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Chapter 3 – January 1st

When Elsie wakes there's an incessant banging in her head and the world seems to be spinning on a separate axis to the one she's inhabiting. She opens her mouth, licks her lips and stretches her legs.

Behind her she can feel a body pressed against hers, a man's body, that's for sure, going on the very prominent erection jabbing her in the back. A man. Charles.

She rolls forward, enough so she can lie on her back and look at him. He's sleeping, and snoring, and looks content and she doesn't want to disturb him.

As she shuffles forward he flops onto his back, his snoring gets louder as a result and she smiles at him as she gets out of bed and scoots around searching for her clothes.

It is 10:45 and she needs a shower, and to brush her teeth, and a cup of tea.

His flat looks different in the daylight, more spacious and tastefully decorated – wooden floors throughout, pale colours, dark wood furniture; she approves. She wanders around for a minute or two from hall to lounge to kitchen and then back to the hall seeking the bathroom. She wouldn't usually use somebody's facilities without asking permission but she doubts he'll mind, and besides she doesn't want to wake him.

She's impressed by the attention to detail in the bathroom; matching towels, a basket with different types of lotions and products, face cloths rolled up on a shelf on the wall. There's even a plant in there, most men struggle to refill the toilet roll let alone take care of a bathroom plant.

When she's clean and refreshed some fifteen minutes later she uses the mouthwash on the shelf to rinse, far too much gin the night before and her teeth feel like they're rotting away, and dresses in last night's clothes – thank god she only wore jeans and a blouse, she doesn't look too overdressed for the morning-after journey home.

Opening the bathroom door she realises Charles is no longer asleep. She can see down the hall to his bedroom and the door is open, the sheets folded back. She can hear him in the kitchen and she runs a hand through her damp hair to try and add some volume – she's without make-up and people can look very different in the sober light of day.

"Good morning," she says lightly from the door.

"Ah, morning. I'm making tea." He says, spooning leaves into a pot.

"Real tea, I appreciate that." She steps into the kitchen, the window is open and she moves to stand by it, grateful of the cool air. "Hope you don't mind that I used your shower."

"Course not. Can't believe we slept all that time."

"It was after three when I last looked at the clock." She leans against the counter watching him slice fruit bread. "I slept well though. My head feels a bit dull, I suspect from the amount of units I consumed."

He opens a cabinet and takes out a small tub of pills, "Here. Help yourself to water."

"Thank you."

Somehow she finds herself sitting at his kitchen table eating fruit toast and drinking tea until almost midday, until he catches her looking at the clock and sits back, folding his arms.

"You have plans today?"

"I… I have to nip to the supermarket actually, and yes, I have friends coming over this afternoon. I'm meant to be cooking."

"You don't like to cook?"

"I don't mind it, I just don't do it very often, I'm always so busy. How about you?"

"More so now than ever before in my life."

"I guess you dined on the finer things during your travels."

He nods, "A-ha, but then I was so busy I was racing around everywhere, up and down stairs. Now I sit in an office a lot, hence this." He pats his stomach.

"You look fine," she smiles, "perfectly fine. And you make a good cup of tea."

"Count for a lot that, does it?" He gets to his feet before she has to answer. "I best let you get on with your day."

"Do you have the number of a local taxi service?"

"I can drive you home."

"Oh you don't have to."

"I'd like to. I don't mind." He shoves his hands into his pockets. "I was just going to go for a walk today, clear the cobwebs, you know. I can run you home."

"Thank you. I appreciate that." She places a hand to the base of her neck, "I think I had something on."

"You did." He swallows, remembering his hand on her breast as she took the chain off and laid it on his bedside table. "I'll go get it," he offers.

Her house isn't far, perhaps a fifteen-minute drive. They have a mutual moan about the rain and the state of the flooding around the country as he drives; Charles shares with her stories of storms from when he worked abroad and before he's ready to do so he's pulled up out outside her house.

"This is it, home." She says, reaching into the backseat for her handbag.

"Looks nice. You've extended?" He says, noting the section above the garage.

"My company runs from here, that bit," she waves her hand at it. "I converted the garage."

"Of course you did," he smiles, remembering what she said from last night.

"It's cheaper than hiring offices. And I don't have to walk far when I finish late."

He nods, things seem awkward now, and it had all been so easy until now. He stares down the street at the rain hammering down.

"Your walk looks scuppered." She observes.

"It does," he shrugs, "I'll find an old film to watch. Stay warm."

"Good plan."

"Enjoy your time with your friends."

"Thank you." She leans forward, kisses his cheek, "happy new year, Charles. Thank you for a lovely night."

He does nothing but smile in return, hands clutching the steering wheel, but as she's opening the car door he suddenly stops her with a hand on her back.

"Wait. Your number, I don't have your number."

She sits back, smiling enigmatically at him. "Oh?"

"I'd like to call you, take you out to dinner sometime." He feels incredibly nervous asking; if she says no he'll feel like shit for the rest of the day. The rest of the week. He really likes her, and he suspects she likes him, but then he's been known to misread situations.

She shuts the door and holds her hand out, "Where's your phone?"

He digs in his jacket pocket, handing it across and watching as she adds herself to his contacts.

"There you go."

"Thanks."

"And now I really do have to go." She squeezes his arm, "Sorry."

"It's fine. Bye."

"Bye." She shuts the car door and he watches as she runs up the drive to her porch. He glances to his phone and the number she's entered, wondering how long it's polite to leave it before he makes a date with her. 07782… he laughs suddenly, looking toward the house she's just entered, she's put her number under the name One Night Stand. He's not sure if she means that ironically or not but he leaves it, it's made him smile, she's made him smile and he likes her style. She's sassy. Independent. And, he suspects, challenging.

Unfolding her legs and shifting to her knees Elsie groaned as her back creaked.

"What you been getting up to?" Beryl asked, watching her across the table.

"Nothing. Just sat in a funny angle." She feels Isobel staring at her and rolls her eyes, "Just deal the cards Beryl."

"Not still shagging that young lad, are you?"

"He's hardly seventeen."

"In his thirties, isn't he?" Isobel adds, refilling all of their glasses.

"He's Anna's age, it's not that far from mine."

Beryl chuckles, "Yeah, you tell yourself that."

"Oh piss off, I haven't seen him in four months anyhow." She takes her glass from Isobel, taking a large gulp of wine.

"What we talking about?"

"That young thing Elsie was shagging."

"I wish you'd stop saying that, Beryl." She snatches her cards.

"Tom?" Anna sits on the floor beside Elsie. "He was a fine looking, don't blame you."

"It's fine and dandy for an older man to have a young woman but when an older woman does the same…" Elsie said, waving her glass about. "She's called an old slapper."

"How many men you slept with in the past year?" Beryl asked pointedly. "I'll start – one, my husband. Anna?"

"Oh fuck… how embarrassing," she leant against Elsie's side, "four, I think."

"You think…" Beryl tutted. "Isobel?" She asked, pointing at her. "Come on. Honesty."

"One," Isobel says, her eyes closed.

"Ah! One!" Beryl is excitable and on her knees now. "Please tell us it's that handsome Doctor that's hankered after you for years."

"We saw that nod," Anna laughs, "Yes! Confirmation!"

"Don't you go telling a soul, we're taking it slowly. It's very awkward, what with him working at the surgery and…" she smiles.

"Oh love, you like him?" Beryl says, touching Isobel's arm softly.

"Maybe. But let's move on… Elsie, how many for you?"

"Three." She says confidently. "Just three."

"Slow year for you, honey," Beryl teases.

"Bugger off. I'm getting older, things have slowed down in that department."

"You can still sit on men's knees though," Isobel quipped.

"Oh?" Beryl drawled, "Whose knee?"

"Nothing. Shut up. I didn't 'sit' on his knee, I was pushed onto his knee."

"And I bet he rather enjoyed it." Anna smiled, laying down her bet for the game. "You're the hottest one out of us four."

"I resent that," Beryl said, throwing in her bet. "You have no idea what I can do in the bedroom."

"Oh god, I don't think we want to know." Elsie teased, taking another drink of her wine.

"That's true Bez, but if anyone asked me to play cruise, shag and marry out of you three, I know how I'd vote." Anna proclaimed.

"Go on, the big reveal." Elsie laughed.

"I'm too old for this." Isobel sat back, crossing her legs.

"Well, I'd marry Beryl for sure because you two can't cook for shit."

"Ha!" Beryl high-fived Anna over the table.

"I'd cruise with Isobel because she speaks four languages and has the best table manners."

"True." Beryl agreed.

"And I'd shag the hell out of Els because I bet she's a right goer in the bedroom."

"And doesn't mind if you don't call her after!" Beryl said and all of the women laughed.

"Bitches." Elsie huffed, refilling their glasses again as her doorbell sounded.

"You order food?" Isobel asked.

"Nope. Probably my bloody neighbour again, his kids keep throwing their football over my fence."

She got to her feet; stumbling over the pillows they were sitting on as she made her way towards the hall.

"Drunken old fool," Beryl chuckled.

"Greetings!" Elsie sang as she swung open the front door.

"Hello." Charles said amused.

"Oh?" She gripped the door, standing straight. "Hello."

"Sorry, I thought…" he was holding a bunch of red roses, the rain pouring behind him. "I'm sorry, I thought you'd be free."

"It's… come in…" she stepped back from the door, "you're getting soaked."

"Sorry."

"Stop saying that, I'll get you a towel, you are soaked."

"Charles?" Isobel asked as she came out of the lounge.

He hid the roses behind his back, suddenly feeling very foolish, very cliché.

"What are you doing here?" She was smiling broadly, a glass of wine in one hand, casting sly looks towards Elsie as she made her way down towards them.

"I erm thought she said she had friends this afternoon, not evening. I got confused."

Elsie folded her arms across her chest, "They came over five, that's still afternoon."

His shoulders sagged, he'd annoyed her. "Look I'm sorry, I didn't mean to barge in and interrupt this…"

"Don't be silly," Isobel touched his arm, "get your coat off, come and have a drink with four inebriated women. I'll get you a glass." She pushed past Elsie, deliberately elbowing her in the side as she did so.

"I've made a fool of myself," he said to her, handing the flowers across.

She exhaled slowly, then smiled, he was terribly sweet, "The flowers were a nice thought," she leant in to kiss his cheek. "Thank you. Why don't you go dry yourself off in the bathroom and I'll put these in water."

"Yeah," he nodded, feeling nervous all of a sudden. Funny how none of his propriety training was kicking in.

"There's a downstairs bathroom just along there," she pointed down the short hall, "last door."

"Thanks."

In the kitchen Isobel was waiting, a vase on the side and a new bottle of wine waiting to join them in the lounge.

"I bloody knew you'd gone home with him," she whispered.

"Don't start. It wasn't planned, just happened."

"He's a nice man."

"I'm not so blind that I don't realise that." She was haphazardly sticking the roses into the vase until Isobel took them from her and took over. "Look, I didn't know he was going to turn up here tonight, I thought it was just a one-off thing, you know, drunken New Year's Eve – which I haven't done in a very long time so don't moan at me."

"Was he one of your three?"

"What?"

"You said you slept with three men last year, was he one of them?"

Elsie nodded, "Though technically I slept with him after midnight, didn't I? Forgot that. So, two last year and he's my first of this!" She said. "See, that's not many. Good for me – is that what you're about to say?"

Isobel shook her head, "You know I've never judged you. I love you. You're wonderful. And screw what people think, you're single, you have no children, no ties, you do what you like, I get that. I support that."

"But?"

"But… be nice to him."

"When am I mean?"

"You're not mean, you're just…" Isobel stopped and stared at her friend. "You're lovely, you really are Els. And he's a nice man."

"Stop saying that."

"I'm saying it because it's about time you had someone nice."

"All of my men are nice! Tom was hardly nasty."

"No, but you went out with him on occasion and had sex, that's not a relationship – it's company."

"Oh you and your 'relationships', they aren't all they're cracked up to be."

"Maybe give it…" they paused as someone coughed discreetly outside the door.

"Sorry, I ur, I didn't want to just wander in there…"

"Lion's den," Isobel smiled. She picked up the bottle of wine and the extra glass. "Nice flowers, Charles." She said as she passed him at the door, glaring at Elsie as she walked away.

"Have I caused issues?"

"No." Elsie snapped, then her voice softened, "No. Not you. I'm the issue. As usual." She looked at the flowers again; Isobel had done a good job.

"Do you want me to go?"

"No, I don't want you to go. Come on, let's go have a drink and win money off the others at cards."

"I'm rubbish at cards, I can't bluff."

She squeezed his arm as she passed him, "I can."

He remains on the sofa long after the women have gone. Silently watching as Elsie clears the table and rearranges her lounge: the cards are packed away in the drawer beneath the coffee table; oversized pillows are stacked along the sofas and lipstick stained glasses are placed in the dishwasher.

When she returns to the lounge he's staring up at her expectantly, hands resting on his knees.

She sighs heavily, leaning against the doorframe, "I'm knackered."

"You're beautiful."

She rolls her eyes, "I'm an old soak, apparently." She laughs rubbing her forehead; she's used to being the butt of her friend's jokes about promiscuity, but for some reason it stung tonight.

"I don't think so."

She finally turns her full attention to him, "So. You were at a loose end on New Year's Day?"

"New Year's Day evening really."

"Oh, we're being specific."

"I'm sorry if I embarrassed you."

"I'm not embarrassed. I wasn't. I've done worse, believe me."

"Worse than sleep with an old codger like me, you mean?"

"I didn't say that." She stepped towards him, bending in front of him, placing her hands on top of his. "Please don't beat yourself up over me, I'm not worth it."

He swallowed, licked his lips nervously as he looked at her hands on his, "The thing is, I couldn't stop thinking about you."

"Don't –,"

"I mean it. I sound foolish saying it, but I mean it. I thought about you all day – and I'm not saying that to… I mean, I don't want you to feel uncomfortable. It was just," he shrugged, "just how it was. And I was sitting there tonight in my empty flat thinking of you and just wondering why I couldn't just call, so I did, but it went to voicemail and then I started to think 'well, maybe go over' and I suppose I sort of convinced myself to do just that."

"Oh," she said softly, staring at him, he looked so forlorn. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"You don't have to say anything. I've been rejected before."

"I'm not rejecting you. You haven't asked me anything – I mean, we haven't, we're just… we just spent the night together, one night, and it was pretty fantastic and I think that's why you thought of me all day. Nothing more."

"Maybe. I don't know. I have been on my own a lot, it was nice to have some company."

She smiled, biting down on her lip.

"Oh, I didn't meant to make that sound like you were just…"

"Shut up." She got back up to her feet. "Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"Bed. It's late and I'm tired and I'm guessing that's half the reason you came over."

"I wasn't presuming…" He started to say.

"No. Of course not." She rolled her eyes.

She stepped back as he got to his feet, his knees creaking as he did so.

"Just how tall are you?" She asked, hands on hips as she looked up at him.

"Not sure, 6.1, 6.2, shrinking probably. Used to seem taller."

"Charles, really. I'm 5, 5 and clearly a midget next to you. In fact I bet," she stepped forward, pressing her chest against his. "Look, you can rest your chin on my head."

"You're a little bit crazy, aren't you?"

"I prefer to think of myself as 'special'." She stepped back again when his hands rested on her hips and he laughed warmly.

"You're still beautiful."

"You don't have to flatter me. I'm not that kind of woman."

"Oh, I know that."

"Do you?" she pursed her lips, "How?"

"Intuition. You don't suffer fools."

"As Eddie Izzard would say, 'who does?'" She laughed at herself.

"I have no idea what that means."

"Never mind." She was still chuckling.

"Two days ago I didn't even know you existed."

"And the world was a better, simpler place?" She laughed again, taking hold of his hand. "Don't make things complicated, Charles."

"I over complicate most things."

She chewed lip again, "Simple things are usually better."

She stepped away from him, switching off the main lights in the lounge, "So, are you coming up or not because I'm suddenly so tired I could sleep standing up?"

Somehow, there was something different this time. Barely twenty-four hours later. Where the previous night they'd both been very drunk and uninhibited because of it, tonight they were almost shy, and tender because of that.

Her bedroom was spacious and light, filled with the crisp darkness of January. The sharp edges the month brought, the endless hours, the loneliness seeping out of every pore.

And these two people, in their fifties and alone and used to it and accepting of it. The product of an endless January.

When she rolled onto her back he moves gracefully over her, slow and gentle, finding something in her he's searched for his entire life but is too scared to admit. He's hankered so long after a love he thought had been cruelly snatched from him by his friend that he can't quite allow himself to step over the line and into the oblivion she seems to be offering him.

For her, this is a moment of weakness in her usual manicured and organised life. She doesn't share easily. She doesn't give in without a fight – at anything. And yet here she is, inviting him into her bed, willingly parting her legs for him, wrapping herself around him – arms, legs – her mouth never leaving his.

And their bodies are so in-tune already. So still. Everything is still. It seeps inside their trembling limbs bringing tranquillity. It's something neither has known.

He stretches his hand out above hers on the pillow, seeking something. And she reaches for his, folding her fingers with his as she feels her body climax beneath his, calling his name where last night she simply moaned her pleasure.

He's adorning her chest with kisses, and she feels lucid and fine as he does so.

When he finally moves from her, reluctantly, despite the late hour and his tired body, she shifts onto her side facing him on the pillow.

"Hello," he whispers.

Her eyes are closed but she's smiling and she indulges him. "Hello."

"You don't like this," he observes, his voice light, playful.

"What?"

"Sharing your bed."

"True."

"Which side?"

"Which side where?"

"Which side do you prefer, so I don't impose, make you uncomfortable, interrupt your sleep."

"You're teasing me."

"Role reversal from last night."

"Mmm. I like the side I'm on, but I usually face the other way."

"Okay. I won't take offence when you turn your back on me."

She chuckles into the pillow.

"Unless you'd prefer me to dress and leave, scuttle out in the early hours of the morning, in the rain…"

"Shut up. Go to sleep."

He smiles, watching her for a moment, "Have dinner with me," he finally says, his arm is above her head on the pillow and he tangles his fingers into the ends of her hair.

"Now?"

"You know what I mean. Let me take you out."

"I won't be here for a while."

"Oh?" He feels his stomach drop.

"I'm thinking of branching out, buying properties near other popular universities."

"So, you're going to look at them?"

"Yes. I'm driving to Liverpool tomorrow." She opens her eyes, blinks in the darkness. "Could be gone three weeks, maybe less, maybe more, depends how it goes and what I see. I'm going to take the opportunity to visit friends as I'm travelling about."

"Oh." He says again, crestfallen. "Can I call you?"

She frowns, "Whilst I'm away?"

"Well, yes."

"Why would you want to?"

"Why do you think?" He chuckles, "to chat to you. I have rather enjoyed talking to you, Elsie, as well as… all this."

"All this." She teases, imitating his voice.

"Okay, okay, I'm an idiot. But you seem surprised by that, that I'd want to talk to you."

"I'm just... Let's say I'm not used to it, I can't think what we'd have to say to each other."

"You'll tell me about your trip and the properties you've seen –,"

"And you'll be interested in that?"

"Of course, because you are."

That simple statement catches her off guard and she feels her chest tighten. This is so quick. So unexpected. She keeps thinking of Isobel's warning to be nice and she wonders if she's quite cut out for thinking of somebody else.

"I'm not going to smother you, if that's what you're worried about." He says, as if reading her mind. "I just want to get to know you. More than this."

"More than this…" she repeats again, closing her eyes.

"Yes. Although this, of course, has been quite a wonderful start."

She smirks, "Oh, I'm sure."

"What if I just text?" He feels excited, almost jubilant, at the fact he's getting to spend a second night with her. At he fact he's spent the majority of the first day of the year with her.

"Charles…" she groans, feeling exhausted.

"Just this, then I'll sleep, I promise. I'm not much of a texter but I can, I'm just slow. I could text instead of calling, not too intrusive."

She burrows down in the pillow, "Yes. Texting is fine. Calling will be okay."

"Will you call me?"

"When?"

"When you get home? So we can arrange dinner."

She's almost asleep, falling forward against his chest. "Yes. I'll call."