want to keep Iain waiting.”
With the postcard clutched to her chest, Maisie headed back downstairs. Iain stood exactly where she’d left him, like a guard dog not wanting to leave his post. He must’ve heard her steps because he turned his head, met her eyes, then concern washed over his features.
“You alright?” he asked calmly enough to not draw attention.
“Yes.” Maisie wiped under her eye, probably smearing away her concealer in the process. “Are you ready to go?”
The look he gave her was like he wanted to take her back upstairs to where it was quiet and sit her down until he found out what was wrong, yet Maisie didn’t give him a chance. She moved for the coat cupboard under the stairs to retrieve her jacket, but Iain held out his arm, and there it was, looped over his forearm already.
“Oh. Thank you.” He helped her into it one sleeve at a time, and Maisie kissed her grandma goodbye. “Have a good night, Nain .”
“You too, Moo Moo.” Vera flicked her eyes at Iain with no veil over the insinuation behind them.
Briefly, Maisie said goodbye to the others and then Iain escorted her out. His hand met her lower back on the way through the front door, and her body reignited with the all-encompassing feeling of what it was like to be caressed. Every one of his fingers spread across her spine were each a single reminder of what she missed.
So that’s what he’d meant about touching, she thought.
“Don’t look, but there are ten faces pressed up against the window,” Iain uttered, stepping out with her into the night.
Maisie snorted. “We should’ve seen this plan of theirs sooner.”
* ? Cheers