She makes a ‘pah’ noise and shakes her head. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking, Jane, signing up to that dating app! The perverts out there, man, you wouldn’t believe it!’
I would. It’s one of the many reasons I don’t date. I try and keep my face straight at the thought of my eighty-four-year-old friend dealing with the pitfalls of internet dating, and decide that any scam artists out there would come off worse from the encounter.
‘I suppose you were thinking that it would be fun. That you might enjoy it. That you might even meet someone special.’
‘Maybe I did. But the timing isn’t right, and that’s that. Some things are outwith our control, and I don’t want to give anyone false hope.’
Timing? I think. Is she going to wait until she’s ninety so it’s a nice round number? Or is there more going on here? Sheseems so driven about getting the gallery up and running, but so dismissive of any longer-term goals.
Moira slaps her knees, and stands up. Subject closed. ‘Right. That’s me away. I need to deal with the old sots back in the pub, and anyway, the man himself is heading this way.’
I follow her nod, and see Rory striding along the sea-front path towards us. He waves and heads to join us. ‘Need a hand?’ he asks, as Moira takes a few hesitant steps on the soft sand, her feet sinking slightly. ‘Or maybe a piggyback? I could even stick you on my shoulders like we’re at Glastonbury if you like?’
She reaches up and slaps him across the head, not too gently. ‘Enough of your cheek, pup. I won’t say no to an arm to lean on, mind. What are you doing here anyway, thought you were working? Or did you run out of old microwave ovens to set on fire?’
He shrugs, and safely tucks her hand into the crook of his arm. He’s got a smudge of something dark across his face, maybe a streak of charcoal. He looks messy and wild and delicious. ‘Still planning,’ he replies. ‘And doing some drawings, bit of sorting. Thought I’d wander along and see if anybody needed a lift. I assumed you’d all be stocious by now.’
His eyes meet mine over Moira’s head as we walk, and he gives me a small smile. He doesn’t know that she knows, of course, and thinks he’s being all furtive.
‘Aye, plenty of them are,’ she tells him as we walk up the slipway and back onto the cobbles. ‘But Ginny’s on driving duties, so don’t you be worrying. You just take this young woman here back home. She needs a mug of cocoa and an early night. Unless you have anything better in mind, of course…’
She gives him a mischievous wink, and disappears off into the pub. As the door opens, the sound of laughter and song wafts out towards us. He raises a confused eyebrow, and I say: ‘She’s figured it out.’
‘Of course she has!’ he replies, laughing. ‘Not much gets past Moira… did you, uh, tell her everything?’
I feel a blush creeping over my cheeks. Did I tell her about almost going blind from all the orgasms? No, I did not. ‘Didn’t seem appropriate. Do you want to go in for a drink?’
He stands over me, the fading rays of sunlight glinting on his hair. Hair that I so enjoyed tangling my fingers into last night.
‘I don’t,’ he answers firmly.
‘Okay. Well, what do you want to do?’
‘I want to go home with you. I want to spend time with you. We could watch TV. We could cook. We could go for a walk. We could sit in silence and read or draw. We could go to bed, and I could make you come, over and over again.’
I gulp, bite my lip. The blush is now a raging inferno. ‘Well. That does sound nice. Especially the TV part. I thinkMastermindis on tonight.’
He pretends to be offended, holding his hands over his chest like I’ve broken his heart. He grins, and it feels like the sun on my skin. What am I doing here? Am I being brave, or am I being stupid? And am I being fair to him? I don’t think I am, and I need to be clear before this goes any further.
‘Rory,’ I say, before I can change my mind. ‘I… um, well, I don’t know what I want.’
He nods. ‘You’re not just talking about our plans for this evening are you, Jane?’
‘No. I’m not. Last night was pretty special. And it’s amazing, really, that any of this has happened – that we found each other again. That we discovered what really went on back then. Maybe it’s understandable that we’ve got a bit carried away, it’s all been so emotional. But I meant what I said – I can’t promise you anything. I’ve been treated badly myself in the past – not by you, that’s not what I mean! – and I’d never want to lead you on. Make you expect more than I can give.’
He gazes off at the horizon for a moment, his expression unreadable. ‘And what is it you can give?’
‘Well, that’s the issue – I don’t know. Moira keeps telling me to live the rainbow, but I don’t know if I’m ready for all that colour just yet. I’m maybe edging my way towards some warm pastels…’
He snorts out a little laugh, and some of the tension disappears from his body language. He runs his hands through his hair, and sighs. ‘Okay. I get it. Fair play. I know you’re being honest, and I’m not going to complain about that. Truthfully, I don’t know what I want either, and yeah, maybe I am getting a bit carried away. Look, how about this for a deal – neither of us expects anything from the other. We take it day by day, hour by hour even, and see how we feel? I know this isn’t permanent for you. I know you’ll be going back to your job and your life, it is what it is. What leave do you have left?’
The mention of work reminds me that I have to open that email that landed earlier. It was from the woman who runs the HR team. Maybe I’ve been fired, and I’ll have a lot more time on my hands for other fun and games…
‘Technically five days, a week including the weekend. I’m hoping to still be here for the visit from the grant people, and after that… Watford, here I come!’
I try and put some gusto into it, but it doesn’t really work. It’s not like I’m announcing my forthcoming pilgrimage to the temples of Tibet, or planning a high-roller casino trip to Monte Carlo.
‘Watford here you come,’ he repeats, shuddering slightly. ‘So. Stay with me until then. No pressure – you have your own room, you don’t have to share mine. But stay, and let’s see what happens. As Moira might say, let fate take the wheel.’
