Chapter 5

Still Rob.

I looked around the small flat, and limped over to a chair.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I’m sure. Are you comfortable, though?”

I thought about that. “I don’t know,” I replied, honestly.

“Once your parents are home from their holiday, I expect you could go to stay with them.” Lisa paused, before going on. “You’ll have to sleep in my bed, though, until they do.”

I could feel my face heating. “What about you?”

“It’s a big bed. If we have a problem, I have a futon as well.” She fetched a footrest which matched the chair I was sitting in. “Here. Put your leg up on this.”

I considered offering to sleep on the futon. I mean, I really did. But before I spoke, I engaged my brain. ‘Idiot! For one thing, the bed’s going to be a lot more comfortable. For another, this is her idea, and if you offer to sleep on the futon, she’ll think you don’t want to get into bed with her. You really don’t want to offend her, do you?’ ‘No, of course not. But is she expecting me to be a gentleman and offer?’ ‘Duh! She just as good as said she was going to sleep in the same bed as you! What are you thinking?’ ‘I’m thinking I’ve got a cracked pelvis and broken arm and leg, even though they’ve been fixed.’ ‘Well, don’t be an idiot. Share the bed and let her take the lead. Just like you have all along.’

I suppose my internal discussion lasted a few seconds. “Thank you.” I paused. “I’ll let you take the lead.”

She giggled. “Oh, really?” But she held up her hand. “Relax! Rob, I can tell you’re...”

“Nervous? Inexperienced? Out of my depth?”

“Something like that. Look. I like you. I like you a lot. I think I know you well enough to trust you in my flat. But, well, I’m inexperienced too. I just have more experience of functioning socially, if that make sense?”

“I suppose so. Is it okay to say I think you’re the most beautiful woman I have ever encountered?”

Her jaw dropped, and she didn’t respond immediately. “Okay?” She shook her head, and I began to worry. “Okay.” She giggled. “Okay! Rob, you have no idea, do you?”

I looked at her – ‘gone out’, we say around here – “No, I don’t,” I said, a little testily.

“No woman ... scratch that, very few women ... will ever object to a sincere compliment, even if it’s a bit OTT like that one!”

“OTT? Over the top? Lisa, that was my honest opinion. I did say ‘had ever encountered’. I have never encountered a more beautiful woman. The first time I saw you, I thought you were stunning. I’ve never changed my opinion.”

She blushed darkly. “Um ... thanks. Hungry?”

I can tell when the subject’s changed – at least, when my nose is rubbed hard enough in it. “Yes, please.”

After a light meal – salad, quiche, green stuff – she commented, “You don’t want to put a lot of weight on while you’re not active. And I want to keep this figure.” We went to my flat to collect a few things. I live upstairs and it was a struggle to get there. But she insisted I sit and tell her what I wanted packed. Clothes, mainly. Small laptop, USB sticks, external hard drive. “That drawer there,” I pointed. She opened it. “The maroon case,” I said.

She took it out. “A descant recorder?”

“Yup. Learned a bit at school, but that’s all that stuck, musically. I’ve got a keyboard, but I never got very far with a piano, and I don’t want to lug it around.”

“Okay.” She closed the case. “Is that it?”

“If I’m not going to be here, we probably should empty the fridge.”

She removed butter, Clover, cheese, and some salad stuff, and held up a bottle of milk.

“Better tip that away.” I was right – it had turned.

“Let’s go, then.” She picked up the case rather easily, then the bag of food.

“I don’t like to leave you with all the luggage,” I smiled.

“You’ve got enough on shifting that carcase of yours!” But accompanied by a smile that removed any sting from the comment. With a lot of help from the handrail, we got downstairs and into that MG

Mercifully, there’s a lift to her sixth-floor studio flat. When we got there, she made a little space so I could hang up my one suit and put some other clothes away in a drawer.

“Why don’t you get that recorder out, Rob? Or, you can use my Roland keyboard... ?”

“I’ll pass on the keyboard until I’ve had some time to practice; I haven’t touched one in several years and was never very good. But you want me to play that whistle?”

“Sure! Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Not a great deal. But I managed ‘Greensleeves’, ‘Wild Rover’ and ‘Amazing Grace’ before finishing with a hoe-down I remembered from school, though I couldn’t remember the composer or origin.

Lisa rummaged in a cupboard and emerged with an acoustic guitar. “Give me an E.”

The problem with a descant recorder is it plays from an octave above middle C. That’s okay, I suppose, if you’re actually playing a descant. The E was okay, though. Lisa then tuned the other strings to the top E, then plucked a section from something I recognised.

“Kapsberger!” I exclaimed. “Canario. I love that piece.”

“Well done! It’s not everyone knows that. Of course, the rest of his stuff is a bit same-y, don’t you think?” She strummed a few chords, and began to sing. “There is a house in New Orleans...”

That has a range outside a descant recorder, which is in key of C, but I picked up, and after a few repetitions was playing along okay. Lisa was smiling, anyway. She put her instrument down. “Are you willing to work for me?”

“Sure.”

She went over to an impressive looking desk-top and switched on. “Most of my dissertation is on here. I’ve got more on a laptop from working at Star Carr, but the bulk of it is here. Backed up, too, of course.”

“Of course.” I was impressed, having encountered a few ... um ... air-heads ... in College who didn’t back up their work and lost a lot when their system crashed.

She looked at her watch. “Four o’clock, Rob. How about putting in an hour? I’ll work on my laptop.”

“Sure.”

I dare say there are some out there groaning ‘come on, get to the bit where you go to bed’. Or words to that effect. Well, okay, but you’re going to be disappointed. When bed-time came round, I went first in the bathroom and emerged in my usual night-time t-shirt and shorts. When Lisa emerged a little later, she was cute in cotton pyjamas. Would you believe pink with blue bunnies? Well, believe it or not, that was the case.

Blushing, she slipped into bed next to me and switched off the light. We lay there separated by as much bed as possible without falling out.

“‘Night, Lisa. Thank you for looking after me.”

“‘Night Rob. Thank you for working on my thesis. Sleep well.”

I did. Sleep well, that is. Helped on with a little opium derivative.

Okay. You can get a bit excited. When I woke, it was to feeling much too warm. I was warm because half of me was wrapped up in pyjama-clad Lisa. I was very aware of the pressure of a firm breast against my chest. I suppose my breathing changed, or something, because she stirred and jerked suddenly.

“Rob! Oh, I’m sorry! Have I hurt you?”

“Not at all. Actually, on reflection, I could live with waking up like this every morning. Though without the aches and pains.”