Chapter 7

One evening she mentioned that she wouldn’t be around that Friday, as it was her birthday and she’d promised to spend the evening at home, with her father. It wasn’t a problem because we didn’t see each other every evening anyway. I said that I would see her on the Saturday and even managed to extract a promise that I could cook her lunch. We then spent the next hour deciding what I would cook. I am a competent cook though with a limited repertoire. When I mentioned my daughters’ favourite was my take on sausage pie, that was the agreed menu. There would be no alcohol, partly because she was still taking some medication and partly because she felt that alcohol had played a significant part in her ordeal. I agreed easily, as I rarely drink before the evening as I usually end up falling asleep if I do; my daughters had both commented that I was not a pretty sight laying in my recliner in a alcoholic slumber.

A present wasn’t mentioned but I knew I had to get her something. As she had a lot more money than I did and her father had already bought her everything she’d ever mentioned it was not going to be an easy task finding something suitable. I wanted to give her something personal, something that showed I cared about her, but nothing that might frighten her into thinking I wanted more from her than friendship. That night laying in bed my thoughts turned to what I could give her when words started to appear in my mind. I tend to be pretty good with rhymes although a poet I am not; I’ve tried, but can never seem to get the flow right though I can usually get the sentiment across. After a lot of mental sifting I had the words I wanted to share. I grabbed the pen and paper I always keep by my bedside and started to write.

For Felicity I feel your hurt, deep inside As I look from where you cried Two bright and stunning eyes A depth of pain behind them lies Knowing why is so much worse As is my inability to lift this curse Its root beyond my mortal scope I ask in men please don’t lose hope An evil none should condone Driving a yearning for me to atone My shoulder to cry, my ear to bend I gladly offer to help you mend With these mere words of mine So little after the ultimate crime.

The following morning I picked up my scribbled notes and typed them up onto my PC. I then remembered one of our many conversations about books. My favourite author was Terry Pratchett, yet Felicity hadn’t read any of his books, so I decided to pop out at lunchtime and buy one. That lunchtime, as was happening with more frequency, Penny joined Ian, leaving me free to go to the local W.H. Smith. I was fortunate that they had a good selection of Terry’s works. Out of his many great stories I finally chose a leather bound copy of ‘Mort’, my personal favourite. At home that evening after many calligraphy trials on paper, I copied my verse into the book.

On Friday evening after a phoned invitation, I contemplated meeting my son-in-law at his local pub. In the end I decided against it, mainly because his friends were noisy and boisterous, which I didn’t think suited my current mood. Instead I treated myself to bottle of Pomerol and sat down to read a book I’d picked up the same time as I’d purchased ‘Mort’. It was an autobiography of Roy Keane (a soccer player), though not a favourite of mine, I did respect what he’d done in the game, and has he’d played for the unique genius that was Brian Clough, I thought it worth a read. About half past eight and a half of the bottle, the doorbell rang. I assumed it was my daughter and was ringing in case I had company, or more likely because she’d forgotten her key. When I opened the door Felicity flew into my arms, but not before I saw the tears streaming down her face. I managed to kick the door shut as I just held her tight.

“It was awful ... why doesn’t he listen ... I hate him.” She almost screamed. I said nothing, just pulled her closer.

After a few minutes she disengaged and walked into the living room and sat on the settee. She looked up at me and after apologising for crying, she slowly started to explain.

“We were supposed to have a quiet night in, but no, he’d only gone and arranged a surprise birthday party. There must have been about fifty people there, nearly all of them men. I keep telling him I’m not ready to go out where people are, so what does he do, he brings them to me. I panicked and just ran out. Fortunately my car was not blocked in, god knows where everyone parked. I got in and just drove and then I was here.” She managed a little smile at the end.

“Can I have a glass of your wine please, I don’t care about the tablets, I just need a drink.”

I quickly fetched another glass and poured her a drink. I think I actually grimaced when she half emptied the expensive and high quality wine in one gulp. It was worth it though, as she noticed and gave a genuine laugh.

“Oops sorry!” She said with no conviction at all.

It was my turn to laugh as I picked up the bottle and my glass and sat down beside her. She took another drink and this time savoured it.

“Ah! Even a wine heathen like me can tell this is good.”

We assumed our usual positions and talked about her evening. I commented on how difficult it must have been to get them many people in the house without her noticing. She said that she hadn’t thought of that, but it didn’t matter, her father should have listened to her. We soon finished the remainder of the bottle and Felicity asked for more. As I went to the kitchen I spotted her birthday present. I picked it up and handed it to her, wishing her happy birthday. She laughed when she realised who the author was, but became serious when I told her of the inscription. I left her to read it whilst I went to open the second bottle, this time a less expensive but still very nice Haut Medoc. I rarely, if ever, use my best wines as a second bottle.

As I re-entered the living room I saw her tears had started again. ‘Shit’ I thought, ‘I’ve screwed up!’ “I’m sorry...” I started, when she jumped up and ran to me. Flinging her arms around my neck she kissed me fiercely. Still holding the bottle of wine I managed to wrap my arms around her and begin to enjoy the kiss, which ended all too soon for me. Then again, a week would have been too soon.

“That was wonderful, nobody has ever done anything like that for me before, not even close.” I decided to sit down before my legs gave way. I’d been kidding myself that my feelings towards Felicity were of sympathy to a friend, that it was just her conversation I looked forward to. That kiss had ripped that façade away instantly. What I felt for her was without a doubt, desire, but there was so much more. If I wasn’t already, then I was very close to being in love with her. I was also confident that this was not something either of us needed. To her, I was her rock, her retreat; it was a role I was happy with. I accepted that it was also a role with a limited lifespan; one that I’d hoped that I could survive pretty much unscathed. I now knew this was unlikely. I also knew that I needed to disguise my feelings so not to hurt her. These thought whizzed through my head as I collapsed onto the settee.

To make matters worse for me, Felicity then sat on my lap facing me with her legs folded either side of mine. This was a totally new position. She removed the bottle from my hand and placed it on the nearby table, next to our glasses. She then leaned in and kissed me again. This time there was a tenderness that melted my heart. I put one arm around her and gently held her head with the other hand, softly pulling her to my lips. It was the type of kiss I’d only ever had with my wife, and then many years into our relationship; a kiss of knowing and sharing, of warmth and compassion but most of all it was a kiss of love. It consumed me and when aeons later, we parted, I was a different man. She pulled back to about a foot away and looked at me. The deep blue of her eyes drew every bit of doubt and resolution left in my body.

“Wow!” We said as one. I almost told her that I loved her but decided against it. I thought it might scare her.