Chapter 18 #2
I turn to look at her properly for a moment while we’re at traffic lights, and a shot of some strong emotion that I can’t quite identify courses through me.
I look back at the road ahead and say, ‘Did you get a great night’s sleep?’
‘Yeah, no, it was too short. Someone really annoyingly kept me up late.’
‘Really annoyingly?’ I enquire.
‘Yeah. He just kept on kissing me. And other stuff. And it kept me up late.’
‘Wow, that sounds terrible.’
‘Well, yes, I’m tired now.’ She does a stage yawn, and then says, her tone cheeky, ‘It was good though.’
‘It was?’
‘Well… I thought it was.’
I laugh. ‘Me too. I thought it was amazing.’ I can’t think of another time in my life when I would have had a one-night stand with someone (who I previously disliked) and then admit to them what a great night it was for me.
Maybe… maybe it wasn’t a one-night stand.
I mean, we’re here in the car together and I’m loving being with her, and she seemed pretty happy to get a lift even though just getting the train would have been more straightforward and probably quicker.
I’d really like to see her again.
I’d really like to go on an actual date with her, I realise.
I’m not going to mention that now, though. I’m going to enjoy this journey, just chatting, just the two of us, with no threat of Sonja popping out of a bush or a camera zooming in on us.
‘It’s such a relief to be away from Sonja,’ Freya says.
‘Wow, it’s like you read my mind. I was just thinking that.’
‘Yeah, I am, obviously, psychic. But also I think maybe anyone in our position would be ecstatic to get away from there.’
I laugh. ‘Very true.’
We chat idly and the journey passes very quickly. Too quickly.
Freya suggests that I drop her near her house, because she lives on a one-way street and it’s several extra minutes of driving to get right to her front door.
I insist on taking her to her front door.
‘Obviously it’s incredibly arduous having to spend another few minutes with you,’ I say, ‘but I’m willing to take that hit in recognition of the fact that you’ve had a tiring weekend.
Plus it’s raining really heavily. And I have no plans for this evening.
So I’m genuinely really happy to. Unless you actively don’t want me to? ’
‘If you’re sure I would actually be very grateful. I’m tired. And not totally up for getting soaking wet right now.’
‘Very sure.’
Freya’s house is a very well-kept-looking terraced cottage painted in a pale shade of green.
‘This is lovely,’ I say, as I manoeuvre into the space outside.
‘Thank you.’ She turns to look at me and says, ‘Would you like to come in for coffee?’
‘I…’ Yes. I would. I really would. But only if she does actually want me to.
‘It’s been a long journey,’ she says. ‘You might want a little break. But also you might want to get back. I’d love to make you a coffee. It’s the least I can do. But also I totally understand if you have other things to do this evening.’
‘I’d love a coffee.’
‘Great!’ Her voice has gone a little squeaky. I’m feeling a little… something, I’m not sure what… myself.
‘The rain’s died down a bit so maybe we should take our chances now.’ I get out of the car and walk round to the boot to get her case out.
Her house is as inviting inside as outside.
There’s a little hall area, with the stairs ahead, and a loo and what looks like a small study behind that, and to the right an open-plan kitchen/ living room.
It’s all painted in neutral colours, with wooden floors and lime green, purple and bright pink velvet furniture and nice paintings on the walls.
A couple of minutes later, she has a coffee machine whirring away and I’m legs-stretched-out on her (extremely comfortable) big, squishy corner sofa.
‘How long have you lived here?’ I ask as she comes over and sits on the sofa, nearish to me but not near enough for us to touch without one of us getting up and purposely moving closer.
‘Five years. It was a stretch to buy it, so I’ve done all the decorating myself, and have loved buying the cheapest kitchen and bathroom fittings I could find and trying to make them look as good as possible.’
‘It looks fantastic. I love all your creativity,’ I tell her. ‘I wouldn’t know where to start.’
She shakes her head. ‘I’m sure you would if you really wanted to; maybe it’s just that you aren’t into that stuff.’
‘Yeah, no. Yes, I’ve always been far too busy, but even if I hadn’t been I clearly don’t have your talent. The cooking and baking, the interior design. And obviously your writing.’
‘Ha.’ Freya’s doing her unable-to-receive-a-compliment-comfortably thing again. ‘You have no idea whether I have a talent for writing. For all you know my books are genuinely terrible.’
‘Okay, I have to own up here.’ I’m wincing slightly because I feel that I should have mentioned this before. Although in my defence I really, really did not expect yesterday to end the way it did, and today has been busy. And we’re both tired.
‘Own up?’
‘I read a couple of your books.’
‘Oh my goodness.’ Freya’s hands go to her face and she covers her eyes for a moment. ‘Er, which ones and what did you think? And when? And why?’
‘At the beginning of the challenge. Because…’ This actually does feel a little awkward.
‘Because you wanted to… get to know my writing?’
‘Kind of.’ I wince again. ‘Okay. Full disclosure. We obviously don’t agree on certain things.
Like happily-ever-afters. I developed a theory.
’ I’m beginning to think I really shouldn’t have started down this path.
I don’t like how her eyes are narrowing slightly.
Hard to know how I’m going to extricate myself now though without telling her the whole thing.
‘Theory?’ Freya prompts, eyes still somewhat narrowed.
‘Yes, so…’ I don’t want to say it, I decide.
It just sounds rude. ‘I mean, it was silly. And, as it turned out, entirely incorrect. And the salient point is that I loved your books. Entirely – as you know – despite myself. I couldn’t put the first one down, from the first page.
Loved it. Loved the writing, the characterisation, the humour, everything. Same with the second. And the third.’
‘Three! Which ones?’
‘I can’t actually remember the titles. But I do remember the stories.’ I begin to list them, and realise that I’ve gone way beyond three. ‘Yeah, okay. I think I read seven in total. Couldn’t put them down.’
‘Wow. Thank you. I am actually very honoured, given your expressed views.’
‘Yeah, I was wrong.’
Freya suddenly narrows her eyes again. ‘So you said that you read the books to get to know my writing better, but when you read them and liked them you still really disliked me.’
‘Well, kind of,’ I concede. ‘Because I didn’t really know you at all, did I? Just what you wrote.’
‘I feel like this doesn’t make sense. Why did you even want to get to know my writing?
When you disliked me so much? It must have been so you could beat me in the challenge?
’ She pauses, frowning, and, just as I’m floundering for a good answer, gasps.
‘Ohhhhh. Were you trying to get to know my heroes better so you could find someone similar?’
‘Might have been.’ I’m really not sure how Freya’s going to take this.
‘Hmm. What did you conclude?’ she asks. Slightly frostily.
‘They were all great but all different so it was a pointless exercise but I kept reading because I loved your writing and your stories.’
‘Oh! Well, fair enough.’ She smiles at me, and it feels like the tension in the room has suddenly defused. ‘We were after all in competition. Did you buy all the books?’
‘Yep.’
‘Did it annoy you that you were adding to my sales?’
‘Of course.’
She laughs. ‘Pleased to hear it.’
‘Did you do any research on me to find out my type?’ I immediately regret my question, because the tension’s right back.
Obviously, if she did any research on me she would have found out about my ex-wife.
Who I do not wish to talk about. Also, this conversation is straying into the realms of weirdness and over-analysis, given that last night we were very much each other’s types.
‘A little.’ She pushes herself off the sofa. ‘I think the coffee will be more than ready.’
And, yes, that was a very wise subject change.
That was all too weird. In fact, I should probably leave. Maybe we can meet up another time, when this conversation is safely well behind us.
I have to stay and drink the coffee, though, or I’m creating more awkwardness where there shouldn’t be any.
‘How do you like your coffee?’ Freya calls.
‘Black, please.’
She brings a plate of macarons with the coffee and says, ‘No pressure, but home-made by me a couple of days ago.’
‘Worked your fingers to the bone, blood, sweat, tears but definitely no pressure?’ As I take one, I can’t help wondering how many people she has back here, given the large number of macarons, and whether any of them are men. I shock myself by feeling, maybe, a little jealousy at that thought.
‘Exactly.’ Freya takes one too and I find myself ridiculously turned on by watching her bite delicately into it. She looks up and catches me watching and nearly chokes.
I leap up to whack her on the back, or even go full Heimlich, only to realise that she’s completely fine, saying, ‘Sorry, false alarm. I somehow forgot how to eat for a moment.’
And just like that, we’ve got over whatever awkwardness I stupidly created, and we’re talking again about anything and everything, other than the challenge.
‘It’s late,’ she says, a long time later, after we’ve talked and talked.
‘Way past dinnertime. Are you hungry? Can I get you something to eat? And for the avoidance of doubt I would like to eat now, and I have food in and can whip something up very quickly and would love you to stay and eat with me but equally totally understand if you’d like to go, so it’s entirely up to you. ’
‘I should go,’ I begin, not sure where the end of my sentence will finish… ‘But I’d love to stay,’ I find myself saying. ‘Hard to resist your cooking having tasted everything you’ve made me so far.’ And also, I’m loving her conversation and just being with her.
She makes us salmon teriyaki and noodles (with the teriyaki made quickly but properly, from scratch, not out of a jar, unlike any teriyaki that’s ever – rarely – been ‘made’ by me), accompanied by steamed pak choi, and – of course – it’s delicious.
When we’ve finished eating, she asks if I’d like a mint tea, and – of course – I say yes.
Our conversation continues to rove around all over the place, before we begin talking about driving and travel.
‘I had one driving lesson and hated it – and I might have had a small crash in which no-one was injured but which made my instructor swear a lot – and decided that when you live in London you can manage for life without a licence,’ she’s telling me as she brings our teas over to the sofa, where I’ve returned to digest my meal.
I laugh. ‘Yeah, you’re definitely right. I’m sure it would have been quicker to have taken the train to and from Devon this weekend. I just like driving.’
‘What’s the first car you owned?’ she asks.
As I tell her about the ancient VW Polo that was my pride and joy, and then we move on to talking about our first solo journeys abroad, I think about how, when she asked if I wanted to come in for coffee, I slightly imagined an immediate reprise of last night and wondered if we’d both be up for that (okay, I wondered if she would; I knew that I would), but we’ve just been talking for hours. And it’s been good. Very good.
And now it’s quite late. I’m sure Freya has work to do tomorrow, and I have an early meeting in the morning; I should go.
I place my mug on the coffee table in front of me and say, ‘This has been great. Thank you so much. It’s late; I should get going.’
‘It’s been lovely. Thank you for being a lovely dinner companion this evening.’
I stand up and Freya does too.
And then I walk over towards the hallway, and she comes with me.
And then I turn, and she’s a couple of feet away from me, standing there with her hands clasped lightly in front of her.
‘Thank you,’ I say again.
‘Nothing to thank me for. It’s been lovely. And thank you for the lift. And for being so amazing this weekend because Sonja did a spectacular job of forcing me to face my fears and it would have been so much harder without you there.’
‘Hey, no, it was all you. You were amazing.’
Freya laughs. ‘This is a stunning exchange of compliments for us.’
‘Yeah. Team-building. Maybe there’s something in it.’
‘Mmm.’
Freya’s smiling at me and I’m smiling at her, and neither of us is moving.
I see the way her chest moves as she takes a deep breath and her smile fades as she bites her bottom lip.
I should go home. We both have work to do tomorrow.
Also, we have diametrically opposed views on a lot of things, including romance, and for two people like us it would be so much better to leave things as one glorious one-night stand.
Freya moistens her lips.
I should really, really go now.
I take a step forward at the same time as she does, and then suddenly, I have her crushed against me, and we’re kissing like there’s no tomorrow.