He was extremely good-looking. Laidback, intense. Deep brown eyes and an unruly mass of black curls. Dark pronounced eyebrows. The shadow of a beard. The first time he looked her in the eye she got all wobbly. The sudden urge to touch this total stranger made her feel uneasy. And that was even before she'd tasted the alcohol. She cupped her glass with both hands so that they wouldn't go astray.
He spoke with a warm Irish accent. She had to make an effort to absorb his words – his voice was too distracting. She wondered what it was that was so familiar about him, when the only Irish people she knew intimately were the ones she'd heard on the hours of tape she had to struggle through for her thesis. All pensioners now, or dead. And she knew more about them than was healthy.
She briefly thought of the disappointment she'd felt when most of the subjects she studied turned out to be ordinary and sometimes unattractive people. Not consistent with the romantic view she'd had of them while first reading their poetry. Whereas he looked every bit the type.
She met him at Mel's party. Melanie, or Mel as she preferred to be called these days, had been dating her brother Declan when one day - now three years ago – he was stabbed to death after a drink in the pub. Since then she and Mel had remained friends. Something her parents couldn't understand. They'd never approved of Mel in the first place.
The party was Mel's birthday party, and he was an old friend of hers. At least that's how Mel introduced him. 'Mel and I go back a long way', he'd confirmed. He'd been abroad for some years, Mel explained. Which is why she'd never met him at one of Mel's social occasions before.
His name was Mitchell, and she guessed he was about five years older than she. There was something serious and very grown up in his eyes. As if he'd been through a lot. The idea made her hands twitch again. I'm not going to touch him, she told herself. Not now. But who knows?
She was still young, but there was something old and sad about her. As if life hadn't been kind to her. Her name was Lily. He liked that name. It was his cousin's name. This is all wrong, he thought. He shouldn't have consented when Mel suggested it. If only Lily knew. There was something mean about the way Mel had befriended the sister of a man she'd killed. But he owed Mel.
There had been a time when Mel hadn't been cruel. When she'd been human. A wild girl with a generous heart. And he'd taken that away from her. What worried him most was how quick she'd changed. How grateful she'd been. He'd erased every bit of humanity from her, and now it had come to this.
'No one's going to miss her. Her social life consists mainly of listening to tapes of old men nattering, and her parents haven't had eyes for her since their favourite child died. And she knows that they'd trade her for her brother if only they could. Anyway, there's something quite wrong about her. Do you know how many of my parties she's been to? Loads. And she still hasn't got a clue. Stupid cow.'
He didn't think stupid was the right word at all. He could tell from the way she talked that she was clever, thought things through. A little naïve maybe, but was that such a negative thing?
He could see she was a bit nervous. The way she held her glass and moved it to and fro on the tabletop, how now and again she bit her lip, somewhat distracted. He wondered whether that was because she thought him scary or attractive.
'So - how did you and Mel met?' she asked, and finished her drink. He'd hardly touched his.
'How I met Mel?' he asked in return, a puzzled look in his eyes. She watched his hands. He was wearing sleeveless woollen gloves. Did he work outdoors? He looked strong enough.
He scratched his head. 'We – had this thing. Way back, I mean. We're just friends now.'
His answer came as a surprise. 'Did you ever meet Declan? My brother? He and Mel – you know.' Was it the wrong thing to say? What if Declan hadn't been Mel's only boyfriend at the time of his death? But he shook his head.
'No, I didn't. I've been abroad, you see. And me and Mel, well, that was years ago.'
She didn't find his answer completely satisfactory. She figured out he and Mel must've been childhood sweethearts, which she would hardly call 'a thing'.'You two were at school together?' Did she sound too inquisitive? She noticed he didn't answer straight away. He took a big gulp of beer and nodded. Somehow she wasn't sure he was telling the truth.
'D'you want me to get you another drink?' he asked. The look on her face worried him. Maybe it would be the sensible thing to leave now, but he found he didn't really want to. He was angry at himself for letting his cover slip.
Years ago – what a transparent lie. Mel was twenty-three – well, of course she wasn't, but that was what she would make people believe. Mel had told him Lily's brother Declan had been dead for three years, and he and Mel had been together for some time before that.
'Okay.' She said.
He smiled at her reassuringly.
She watched how he picked up the drinks. He came back with two full glasses and a small platter of stuffed olives. It hadn't taken him long to convince her to leave the party with him. 'These are really good.' He said as he placed the olives in front of her.
'No garlic I hope? I hate garlic.' She said, to his surprise.
He grinned. 'Definitely no garlic.' He sat down opposite her, rested his elbows on the tabletop and raised his glass. 'Cheers.'
'Cheers.'
Things were back to normal. On the surface. He relaxed. 'Tell me about your brother.' He said.
She wondered why it was so easy to confide in him. She heard herself telling him things about Declan and the way her parents favoured him, she only ever told a couple of close friends. She watched him chew on the olives and tried not to stare at the drop of olive oil that clung to the corner of his mouth. She wondered whether he was a good kisser. When he smiled his mouth grew bigger.
'I don't think I like your parents very much.' He said.
'Yeah, well, they did lose their son, you know.'
'Sounds like they wish it had been you, dying, instead of him. Why was he more special than you are?'
She could feel he meant it. It made her feel very warm inside.
'I'm lousy at soccer.' She said. She'd just explained to him how Declan had almost made it into the selection for the first team. Not just any soccer club. He grinned. 'Wait till you see me play soccer.'
About an hour later the pub closed, and she had to decide how the rest of her night would develop. Things seemed promising. She now knew for certain she wanted this gorgeous stranger. Which was funny, cause she usually didn't have much time for boyfriends, let alone for sex. To be honest sex had always been somewhat of a disappointment to her.
They were standing outside the pub, lingering.
'How old are you, Lily?' he asked.
'Twenty.'
He raised his dark eyebrows. 'How come you're writing a thesis?'
She shrugged. 'I suppose I got the brains, whereas Declan got the legs.' She sounded almost apologetic.
'You're wrong there.' He said, and looked at her. 'You've definitely got the legs.'
That was the moment she invited him home for a coffee.
She had a small living room with an open plan kitchen and an even smaller bedroom. He asked if he could use her bathroom. That was tiny as well. He splashed some water on his face and rubbed his eyes. He opened the cabinet behind the mirror. The usual shampoo, deodorant, soap and painkillers, and an enormous supply of first aid articles. Cotton wool, band aids, bandages in all sizes, the lot. Enough stock for the dispensary of an average emergency room.
Odd. She didn't act like she was a hypochondriac or over protective. And she wasn't a doctor. He almost overlooked the small bottle of pills at the back of the top shelf. The label had her name on it. He recognised the name of the medicine.
He leant against the wash basin. The bottle slipped from his hand. He took a deep breath. Bloody hell. She must be suffering from some sort of blood disorder. Coagulation problems. He counted to ten, put the bottle back in place and flushed the toilet.
She was busy making coffee when he returned to her living room. Was it possible she'd literally meant coffee when she'd asked him inside? But the way she looked at him put his mind to rest.
Now that she'd invited him in and had offered him a mug of coffee, she was confused. What if he'd only meant to come in for a coffee? When she refilled the mugs it occurred to her that that while she'd already told him most of her life story, he'd managed to stay very vague about himself. She didn't think he was shy. '
Tell me something about you.' She said and sat down next to him. Their fingers touched when he took the mug from her, and carefully put it down.
' I will. Later.' He said.
'She's nice.' He thought while he kissed her. He wondered whether Mel knew about the blood disease. And if so, what the hell did she want from him? Too close. Her heartbeat was too loud. He had difficulty staying gentle. The thought of the blood flowing through her veins made him feel dizzy.
He stopped kissing her and withdrew from her.
'What's wrong?' she asked, confused.
'Nothing.' He leant back against the armrest of the sofa and watched her.
He sent out conflicting signals. She didn't understand why he'd stopped kissing her, when he'd started kissing in the first place. Didn't he like the way she kissed? She felt disappointed, but also relieved. She didn't know why. The brown in his eyes had grown darker now, almost blackish. For a moment he looked worried; then he smiled at her.
' You're funny.' He said.
'Why?' She sounded more snappy than she'd intended, but he kept smiling. With his thumb he traced the line of her cheekbone.
'Maybe you should go.' She said, even though the feeling of his hand on her skin felt good.
He nodded. 'Yeah. Maybe I should.'
Before she knew it he'd ruffled her hair and left. She remained standing in the doorway of her now empty house for a long time.
