On Sunday morning, we'd driven out to Kew Gardens for brunch. I'd been anticipating at least a short walk but, disappointingly, the persistent rain that had set in precluded any chance of outdoor activity. As she devoured her poached eggs, Louisa tried to insist that I let her make her own way to Heathrow but I'd resisted that idea as an insupportable waste of time. The paucity of available Public Transport links meant that her travelling time would triple and, since I had nothing particularly pressing, I had no objections to driving her. It did seem rather a particularly onerous journey back to her flat, just for what seemed to be a pointless objective; waving the friend off, farewelling her for the second time in forty-eight hours. But, being now particularly aware of Louisa's firm opinion that salutations are obligatory and non-negotiable, I'd held my tongue. Once she'd accepted that my suggestion I drive her to the airport was, by far, the more sensible option, I only had to diffuse her half-hearted and overly optimistic suggestion that I join she and Lottie at the Departures Gate and partake in their emotional farewell. Fortunately, and slightly ingenuously, I was able to remind her that I should remain in close proximity to the hospital since, shortly, I would be back on call.
She accepts my excuse without question and, once again, I feel a reassuring sense of relief. In truth, I had initially anticipated so many obstacles would be in our way, and I had come up with endless reasons why my need to be with Louisa was simply nonsensical, and ill-fated, with the demands of my position close to the top of my list. Once I had explained everything to her though, she seemed to accept it utterly and completely and, though her expression is somewhat wistful as I explain why I won't be accompanying her, she raises no objections. I believe that the general behaviour she exhibits is developmentally normal for her age, that her light-heartedness and rather casual approach to life would be considered typical and within acceptable parameters but I can't help but be especially grateful for the maturity she shows when faced with the constant demands of my profession.
Of course, sitting opposite her, now that our time together is almost up, I feel somewhat dismal. We are at the point again, where she disappears back into her own life, and I realise how strongly I do not want to see her go. Last Sunday, when I'd dropped her at her flat, I'd desperately needed to be alone. There was so much to process, we were both signatories to a rather terrifying emotional contract, and the implications were almost overwhelming. Having fought so hard for so long to have control of my life, to find cohesion and stability, only now to consciously invite unpredictability and uncertainty through my front door, required considerable reflection and adjustment. However counterintuitive as it sounds though, it's only taken me a very short space of time to understand that spending time with even a disgruntled Louisa is infinitely more appealing than having no Louisa near me at all. For all the hilarity she derives from my discomfort, and despite the way she challenges me constantly, there are definitely moments when giving in to her is rather rewarding, and I find myself quite satisfied by my new normal.
It is about a twenty minute drive to the airport and she is determined to play at least part of her new CD for me, despite the fact that I have given her no encouragement whatsoever. Her enthusiasm never fails to surprise me, so hopeful is she that a miracle may one day occur, and I will suddenly derive some sort of pleasure from the thin, tasteless gruel of popular culture she attempts to torture me with. I can only surmise that her inner well of optimism must be endless, or perhaps she's feeling that she has had so many minor victories over me, that her constant chipping away at my habits and values is reaping enough reward that she is even further emboldened. Of course, because she is Louisa, mere seconds after she presses play, she begins to talk over the music, animated and breathless about something else and I sigh deeply.
"Louisa, I can listen to you, or I can try and listen to this electronic dissonance you insist on inflicting upon me, but not both." I tell her firmly, glancing at her sideways, unsurprised to see that she has now assumed a rather mulish expression.
I wait for her retort but she surprises me, and acquiesces wordlessly, a rather mystifying reaction considering her usual spirited self-defence, her tendency to take up any position in an argument as long as it's the polar opposite of mine. She ejects the offending disc and slips it back into its cover, and I thank her, relieved at both her sudden lack of contrariness and the pleasant silence that now envelops the car. After a moment, I ask her about her schedule, satisfied that my calm tone gives nothing away of my childlike eagerness to see her again. I listen to her verbalising her thoughts on her upcoming week, her usual stream of consciousness, as she meanders along happily, long on explanations, short on hard detail. Even when she eventually peters out, I am none the wiser as to when we will have the opportunity to meet again. However, by the time we reach the drop off point for international departures, I now know all about Louisa's Christmas with Lily's family and, only by gripping the steering wheel rather firmly, have I managed to hide my distaste as she described the sort of culinary excesses that sees millions of Britons diagnosed each year with artherosclerosis. Despite my disapproval, I was more than content just to focus on the lilting qualities of her voice, bolstered by the realisation that so many things that I'd considered unobtainable, thoughts that had been mere fantasies for someone like me, have now become, seemingly, the natural order of things.
It is unsurprising that I should feel more buoyant now after things had been a little difficult yesterday. The evening had been relatively quiet; both of us equally cautious and rather abashed, I suppose, neither of us daring to say or do anything that might upset the other. When Louisa stood up and announced she was having a shower and going to bed, it seemed as if we were both completely exhausted by the effort of tiptoeing around each other. I gritted my teeth and said nothing as she folded the corner of her page over and tossed her battered paperback onto the side table, only just missing her half-full mug of cold tea. Watching her walk past me, she was apparently oblivious.
"Will you be long?" She'd asked, glancing down at the stack of papers I'd spent the evening working my way through.
I'd cleared my throat and assured her that I wouldn't be and, as she smiled at me encouragingly, I wondered if she could hear the relief in my voice, energised as I was by the realisation that I might not have burned all my bridges after all. There was hope for me, it seemed, even after my incoherent attempt to verbalise a choking fear. Louisa, her empathetic side to the fore, had actually acknowledged the way I'd felt to be real, as if she knew what I meant. She'd been reassuring, in her own authentic way, even though I realised instantly what a blow it was to her, how blind-sided she'd been by my rebuttal. To be honest, I was quite taken aback myself. I hadn't thought about Edith much for years, and I'd considered she and her hard-hearted ways to be long since expunged from my consciousness, so the explosion of self-loathing that had assailed me had come as rather an unpleasant shock. I sat and carefully slipped my papers back into their folders, ruminating that, while it appeared that Edith was now back in her rightful place, relegated to the darkest vestiges of my mind, I did seem to have rather shot myself in the foot. What effect had my outburst really had on irrepressible, passionate Louisa? She who is so spontaneous, and apparently so cognisant of my almost paralysing shyness, and upon whom I have relied so heavily to be the instigator of almost everything physical that occurs between us. How will it be now, if I haven't ruined everything forever?
Realistically my regret, and my pussyfooting around her, might have continued for quite some time had Louisa not forced my hand, so to speak. It was only due to her insistence that I had broken one of my most enduring rules, and found myself in the en suite as she showered. For the record I hold rather deeply entrenched views on the sanctity of the bathroom; years of communal showers, and the cruelty and coarseness of schoolboys, can do that to you. One either becomes flagrantly inured or, as I did, develops a pathological need for complete privacy. I'd emptied my pockets and had been carefully hanging up my trousers when I'd heard her call out my name. She'd laughed at me when, met by clouds of steam that would have done James Watt proud, I'd knocked cautiously on the open door. Somewhat breathlessly, she'd informed me that she was apparently missing some crucial cosmetic treatment, beseeching me to fetch it for her from her little overnight bag, the contents of which were now spread across half of the bedroom floor.
After successfully identifying the apparently vital facial product, retrieving her still-damp towel from this morning from under the lid of her case, and depositing it in the laundry hamper, I returned to her, clearing my throat awkwardly as I entered. Despite my rather extreme level of awkwardness and, primarily, because I'm not made of stone, I'd glanced at her through the glass screen, as I hung up her fresh towel. Arms clasped behind her back, she was calmly watching me and, as our eyes met, I felt myself blush horribly. Beneath the cascading rivulets of water she was transformed into a work of art; breathtaking, and more beautiful than any priceless, finely sculpted piece of marble could ever be. Like the besotted fool I am, I was rendered helpless, rooted to the spot, unable to take my eyes off her. In my defence, it is unfathomable that anyone could be so perfectly formed, so flawlessly feminine, and I realised as I stared, that it was almost as if I'd actually summoned her from the breadth of my imagination. Body and soul, she really was the glorious and enigmatic physical manifestation of the woman who had long inhabited my dreams.
She smiled, gratefully, and as I finally comprehended that she was still waiting, and sensed her confused impatience, I stepped tentatively forward. I felt I might choke on the steam, and I struggled to breathe as if if I were at altitude, where the atmospheric oxygen is thin and rarefied. My heart rate increased and, as if I were hypoxic, I felt a rush of epinephrine, holding out the little plastic bottle toward her, as if it were some sort of primitive offering to an awe-inspiring god. Of course, she was enjoying herself, biting on her lip as she fought an outburst of laughter at my expense. I'm more than aware that my discomfort is amusing to her, it was ever thus, and if I could have turned and nonchalantly walked away then, I most certainly would.
But I was transfixed; mesmerised by the way the jets of water exploded as they hit her skin, her curves directing hundreds of waterfalls and rivulets to flow so gracefully down her body. It was one of the most spectacular things I've ever seen, so completely unexpected, so foreign to anything I'd ever experienced, and for a moment I was nothing more than a libidinous young man, testosterone-fuelled and empty-headed.
"You sure you don't want to join me then?" She'd asked me casually, reaching up to push a damp lock of hair behind her ear, the usual determined escapee from the loosely coiled bun she had haphazardly constructed.
As much as my earlier outburst had been honest and uncontainable, however suddenly that deeply buried sense of self-loathing had revealed itself, I knew wholeheartedly that I had been wrong to accuse her. There is not a shred of callous disregard or heartless self advancement in anything Louisa ever says or does. I saw nothing of the cat that toys with a mouse, or the wolf sniffing the air, circling a wounded beast; then, as now, all that showed in her eyes was mischief; her archetypal impudence threatening to bubble over, her demeanour more that of a playful chocolate box puppy than a voracious apex predator.
I wonder now if she was aware of the battle that waged inside me as she took the small plastic tube from my hand. Was it obvious that I was experiencing such a momentous tug-of-war within? On one end of the rope, a well-established anchor; a priggish sort, as usual so prudent and wary, and constipated by a thousand rules, his righteousness so easily justified as he recalls his uncomfortable past. And the antagonist, the newcomer, an adversary that seems to grow in strength with each day that passes, an inflamed and reckless nemesis who seems only concerned with propelling himself forward, suddenly feeling like a completely smug bastard who can't quite believe his luck.
When I first viewed this flat, I'd been impressed with the size of this shower, though of course I hadn't let on to the agent. It felt like such a luxury, as a tall man, to be able to stand upright beneath a centrally placed shower head; with an accomodating roominess that ensured I wasn't continually banging my elbows, or stricken with a cervical lordosis. And though I had never imagined sharing the space with anyone, never even contemplated the idea, all I could think of as I hurriedly kicked my feet clear of my boxer shorts, was that this was most definitely a time for something new. The temperature of the water made me gasp, and she apologised quickly, her eyes sparkling with mirth as she gazed up at me. Kissing her was nothing less than surreal; Cupping her jaw lightly in my hands, her mouth seemed so sweet and soft yet, after a minute, of water cascading down my face, I feel almost as if I'm drowning.
I attempted to propel her backwards so that the water deflected off my shoulders but all I succeeded in was having our bodies come together with a rather rubbery squeak, and for a moment we're both distracted, and I feel her abdomen clench with laughter. Though there is something delicious and highly sensuous about the feeling of the water on our skins, and it's undeniable that way her body slides against mine is incredibly inflammatory, it's fairly obvious that, logistically, the location presented a significant set of challenges, the most crucial being the difference in our respective heights. On the other hand, it was so very intoxicating; her unmitigated joy, her wicked, throaty chuckle, the way she says my name so approvingly, all so provocative, engendering me with a desperate need to find a way to give her what she wanted. I've never thought of myself as having any particular sort of physical prowess but she felt as light as a feather as I lifted her up off the ground, squealing with delight as she wrapped her legs around my hips. With her arms locked around my neck, the fierceness of her kiss intensified as I happily tightened my grip on her fantastic arse.
She punctuated her febrile urging, her hoarsely uttered words of encouragement, with peels of laughter, as she pulled my head forward, intent it seems on preventing any words of objection escaping my mouth. Her near-delirious enjoyment became completely contagious and, for a few ecstatic moments, I was not myself. The strength I've always invested in, the power of the mind, became momentarily irrelevant as I was swept along by my physical self; I was as suddenly as strong as Perseus and I knew I must have her then, driving my desperate need to brace against something solid. I'd staggered forwards, unbalanced and with my legs somewhat impeded, inadvertently pressing her back against the shower wall, rather more forcefully than I'd intended, and she let out an indignant squawk.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" I mutter breathlessly. "Are you hurt?"
"No!" She says, and she starts to laugh again. "The bloody tiles are really cold! It was just a bit of a rude shock..."
"Oh, right." I reply, struggling somewhat to think clearly. As my heart thundered in my chest and my breath came in desperate gasps, suddenly, I wasn't entirely sure how to proceed.
Ergonomically, of course I was aware of the solution but I resisted it with every nerve in my body; the associations being simply too abhorrent, too unpalatable to contemplate. Between Louisa and I, these moments are still so deeply personal, so private and so achingly intimate that, for me, it's still imperative that I gaze at her face as we make love. I don't care if I'm looking up at her or looking down, as long as there is eye contact, as long as I can kiss her, or whisper to her, and watch her expressions change.
Her shoulders shook as she leaned back at arm's length and gazed at me, her delight in the ridiculousness of the situation becoming quite contagious.
"I've never done this before." She said, grimacing at me, suddenly shy, and, I'm shocked at the relief her admission provides me.
"Nor have I." I'd replied honestly, gazing at her down my nose, a smile lurking around my mouth, my cheeks tightening and my top lip quivering almost imperceptibly.
"It was still a good idea to try though." She informed me, hurriedly, her face breaking into a charmingly crooked grin.
"Mm." I agreed, firmly, reaching across to turn off the tap. It was almost a relief when the water stopped, and suddenly everything seemed a little less frenetic, a little more serene.
"Probably one of those things where the idea is a bit more exciting than the actual undertaking." She continued thoughtfully. "Like free samples in the supermarket or going shopping in Bude, I spose..."
I'd inclined my head, indicating only partial agreement. Enveloped as we were in ethereal clouds of steam, with Louisa clinging to me, rather determinedly, apparently unwilling to let go, I was disinclined to completely banish the idea, should the opportunity ever arise again.
"Umm...do you want to get down?" I asked her carefully. "We could...go to bed...if you like."
She smirked at me, as insolent as I've ever seen her look, her eyes flashing, her face so natural and fresh and so effortlessly beautiful, droplets of water in her hair sparkling like precious stones.
"Carry me." She said, brazenly, and the look she gave me made my abdomen contract, forcing me to suck in a deep, warm, moist breath of air.
"What?"
"Carry me! You know, channel your inner caveman, Martin..." She enthused, making her point by applying her teeth lightly to my earlobe. "If you have one..."
"Louisa, I really don't think..."
"Martin..." She'd growled, with that hint of warning in her voice that I find both thrilling and somewhat alarming.
I'd acquiesced of course, in a manner of speaking. It was a small price to pay and, although I'm aware that, in her own way, Louisa manipulates me too, her idea of coercion, of challenging me to step outside my normal boundaries, is based on joy and warmth and her resolve to gently disentangle me from the net of restraint and abstemiousness I'm enveloped by. So, I carried her, as far as the towel rail and then I set her down, raising an eyebrow at her to caution her, to silence her objections, as I made it clear that I intended to dry myself and not drip water all over the bed linen, deploring the idea of damp bedding as I do. And I would have been content too if she had retrieved her towel and wrapped herself in it, I wouldn't have given a second thought to how she performed her own ablutions. But she simply stood there in front of me, watching me with a wry smile on her face, til by some sort of tacit understanding I realised; I understood that this part was equally, if not more, important than the act of making love to her. It seemed so obvious then, the subtle differences, the actions that elevated mere lust and rendered it something so much more imposing. It was also crystal clear that recognising the significance of such moments, was something I very much needed to master.
So, I found myself draping the fresh towel around her, pressing the soft folds gently against her skin, as she simply gazed at me from beneath her eyelashes, her expression dreamy and thoughtful. I waited for her usual insouciance to appear but instead, she was silent, and observant, and calm, apparently content to watch me minister to her like this, an act on her part that seems so in incredibly trusting and, to me, seems so very profound. As I bent down to kiss her, what she and I have, what makes this such a new experience for me, seemed suddenly to be clarified. It was so blindingly and sharply in focus as I felt her fingers in my hair that I gave an involuntary shudder. Tenderness, and gentleness, and small, exquisite intimacies like this; this is what exalts us, Louisa and I. This is what differentiates us, this is why everything she is is so precious to me, and so it seemed an infinitesimal price to pay, a tiny concession to frivolity, to scoop her up into my arms so easily, and carry her the insignificant distance to the welcoming comfort of our bed.