Chapter 1

I was far from impressed when I first saw her. I wondered if she were anorexic; she might have been from one of those places where there's a famine except she didn't have a bloated tummy. Of average height, with fair hair (not quite blonde), she looked, bluntly, like a skeleton thinly covered with skin.

Before I get into our story, you need to know something about me. I'm not an athlete, or a hunk. I'm more of the 'nerd' persuasion, though I do work out. No, I'm not the sort of guy the girls queue up to date. I'm a bit older than average, too – approaching my thirties when I started my course. On the other hand, I do have more female friends – note, not girlfriends which implies a romantic relationship – than male. I'm the guy they came to when a date's gone bad, or they've been dumped, or they want advice from a guy point of view. Sometimes I'm the guy they came to because they need a date stroke escort for some occasion ... invariably a one-off and clearly stated as being so. I could never make up my mind if I was bothered; it was quite nice being in the company of attractive young women even if I knew I wasn't going to get anywhere with any of them.

Cheryl cornered me one lunch-time in the cafeteria. I was slightly annoyed as I'd just got a copy of one of Asimov's Foundation series spin-offs that I hadn't read and was looking forward to starting. "I need a favour, Ted."

So ... what else is new?

"What can I do for you, Cheryl? You know I only live to serve." I think I kept the sarcasm out of my voice fairly well.

"It's ... well, a friend of mine, Rosie, needs a date for the Christmas ball. She's really shy, Ted, and totally lacking in confidence."

Oh, lovely. Just what I needed. I'm no dancer anyway and a social occasion with a girl I was going to have to work at entertaining...

"You know I'm no dancer, Cheryl."

"That's not the point, Ted. Rosie needs to go. She can't dance either, but she can go with you, feel safe, have a drink or two and be seen. You don't even have to stay to the end."

Oh, well, what the hell.

"Okay, Cheryl. Introduce us."

Okay. I think certain names conjure up a certain image. Sometimes because of someone we've known with that name and sometimes there may be a literary connection, or ... Anyway. What does the name 'Rose' conjure up? For me, a plump and cheerful, outgoing woman who is probably a good cook.

What a let-down.

I should have known, I suppose, that a shy girl that lacks confidence was not going to be cheerful and outgoing, but I might have expected she'd have some meat on her bones if only from comfort-eating. Instead I faced this ... walking skeleton. One thing about me, though, I'm good at hiding the emotions I don't want others to pick up. If the girls who were my friends knew what I thought about them, I wouldn't have them as friends. At least, I don't think so.

So, there I was, looking at a girl who wasn't exactly straight up and down, because her joints formed lumps here and there. She had hips, too, and I supposed the slight protrusions at the front were breasts ... of a sort, anyway. But after all, she was a person, with feelings. I didn't (as you might expect) get excited about her, but I did feel sorry for her. I found a warm smile from somewhere and held out my hand.

"Ted, meet Rose-Marie," Cheryl said. "Rosie, Ted's a good friend. He'll look after you."

The girl looked at Cheryl, "Really?"

"Really, really."

She timidly took my hand. Hers was thin and trembled as I took it. It reminded me of nothing so much as holding a tiny bird for ringing.

"I'm pleased to meet you, Rose-Marie," I said, holding her hand gently a little longer than strictly necessary. She let it rest there, not pulling away. Was that a hopeful sign?

"Most people call me Rosie," she said, "what is Ted short for?"

"In my case," I said, "Edward. Sometimes, Edwin or Edmund. If you're American, Theodore. Do you like being called Rosie? Rose-Marie is a lovely name."

"Thank you! I like it, but it's a bit of a mouthful."

"Tell you what, Rose-Marie, why don't we go to the cafeteria for a coffee or something, and get to know each other?"

She looked shocked. Cheryl patted my arm, said, "See you later, Ted," and walked away. That's right, abandon me here ... Too late to make excuses, though. I still hadn't had a response and suspected I wasn't going to get one, so I tucked her hand into the crook of my left arm and set off towards the cafeteria. I changed my mind, though, when we got near the main entrance, and steered her out of the building, crossed the road and took her into Café Azure in the Millennium Gallery.

I'm a fan of an American comedian called Shelley Berman, who does monologues. Whenever I ask someone what they want to drink, I think of his 'Airline Stewardess' monologue and say in a sing-song voice and a fake American accent, "Coffee, tea or milk?"

Somewhat to my surprise, she giggled. "Coffee, please. Latte." Perhaps this wasn't going to be too bad after all.

I fetched her latte and my Americano, adding shortbread and a brownie.

"Take your pick," I said, pushing the plate toward her. She looked at me ... with a slight frown, maybe?

"Thank you. I don't usually eat much."

"You need to," I said.

Her head was down as if she was staring at the plate, but she sort of stiffened, took the brownie, looked up and thanked me again. I set to draw her out and found that we had quite a bit in common; we both liked wild-life, reading and walking. It was apparent very quickly that she didn't get out much. The University course was a major adventure for her. I found that both her parents were off converting the heathen or something in Africa. Okay, I'm being cynical ... actually her mother was working with locals in health education – she was a midwife, and her father was a carpenter/joiner and was working with locals in his speciality. I wasn't impressed, though, that they'd left their daughter to live alone for several years while they worked abroad. They apparently thought their church was sufficient support network; I was not convinced.

Mind you, I was alone too. Dad was killed somewhere doing something he never talked about. Mum ... well she got some problem with her blood. The doctors said there was no connection, but I'm convinced that when I got to eighteen she thought she'd done her duty and went to join her husband...

When Rose-Marie and I parted I told Rose-Marie I was looking forward to her company at the dance. It was not entirely an untruth, though perhaps an exaggeration. I found Cheryl and suggested as diplomatically as I could that Rose-Marie might benefit from some advice about clothes.

"All in hand," she said airily, "she won't disgrace you."

"I didn't think she would," I said rather stiffly, "I just thought she'd enjoy the evening more if she was comfortable. The idea is she enjoy the evening ... isn't it?"

She looked at me sharply and I shrugged.

I thought I might as well do the job properly. My one suit was not really worth wearing any more, so I looked around and found one in Burton's that fit pretty well – I didn't have the time or money to spend on a bespoke outfit, especially since I'd probably only wear it once in a blue moon – and I booked a car to take us to City Hall.

For the benefit of strangers to Sheffield, the administrative centre is the Town Hall, presumably because when it was built Sheffield was a town, not a city. City Hall is an entertainment centre, with a concert hall above a ballroom.

I collected my date ... When she opened the door to me, I was seriously impressed. Her long dress – should that be 'gown' – mostly concealed her deficiencies in the 'curves' department and transformed her into an elegant young lady. I looked at her face really for the first time undistracted by her physique; she was pretty and had gorgeous large blue eyes; her fair hair in a ... I'm not sure what to call it; a crop? It was quite short, and carefully arranged in a sort of deliberate disorder.

I was, momentarily, speechless. When I actually made my vocal chords work, it wasn't much better... "Wow!" Then, having got my brain into gear, "You look terrific!"

She blushed most becomingly. "Thank you, Edward," she said, placing her hand on my arm.

"I, erm ... shall we go, then?" It was not precisely what I'd been expecting.

We had a ... very enjoyable evening. We held each other and swayed in the slow dances and for the most part sat out the others. We had a few glasses of wine, not many ... neither of us much liked what was on offer, but I made sure we were seen together. At some point we were sitting together ... I had my arm round her ... and we looked at each other and I slowly moved my face towards her. Our lips touched; she didn't flinch, but neither did she respond. I shrugged, mentally, and carried on holding her but didn't kiss her again.