Boldness be my friend.
December Thirteenth.
Belle.
Luisa asked yesterday if I’ll have Marsha for a few more hours today, not having finished all the Christmas prep she had planned to do whilst child-free yesterday. I’m so keen and with the weather obliging overnight I have the perfect day planned for the two of us. We just need to get a wriggle on before the heat of the sun starts to melt the snow.
I still haven’t fully processed how I feel about dancing with Rory yesterday, how I had to break the spell when I heard that woman saying we were Marsha’s mummy and daddy to squawk that we weren’t. Dancing with Rory, seeing the sinews in his forearms, the way the hair was sprinkled lightly up his arm, had made me feel a bit dizzy. A little bit too lustful for a celibate Saturday afternoon. And way too intimate for my head to be able to cope with. I’m fine being friends with Rory, I’m enjoying it, even. But being that close, that’s a step towards a world that isn’t going to work for me. The sheer Christmassyness of yesterday had caught me up and made me a little light-headed. Today I know that even the teensiest crush is not to be indulged.
I’m taking my vow of self-respect and celibacy very seriously; a lifetime of dating twats means I absolutely do not want to engage with anyone sexually again unless it’s meaningful and the start of a happy, healthy adult relationship. I’m done with sleeping with men who have zero respect or consideration for me, and so far I seem to have failed to find any other type. My sexual judgement has proved itself time and time again to be seriously flawed.
Having said that, I don’t want a relationship, not a long-term do-everything-together type of thing, matching anoraks on hallway hooks and so on. I can’t begin to imagine how claustrophobic that would be. And certainly not with Rory, who is not my type – even though I recognise I need to break that type thing – but I wouldn’t know what to do with a decent man. I’d be on tenterhooks the whole time, worrying that he would go off me real quick rather thanwishingthey would go off me real quick as I am used to. It would get way too stressful.
More importantly I am not his type. I can barely drag a brush through my hair most days and by no stretch of the imagination can I be considered well groomed. I’m not grubby or anything,obviouslyI shower every day – right now I smell like daisies, that’s how good I’ve got with early mornings – I just really can’t be arsed with that whole manicure, pedicure, regular hair appointments and matching underwear shite. Not really. I’d rather be comfortable and spend my spare time reading. One only has to look at my mother to see being impeccably groomed does not automatically bring happiness. And Rory, as Jessica was testament to, is a man fond of immaculate grooming. He himself is faultless.
Plus there’s the Australia thing, that would mean leaving Marsha behind, twenty-three hours on a plane away rather than fifteen minutes in a car. Nah. Not in a million years could anyone take me away from that girl. She is the vessel into which I pour all my love. I sometimes wonder if I overstep but Luisa doesn’t seem to object. It’s just that I know Luisa and Remi – as adoring as they are – are busy, successful, a little bit like Rory. And as the daughter of a busy and successful man I know what it’s like to be overlooked and I am never, never going to allow that to happen to Marsha. I am staying by her side until she is an adult and only backing off when she needs me to.
I realise I am getting carried away and remind myself of the pertinent facts of the case: it’s not about whether I could cope with his lifestyle and the expectations that it would bring. A move to Australia, hah! Getting ahead of myself much? Rory will never ever fancy me, and neither should he. He has seen me at my absolute worst. He has seen me vomiting in the corner at parties, he has reminded me of my lack of practical use in emergency situations, like the day of the flat tyre, he has seen where I come from, the chaos and dysfunction that make up my genes. There is no way in this world someone as responsible, as aware of reputation as Rory is could ever, would ever consider me romantically. And I do not need that hammered home any further than it is by looking at him doe-eyed until he gets embarrassed and imposes distance. I am so much better off staying pressure-free and single. I am so much better off not devoting any energy to even thinking about this. I am so much better off not embarrassing the new friend I have made with this nonsense. And selfishly, selfishly I am far better off protecting myself from the inevitable rejection.
All this is running through my mind as I’m strapping Marsha into her car seat and as if she is some freaky mini mind-reader and saboteur she asks, ‘Is Rory coming?’
‘No, I don’t think so. Just you and I.’
‘Why not?’ she persists. And I admit it does feel weird going to do something Christmassy without him. It’s funny how quickly you can get used to something new. It won’t hurt to ask, I suppose. I’m hardly going to try and sleep with him this afternoon. I can rein in any leftover lust from yesterday and I would love to see him doing what we are about to do. I pull my phone out of my pocket as I slide into the driver’s seat. Half of me doesn’t expect him to answer, so I nearly drop the phone when he does. His voice is a little bit sleepy, and sexy with it. Damn. I can hardly hang up now.
‘Hey. Sorry to ring so early but Marsha and I are off to do something fun. We’ve got the best day planned. It’s not often we get this opportunity and … um … she … I … wondered if you’d want to join us. But it’s early, and I imagine you’ve probably got plans so…’
‘Okay. That sounds cool. Shall I come meet you?’ sexy sleepy voice murmurs.
Oh shit. Okay, this is fine. It will be good. Good training not to act on lustful instinct. To be new, not-sexually-available Belle. I need to learn to manage crushes when someone is nice to me. It may happen again one day. This will be good for me. I can embed trying not to fancy him. Form new neural pathways and reinforce them with steel.
‘No, no. We’re in the car and we’re going on a magical mystery tour. Our destination is not that far from you so we’ll whisk by. Probably be with you in about half an hour.’
‘Perfect.’
‘Okay … um … wrap up warm. And wear old clothes!’ I say, though I bet he doesn’t have any old clothes. This can serve as a good reminder of why we would not be well-suited.
‘On it! See you in a bit.’
Okay then. He’s coming. Marsha cheers and I make a firm resolution to avoid any scenario that could prompt further daydreams.
We speed through the back lanes to Bath. My body is so used to early mornings now it isn’t fazed by the fact that it isn’t even eight. I feel well rested and alert.
We pull up outside his house, a beautiful Georgian townhouse in the middle of Bath, and I send a message to say we’re here. I want to get moving before the roads get busy, the snow melts, or loads of people have the same idea as me and ruin the crisp virginity of the snow.
Rory comes out of his house looking dozy but gives me a heavy-lidded half smile that does weird things to my tummy. Balls. This man is so gorgeous and he is my friend. Seeing him in the flesh puts paid to all my ‘I can’t have a crush’ nonsense. He issupercute first thing in the morning.
‘Hey. Morning.’ He slides into the car and smiles a hello. Marsha waves frantically at him and then pops her headphones back on to listen to her audiobook.
‘I can’t believe there’s even more Christmas stuff to do.’ He rolls his eyes and faux groans.
‘This is the best, promise. Although those clothes don’t look particularly old.’ I give him a stern glare whilst feeling a little smug inside.
‘The oldest I’ve got with me.’
‘Hmm, I’ve got a hoodie that’s probably big enough in the boot and some trackies you can borrow too.’
‘You want me to borrow your clothes?’
