Chapter 5

Four days passed. Cassie came on Wednesday and of course asked me about Rachel. I told her what had transpired and she looked askance then disappointed, saying nothing, but the next day she came back straight from work.

“Rod,” she said before she even sat down, “you are the biggest idiot in the universe. Sit down.”

I sat; she loomed over me.

“This is very important, Rod,” she said, hands on hips, as if talking to a child. “I want the absolute truth. Think carefully about your answer. Ready?”

She stopped and waited for a nod, which I duly gave.

“What are your feelings for Rachel? Take your time”

She moved to the nearest armchair and sat down, looking relaxed, as if for a long wait.

Silence. What were my feelings for Rachel? I thought for a while and then decided the historical approach was the best one.

“OK, Sis,” I said, sitting back to tell the story. “Let’s take it from that last year in school.”

“If you must,” she answered moodily. “Why you can’t just answer the question straight, I don’t know.”

“It’s the easiest way to explain my feelings for her. You know what she looks like, and I think you remember her from school now. All the boys who were not gay fancied her like mad. I fancied her. She told me recently that she remembered me, but that’s not the recollection I have.

So I never had even any slim hopes for a date with someone like her. There were plenty of other girls in the year. They were pretty enough, but not in her league, and more to the point, they were willing and eager. So I’m saying I lusted after her, she was in my fantasies, but apart from that she was irrelevant to my life, the other girls were real.

“When I got back here for the job, in all the time Gary and I went out drinking, she never came with us. If I went round there and she was home, she disappeared. Always minimal contact. I thought she didn’t like me, so there was no point in wanting her. Again she was irrelevant to my life. And of course she was married to Gary. Doubly irrelevant.

“When she got in the car the first time, after Gary tricked me, she assumed I was gagging for sex with her and she made it clear she did not like the idea. It was only after I slapped her down that we began to get along. We got along because we enjoyed the same things, I would take her places, and I wouldn’t have sex. I think I grew on her, for she became quite affectionate. She was grateful, I suppose.”

I could see Cassie was itching to say something, but I ploughed on.

“I loved being with her, she was great company and very easy on the eye. Yes, then I did want her, but she was married to Gary and he was my mate. We kissed on a couple of occasions and it seemed some passion was there on her part, but once Gary asked me to stop seeing her, I heard nothing more from her. I put her behind me, she was irrelevant again. There were other women – Deirdre for instance.

“Then Gary came and attacked me, and that’s when I learned of the divorce. I know she came to tell me, but she could have phoned and she didn’t. Why? She said she didn’t want to queer your pitch, but I think it was more because she had that man lined up. He’s her type. She let me down badly by telling Gary what we did, or rather didn’t. That put her further away.

“So how do I feel about her? Disappointment is the main feeling. I thought we had something when we were fooling Gary, but we didn’t. She just had a good time, and was grateful.”

Cassie looked at me, and I could swear I saw pity on her face. I relaxed, thinking her inquisition was over. I was wrong. Bam! She hit me with the question.

“Are you in love with Rachel?” Talk about getting straight to the point!

I thought. “She’s–”

“Out of your league,” she said with some exasperation. “Yes, I’ve heard it all before, Roddy, too often for my liking. That’s not what I asked. I asked, Listen carefully: Are you in love with her. Yes or No. Well, are you?”

“OK, no, how can I be? Anyway in her case I don’t know what that means. Do I desire her? Yes. Do I want her? I did, until I saw her in the restaurant, and I did want her when she came round, though I couldn’t understand why she came at all. But love? We never ever got that far.”

She sighed and made a supreme effort to get me to say what she wanted me to say.

“If everything was a big misunderstanding, and she really loved you, and wanted you, how would that make you feel? Boy, this is like getting blood out of a stone!”

I felt hurt: I was doing my best to he honest. I gave a dogged reply.

“In the unlikely event that that were the case, I would be delighted and want to date her, see if we could grow together as lovers.”

“So really what you’re saying is that you fancy her, and you wouldn’t turn her away, but she doesn’t seem interested in you?”

“If you want to put it like that, yes.”

“Roddy, my darling,” she came and sat with me on the sofa, putting her arm round me, “I know I’m not the best advert for good relationships, and I’m much younger than you, but I’d like you to do something for me – for you really.”

“Which is?”

“Go round to her place now and tell her what you have just told me.”

“But–”

“No buts. Go.”

“I don’t know where she lives. She left Gary and got a flat somewhere.”

“Flat C, 245 Back King Street. It’s that converted cotton mill. Go now. Have the courage to tell her how you feel.”

“How do you know her address, Cassie?”

“You have her phone number on your mobile, I phoned and asked her.”

“You talked to her?” I asked, so flabbergasted I forgot to be angry about her invasion of my privacy. The girl was amazing.

“Yes.”

“What did she say?”

“Nothing much, just gave me her address for you. She did say she hoped to see you soon. I really think she fancies you, so you need to go and tell her how you feel. Now.”

I did not share her optimism, but I wrapped up against the cold dark evening, got into the car and drove to the mill. No dinner: I was hungry.

A woman was entering as I arrived and she smiled at me and held open the door. I thanked her and found the door to flat C at the back of the ground floor, behind some stairs.

I rang the bell.

The door opened.

The man who answered the door was the one she had been with on the previous Friday at the restaurant. So much for ‘he is not my boyfriend’! The man was wearing a frilly pinafore and was obviously involved in cooking their evening meal. Very domestic. He took one look at me and scowled.

“What do you want?” he asked aggressively, though his accent was cultured. Public school boy, I thought. (In Britain, Public Schools are in fact private fee-paying schools. Don’t ask!)

“Rachel?” I asked, while trying to re-organise my plans.

“You think she’ll want to see you?” he asked derisively. “After you upset her so badly at the restaurant? I don’t think so. So off you go little man, she won’t be talking to you!”

In the restaurant he seemed tall, but in fact I was an inch or so taller. It made his epithet faintly ridiculous.

“She wanted to talk on Saturday morning; she turned up at breakfast time, so go and get her, there’s a good chap!” I hoped it sounded as patronising and insulting as his remark had been.

“Rubbish!” he said loudly. “She never left the flat all morning.”

“So you were here that morning, were you?” I reposted. “I told her she needed to get back before you woke up.”

“Don’t try that one!” he said. “I know for a fact she didn’t leave her bed.”

“You slept with her?”

“What do you think? I don’t stay the night with a woman and sleep somewhere else.”

At that moment, there came a voice from what I assumed was the kitchen, “Who is it Nigel?”

Nigel! I mentally sniggered.

“Nobody, Darling,” he shouted back as she came into the hallway. She saw me, and I’m sure she paled, her mouth certainly opened in surprise. Then her face clouded.

“Roddy!” she exclaimed.

“Don’t worry darling, I’ll get rid of him,” he smiled with protective superiority.

“You won’t!” she said angrily. “Get out of my way.”

She stood, with him now slightly behind her, on the doorstep, and looked at me worriedly.

“What is it Roddy?” she asked.

“I foolishly thought when you gave your address to Cassie and said you hoped to see me soon, that you really did want to see me soon. Obviously so you could rub my face in your affair with this ... Nigel!”

“No, Roddy I–”

“As he said, I’m a nobody,” I ploughed on. “Well, this nobody came to explain something, and to ask you something.

“None of it is relevant anymore from what I can see. It also makes the comment you threw over your shoulder as you left on Saturday morning nothing but a lie, and another insult to me. You’re turning out to be good at the lies and insults. Turns out you play the same games as all the other pretty bitches.

“You didn’t have to do this, you know, you could have just told me to keep out of your life. Last Saturday morning was a real farce, an act, wasn’t it? He’s told me: you did come from his bed. Goodbye, Rachel.”

At this I turned and made for the exit to the building. I heard him asking about Saturday, but she was shouting after me to come back, though I was not listening. I got into the car, angry and upset. It was the shock of finding that other man, Nigel, in a pinafore, clearly most at home.

Now what followed might seem to have been a mistake on my part, and probably was poor strategy, but it turned out to be fortuitous.

I started the engine as Rachel came running out of the building in an overcoat, waving her arms and shouting at me. My first impulse was to drive away, but I found I could not do that to her, even then – she looked so panic-stricken and agitated. So I waited until she came to the passenger side and opened the door.

Then she uttered the clichéd line which in other circumstances would have made me laugh heartily.

“Please Roddy, wait, it’s not what you think!”

I turned off the engine, and she breathed a sigh of relief. I think it was short-lived.

“OK, Rachel,” I said mockingly. “Get in.”

She did, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Nigel running towards us.

“Right, Rachel,” I said, locking the doors. “What part of it is ‘not what I think’? Is it that Nigel slept with you that Friday night and you told me he wasn’t there?

“Or was it that you said he was ‘not your boyfriend’ yet here he is in your flat cooking a meal, very much at home in a pinny, taking it on himself to censor who gets to see you?”

Nigel tried my door and began hammering on the window. I looked at Rachel, a questioning look.

“And he clearly thinks he owns you in some way from the way he’s trying to damage my car.”

She climbed out.

“NIGEL!” she yelled. “Leave it alone. Go away!”

“But he’s bad news!” shouted Nigel. “Nothing but trouble!”

“Did you tell Rod that I slept with you last Friday?”

“I was at the flat and you never went to see him.”

“Answer the bloody question!” she yelled. “Well?”

“Yes, but he said you–”

“I did go and see him. Did you sleep with me? EVER?”

He went very quiet.

“Well?”

“No.”

“No,” she said menacingly. “Have you been here since then, apart from tonight?”

“Rach-e-l!” Now he was whining.

“Answer!”

“No.” Reluctantly.

“Did I invite you tonight?”

“No, but you were pleased to see me.”

“You waltzed into the flat, saw I was cooking, and began to take over the kitchen. True?”

“It was a team effort.”

I had never seen a man once so full of confidence look so browbeaten and embarrassed. Rachel was continuing her dressing down.

“You do not know this man. Nor do you know why I was so upset last Friday, for I never told you, Nigel, did I?”

He shook his head. “But he must–”

“The reason I was upset was that I had made a stupid mistake that hurt him badly, which was all my fault. So you had no right to tell him I wouldn’t see him, had you?”

Again a shake of the head. “I was only trying–”

“To protect me? I don’t need you to protect me, Nigel, I’ve been dealing with boys and men like you since my teens, and while I’m at it, since you asked me out, have you made any passes at me?”

“Of course,” he said, gaining confidence, “You are very attractive; you would expect me to try.”

“Exactly. I’ve been hit on by every man or boy who’s shown any interest in me since I was a teenager. I’ve had enough of it. The man in this car, he took care of me for months when I was in a spot of trouble, and never once made a pass. You see, I was married, and he respected that. I’m getting divorced, but I’m still married. Didn’t stop you, did it?”