Forgive her, she has her reasons...
Tuesday
Charles wakes late. A combination of the exertion of the past few days and the heat, he isn't used to such constantly fine weather.
He stretches his back, kicking his legs out across the bed, the sheets tangling with his feet. And then he remembers the previous night, and making love to her, never like that before… He swallows, closes his eyes replaying it all. How perfect. How overwhelming. How fitting for the end of such a good day. In fact, he thinks, it may well go down as one of the best days of his life – and he spent it with her.
"Els?" He says croakily but there's no response and he figures she must be in the shower or outside.
There's fresh mango juice on the side which is pretty much the only reason he gets out of bed. It's already warm and he pulls on a pair of shorts and pours a glass before opening the drapes. The brightness makes him blink hard and he stands by the open doors letting the morning wash over him as he drinks.
His back aches. His thighs ache. He wonders if Elsie feels the same.
There are already a couple of kids floating round the pool, their snorkels sticking in the air as they dive and search for whatever is they've thrown down there.
And then he spots her, at the far side of the water, sitting on the ledge there, half submerged.
He quickly finishes his drink, changes to swim trunks and pads barefoot across their patio and over to the pool, diving in then coming up splashing and slightly shocked at how cool it is.
He front crawls to where she sits, stopping directly in front of her legs and resting his hands on her knees. "Good morning," her right hand rests on her leg and he kisses her knuckles.
"Morning." She says gently, as if awoken from a sleep.
"You're up early."
"Or you're up late."
He chuckles, "Or that." He glances around the pool, "Getting a few lengths in whilst it's quiet?"
"I was hot and I couldn't sleep."
He looks properly at her face for the first time and she does look tired, pale, her eyes a little puffy. Her hair is tied up but he can't help but want to curl the damp, loose tendrils around his fingers.
He tugs on her legs, his hands sliding down below the water to cup her feet, "Want to race?" He says playfully. He wants to talk to her about last night, but the children are giggling and splashing and it doesn't seem the moment.
"You'll win." She says, curling her toes into his hand.
"Give you head start." His thumb brushes along the sole of her foot."Come on, loser buys breakfast."
She shakes her head ruefully, but slips down from the ledge, letting his arms support her body. "It's all inclusive."
He gives her bottom a quick squeeze beneath the water and then she slips from his grasp, treading water before flopping forward and bringing her arms up, pulling herself across the pool.
She can feel Charles by her side, he's going slowly, letting her win, and she feels annoyed by that. Her body feels heavy and she pauses, twisting in the water to float on her back, kicking her feet to propel herself – the splash hitting him in the face as she does so.
"Hey, is that cheating?"
She watches him for a moment, thinks how like a faithful puppy he is, she has a sudden spiteful need to prod him as a child might prod a bug with a stick. Inside she slaps herself for being so mean, that really isn't her, she's never been nasty or vindictive in her life.
"Els," he says gently, "What's wrong?"
She realises she must have been mulling, silent and broody, and she tries to smile at him. "Just end of holiday blues I guess."
"We still have a day and a half," he assures her, "Let's enjoy it."
She wraps herself in a towel and sits on the edge of a sun lounger watching him swim lengths. She can't quite figure out what's going on in her head, or her heart, and that numbness – yes, that's it, numb – is clouding her judgement. He hasn't done anything wrong, in fact he's been perfect, and they've had a perfect time. So what did it matter if he mumbled three words after a particularly intense lovemaking session? It didn't matter. It didn't have to. She could put it down to lust – most men got love and lust mixed up, that could be it.
Only it wasn't and she knew that. She'd known for a while now that his feelings for her had moved beyond casual dating, beyond friendship or even the bonds lovers form. She'd been foolish not to stop it, though she couldn't quite work out why she hadn't.
She felt a headache forming.
They ate breakfast in relative silence, she read the paper and drank strong tea, he had scrambled eggs and worried.
He'd done something wrong. He could feel it. Maybe he'd hurt her last night, been too forceful… But the way she'd moaned and held him, moved with him, he couldn't have hurt her.
Relationships were a minefield and just when he thought he was getting somewhere with them he got something wrong.
Maybe it was the earrings, perhaps he'd been wrong to splurge on such a gift for her. But then she'd bought him that tie. Maybe it wasn't him at all. Maybe she was just tired and sad for the end of their holiday drawing near. He certainly knew he didn't want it to end. He couldn't imagine not having her with him everyday now. Not seeing her every morning or cuddling her every night – and he never would have imagined himself a cuddler.
"You're not eating," he noted as she turned a page, her croissant left untouched.
"You can have it if you want," she said glancing over her glasses at him.
"It wasn't that, aren't you feeling well?"
She shrugged, "Just tired, I might try and sleep later."
She felt him brush her foot with his and was unsure if he'd done it on purpose or simply, searching for space for his long legs.
Folding the paper she finished her tea and sat forward, "Did you want to go anywhere today?"
"I'm happy to just relax in the sun." He shrugged. "We've had a busy couple of days."
"Don't feel you have to miss something for me, I know you wanted to try and get out into the town."
"I wouldn't go without you," he wanted to touch her, hold her, kiss her until she melted against him in that sweet, gentle way she had.
"The pool it is then." She said.
She tried to read for a while but couldn't switch her mind off. Charles was engrossed in his book beside her and muttered every now and then at some event. Twice he'd pointed out to her where the printers had made mistakes with the punctuation – those types of things really bothered him, 'lack of attention to detail.' He called it.
She twisted her phone over in her hand, she needed to talk to somebody, get out of her own mind. She flicked to messages and scanned through for a recipient, Beryl or Anna?
Anna. She typed a long message about the weather and buying gifts then deleted it and simply typed, 'He said he loved me.'
She noted Charles wiggling his toes and how red his feet looked sticking out from beneath then shade of their umbrella. Putting her phone aside she got up and rubbed cream onto his feet, startled by the coolness he looked up sharply.
"You were burning," she stated.
"Thank you sweetheart," he said returning to his book.
Her phone bleeped – angrily she thought – and she braced herself for the response.
'YAY! About time. DON'T freak out!'
She was right, she mustn't freak out, only that was exactly what she was doing, and the more she thought about it, the more she freaked out. 'About time…' Did that mean it was about time Elsie was loved or that they'd been dating for long enough it was about time he said it? It was almost nine months, though Elsie never thought of their relationship that way. She never counted the days they'd spent together or milestones they'd reached.
"Want a drink?" He said putting his tablet aside and getting up.
"Something cold and fizzy please."
He put his shirt on, open, he'd never dream of walking around the establishment shirtless.
She settled back and watched him go, there was a woman struggling with a pushchair on the path; a baby on one arm, toddler on the other side, and the pushchair toppling under the weight of towels. She watched as Charles easily scooped it up and held the towels as she strapped the baby in.
He was smiling, the toddler was staring up at him, a little boy, and she noted the look he gave it - the waggling of his eyebrows. He was such a good man and she was incredibly lucky to have him. So why did she feel so scared of him now? Why didn't she want to jump headlong in to this with him?
She slept for a couple of hours and Charles deliberately moved the umbrella to shade her from the harshness of the sun and rubbed cream into her arms and shoulders without waking her.
He'd finished his book and he wanted her to wake so he could tell her how he enjoyed it. He swam when the pool quietened down around lunch and then she was awake and he spotted her sitting up, rubbing her face and then going inside. He swam to the edge and quickly followed her into the apartment, standing dripping in the bedroom as he waited for her to come out of the bathroom.
"Oh, I thought you were swimming," she said, staring at the pool forming on the tiles by his feet.
"You need to tell me what's going on." He stated firmly.
She swallowed, rubbed her arms. She didn't want to have this conversation, they were going home tomorrow and then she'd have time and space to think things through. Not here, where she was crowded by him.
"In what way?" She said, biting down on her lip.
"Yesterday…" He breathed deeply, "yesterday was as close to perfect as I think I've come."
She visibly stiffened.
"And today, you're like this, and I think it's because of me and I don't know why. I've racked my brain. And if I don't know I can't fix it and I so want to fix it. So just tell me, alright." He attempted a small smile.
His eyes were dark and pleading and she felt guilt clench her stomach. "It's nothing. Just me."
"Don't do that, tell me."
She breathed deeply, he held her gaze and for several seconds neither moved.
"You said you loved me." She finally admitted.
He had a vague recollection of saying the words, he'd thought she was asleep to be honest, clearly not. He smiled shyly, his face reddening, but he wasn't ashamed, he was glad his subconscious had finally done it even if his conscious mind couldn't pluck up the courage.
"I did. And I meant it." He said, proudly she thought.
Something in her chest snapped, "You didn't have to say it. You didn't have to make things so messy."
His mind raced, trying to find a response, to rationalise it, was she joking? The panic on her face told him she wasn't. "I said I loved you, you'd think I'd committed a crime."
"Perhaps you have, I thought we had some kind of agreement."
"Agreement?! I thought we were having a relationship, not a business deal. If there was an agreement I must have missed the contract."
"Don't be sarcastic!" She flounced, pulling a loose tunic over her bikini.
"Me? I'm confused. I mean I know things haven't been conventional…"
"Conventional!"
"Yes, I mean we've been dating all this time and you've never invited me to meet your daughter, any of your friends or family, or asked to meet mine. I guessed you wanted to take things slowly, after your divorce, that's why I never pushed. But I thought that despite that we…"
"What?" She snapped, she was getting angry – angry with herself more than him but it was easy to take it out on him, to blame him and not her own foolishness. "I thought it was casual."
He nodded his head, rubbing his face, his voice hard now, "Right, right, casual. That means we can have dinner every now and then, weekend sex and the odd trip where I provide companionship… But don't dare ask for more Charles."
"I never forced you into anything. I never lied to you or tricked you."
"You never told me that I was signing up to be a friend with benefits."
"And what do you have to complain about?" She shouted sharply, "You've got what you want, someone to travel with. Someone to fuck whenever you want!"
"Don't speak like that."
"Why the hell not?!"
"Because that is nothing LIKE what I want!" It was the first time he'd raised his voice and it startled her to hear the booming volume of it.
"Maybe I was happy with the way things were." She said gently, the words coiling around her stomach like a serpent after its prey. "Maybe the reason I'm dating you is because you would never say those words, did you ever consider that? Because you were simple. That I've been sleeping with you because you're so emotionally repressed you'd never even feel that, let alone say it. Because that would make it easier."
He stares at her open mouthed for a few seconds, it's long enough for her to register the change in his eyes, from anger to utter despair – and she's so very sorry. Immediately sorry. But she can't take it back.
He walks out without saying a word and she throws up her hands in annoyance, "Stupid man!" She says to the the room then flops onto the bed, falling backwards and staring at the ceiling. "Stupid woman." She says to herself.
5 months earlier
Elsie likes Charles' flat, though it's very different to hers, Victorian in style, high ceilings, large windows, old plumbing! She's sitting on his couch with her laptop on her knee and he's talking to her from the kitchen.
"I feel I'm short-changing you," he calls through.
"I've told you, I like cheese and biscuits."
"Yes, but you're giving up your Friday night to fix my webpage." He walks in carrying a large tray filled with an assortment of cheeses, crackers, fruit and salad.
"Wow, you take your cheese seriously, I expected maybe a chunk of Red Leicester and some chutney."
"I have chutneys," he assures her, returning to the kitchen and coming back with small carousel of them.
She can't help but laugh and covers her mouth to try and keep it in.
"What?"
"I'm sorry, you're just like the archetypal bachelor – books and cheese, are we having port too?"
He pouts then slowly nods, "Yes."
She laughs again, throwing her head back as giggles fill her chest.
"I'll go get it," he says; they've been seeing each other regularly for a couple of months now and he's slowly getting used to her wicked sense of humour.
She's still sniggering when he sits beside her on the couch.
"Okay, so here is how your new website could look." She says, turning the laptop to him. "Whatever's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Well, no offence Charles but as my Granny used to say you've got a face like an aiver."
The sound of her accent does something odd to his loins, he can't fathom why. "Which is?"
"An old horse. Are you sulking?"
He shrugged, "I'm not used to being laughed at."
She can't believe that's truly the case, surely at school he would have been a prime candidate for bullies – but that's not what she's doing.
"Charles, you need to lighten up. I wasn't being cruel." She sighs, "Sometimes I think our personalities just clash - I'm loud, it's how I was brought up, we ribbed each other senseless."
He frowns, "As in mocked?"
"Yes. I'm from a large family, you had to be loud to be heard, and being picked on was part of the course."
"My mother wasn't like that."
She remembers Violet from the shop, in fact when Elsie first started using it Violet ran it, she only spotted Charles occasionally. And no, she can't see her as filling the house with raucous laughter as Elsie's childhood farmhouse was.
"And I was an only child."
"I thought you had a brother?"
"Half brother, he lives in Ireland with my father, we didn't grow up together." He sighs, "Sorry, that was childish of me."
"It's alright, I suppose we're still getting used to one another – am I starting to annoy you yet?" She's touches his arm as she asks and he suddenly has trouble focusing. "Because I know sometimes my teasing can be a bit much."
He shakes his head, "No, and am I annoying you? I've been called an odd bean many times in my life."
She tilts her head to the side and smiles kindly at him, "No, you aren't." He watches her earrings dangle, swinging as she moves her head, and he realises how badly he'd like to kiss her. He has no idea how he's going to go about making that happen.
"So, your webpage."
He shakes his head clear, "Yes, I got confused when it started flashing up messages about bandwidth and the like, it's a foreign language to me."
He'd said as much earlier, calling her at 5:45 exactly (time enough to shut the shop and get a cup of tea before he settles to chat to her), to ask if she'd like him to get theatre tickets for the following Saturday and he'd mentioned his webpage had gone down, she'd offered to help and by 7:00 was sitting in his lounge laughing at his cheese selection!
"Well, by no means am I an expert," she says, "But I've gone back to your account, looked at your terms and conditions and upgraded you." She places the laptop on his lap, "It works out something silly like 75pence extra a month."
"75 pence? That seems a ridiculous price." He points at the screen. "Did you do this?"
"Yes, but I haven't saved it yet so don't click anything."
He holds his hands up away from the keyboard and she has to suppress another chuckle.
"I just moved things around, made it look more spacious, changed some colours… Ooh, I moved your search engine up here see," she leans over him, he smells heady like spices and fine red wine and it catches her off guard. "It will make it obvious then, customers want to find hints quickly. And your pay section here," she rolls her finger across the mouse pad. "See, then it's clear and accessible, it was sort of obscured before."
"You're a genius," he says looking at her. "I thought you said you taught History."
"Well, I do, I just…" She looks up from the screen and finds his face is inches from hers and he's got the most delighted smile on his face. She swallows, "I know my way around a computer, for the most part."
Her breast is squashed against his upper arm in that position and it's sending a delightful buzz through the rest of his limb. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
And then he wasn't sure if she leaned forward first or he did but their lips fluttered together in a barely there nothingness, neither even closed their eyes. Then she was definitely the one who moved first the second time and touched her lips to his more purposefully, and the thought that she'd gone back for more filled him with excitement.
He was tentative - allowing her to lead it, delicate kisses as they tested the waters. Then he felt her body relax against his and his hands had let go of the laptop and were creeping forward to touch her, just gently, just skimming her sides, and her mouth opened and he tenderly stroked her tongue with his and she moaned and his groin tightened. He was mortified – their first kiss and his body does that.
Slowly, they returned to soft touches. Then she was touching his forehead with hers and smiling coyly, "I guess in some ways we're more than compatible." She said.
He guessed she meant that was a good first kiss.
They saved his webpage and ate the cheese and crackers and drank port. And he got to kiss her twice more like that before the evening was out.
Present Day
It's 19:45 and their reservation is at 20:00. She was considering calling the restaurant to cancel when the door opened. Charles said nothing to her. She listened to the sound of running water in the bathroom, then the smell of his cologne as he came out. She watched him don trousers and a shirt.
"We'd better go," he said lowly. "We'll miss our table."
"I'm not dressed," her voice is weak. He stands aside and waits as she pulls a dress from a hanger, it's purple with a deep v neckline. She stands before the mirror tugging the material into place, running a brush through her hair, it's such a mess from lounging on the bed all afternoon. She plumps for a quick French roll and pins it haphazardly in place. Earrings. Lipstick. And she turns to him
"Fastest I've ever gotten ready."
He turns toward the door, "Let's go."
"Wait, oughtn't we to talk first?"
"What's to say?"
She bites her lip, "Sorry, for a start."
His brow furrows and he squeezes the door handle.
"I'm sorry Charles, I was so very rude, so hurtful and didn't…"
He held his hand up, "Don't say you didn't mean it, because you must have meant some of it otherwise it wouldn't have come out." He swallowed, "You don't love me, that's fine…"
"I didn't say that."
"…But I don't like being used."
She swallowed uncomfortably, her voice softening, "I'm not using you… God Charles," she groaned in frustration, "I don't know what I feel. I've spent so long trying not to feel anything... I know I don't want this to end."
Again he stares at her and she feels sharp tears prick her eyes, she wills herself not to cry. "Let's just go and have a nice dinner," he says gently, before adding, "And get drunk."
She hasn't eaten all day but still finds chewing difficult. She orders fish and vegetables in some fancy sauce, she can't even remember reading the menu. Charles has steak and drinks a bottle of red wine to himself. They hardly speak. He mentions the book and his thoughts on it. She tells him about the television adaptation, about a cricket article she thought he'd be interested in on whether the county championship is fit for purpose. Conversation is dull and muted and it reminds her of that last holiday with Joe, only she didn't feel in the wrong then, now she most definitely is.
After dinner he has two brandies and by the time they get outside he can hardly walk. He's singing snippets of songs and wandering from the path onto the sand and she knows he'll hate himself for ruining his shoes.
She hates that she's the cause of this.
"Charles." She says imploringly.
"Els!" He says in a sing-song voice, "Elsie, Elsie, Elspeth."
"Come walk on the path," she asks, glad there doesn't seem to be anyone else around. "Come walk with me."
She holds her arm out and he takes it, leaning heavily against her. "You know you're bloody gorgeous." He says his chin on her shoulder. He's so tall he has to bend to kiss her cheek, "Bloody gorgeous. Of course you don't want me." He laughs viciously.
"Don't say that. That isn't true." She half pulls him down the path, supporting him, doubled under his weight, "You just drank too much. You'll be okay."
They make it to the room and he's singing again, Nilsson, and swinging his shirt around as he takes it off. She catches it, easing it from his hands and he flops back on the bed.
"Come on then," he says, unbuckling his trousers, "Let's go, last night here."
"Don't," she warns, taking his shoes off. "I understand why you've done this Charles and I accept the blame but don't say things like that.
"It's what you want isn't it, and I can still perform, drunk or not!" His words are slurring and she knows he'll be asleep soon.
"Come on," she pulls his trousers off, "Let's get you into bed." She's trying to pull him up the bed, leaning over him.
"Come to bed with me, Els." He kisses her hands, clambering beneath the sheets, "Come with me, get undressed."
"I will." She pulls her hands loose, tries to settle him. "I will in a moment, hush now."
She turns the lamp off and he soon quietens, mumbling as he drifts to sleep, "I'm not allowed…" He says and she's unsure what he means but surmises it probably involves her.
She undresses slowly, listening to him, hoping he'll be asleep before she gets into bed, lying as close to the edge as she can, it's not that she doesn't want him to touch her, but she feels he mightn't want her to touch him.
Well, all I can say is 'sorry', but I have a plan - stick with it. And thank you again for your reviews, especially these lengthy ones, I really enjoy reading your take on things. Am slowly replying to you! X