How I Wonder What You Are Page 9

  I kicked them outside onto the step with the tip of my toe, and it was only then that I heard the sound of trickling coming from upstairs. ‘Oh, not again!’ I ran into the kitchen where only six weeks ago a burst pipe had flooded the entire room and ruined the contents of all my lower cupboards, but at least that was dry. So …

  I tracked the sound. Definitely upstairs.

  As I climbed, I wondered how a pipe could have burst when the temperatures had been above freezing for a whole week now. Dodgy plumbing? But Caro had had the whole place professionally redone, unless the man who’d fixed my last disaster hadn’t sorted it properly. I was working up a nice case of ire against cowboy plumbers as I flung the bathroom door open and scanned for the source of the noise.

  There was a nose in my bath and, at the other end, a pair of feet poked above the waterline, otherwise the surface consisted only of an extreme amount of my best bath foam, smooth and unbroken like a snowscape.

  Burglars? Clean burglars?

  I dashed into my bedroom and fetched the doorstop. All right, it was a corduroy cat, but it was filled with sand and extremely heavy, plus it had a long tail, which acted as a draught excluder when the door was closed. I carried it by the tail to give myself a decent swing-arc, tiptoed back into the bathroom and stood behind the bath.

  ‘Who the hell are you and why are you in my house?’

  Then I dropped the half-empty bottle of bubble bath right on top of the supine figure. It lurched up out of the water like Venus rising from the sea, only with much worse language.

  ‘Ow! Bloody hell, where did that come from!’

  I swung the corduroy cat.

  Of course, by now I’d realised who it was, but been too late to stop my instinctive reaction, so I was already plunging forward to stop the cat connecting with his head, as he reared up from the soap and grabbed my arms. Unbalanced I tipped forward, dropped the cat into the bath and fell after it on top of the naked, lathered and slightly smelly form of Phinn Baxter.

  Who unexpectedly started to laugh.

  It was the first time I’d heard him really laugh. He sat there with water streaming down, his hair plastered to his head and with the weight of me nearly forcing him back under the water and he laughed. Unselfconsciously, head back, laughing as though this was the funniest thing that had ever happened to him. After a moment, during which a lot of things crashed about in my head looking for pole position, I started to laugh too, although my laughter was a bit more suppressed because all my clothes were uncomfortable and my face was pressed into the side of the bath.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said eventually. ‘It’s just … how the hell did I think this was going to end up? Of course you were always going to catch me in your bath – it’s like some kind of weird script being played out. Don’t you think?’

  ‘Mmmmfff,’ I said, my nose squashed against the enamel. I wriggled back a bit, down the length of his body and knelt up in the foam. ‘So, why are you in my bath?’

  While he told me the story of his falling in the septic tank – which explained the general indefinable but very much present smell – I clambered ungracefully off his naked body, out of the bath and into my dressing gown which was hanging on the back of the door.

  ‘It’s like a conspiracy of circumstance,’ he said at last, sitting up with his knees protruding from the foam like a couple of clam shells. ‘I am this close to starting to believe in destiny. And being as I am still struggling to believe in string theory, that is pretty amazing.’

  I squeezed my hair. It had flopped from its usual take-flight-in-panic style and was lying down to my shoulders. ‘Well, anyway.’ I just wanted to get out of that bathroom before he stood up. ‘I’d better get changed.’

  Phinn looked me up and down. Dark, dark eyes. I shivered – not sure how I could explain that, the bathroom was full of steam. ‘I don’t suppose …’ he started.

  ‘Mmmm?’ My voice had gone a bit squeaky. I wasn’t sure what he was about to suggest, but even more scarily, I wasn’t sure how I was going to react.

  ‘… you’ve got any clothes I could borrow, have you? I kind of expected Link to come over with a change of gear for me, but he’s probably hiding round the back to give me maximum chance for humiliating myself.’

  ‘Oh.’ I looked at him sitting there, long dark hair plastered to his head, rivulets of water beading their way down his chest and getting caught in the small strip of hair that ran down the centre. Then I found my eyes travelling to that area of foam that was covering his groin and wondering how much of that mound of bubbles was actually bubble. ‘Er. I’m sure I’ve got something.’ My cheeks flamed scarlet like a good sunset and to cover the fact, I fled from the bathroom.

  * * *

  We were sitting downstairs drinking tea when Link finally turned up to reclaim his friend. He stood on my doorstep, shifting from foot to foot like a schoolboy.

  ‘Is Bax still there?’ He was staring at the pile of festering clothes that were

  draped over my bootscraper. ‘Can he come out to play?’

  ‘Oh, just come in.’ I held the door wide and Link came past me with a leer and a small wink.

  ‘Got him out of the bath, have you?’

  ‘No, he did that all by himself.’ I indicated the table where Phinn was sitting, hands cupped around a mug, staring into the steam. It was, pretty much, all he’d done since he came downstairs. ‘Being an adult, and everything.’

  Now Phinn looked up. ‘Please tell me you brought some clothes over for me.’ He hunched further forwards. ‘Either that or a shovel, so we can bury what’s left of my dignity.’

  ‘Oh, man.’ Link started to smirk. ‘No, no, suits you. Lovely. That lilac is really you.’

  ‘It’s all I had that would fit,’ I said. ‘I’m not exactly Topman, am I?’ Then I turned to Phinn. ‘You only need something to get you down to the other end of the village, you’ll be fine.’

  Actually, the pale lavender did suit Phinn with his dark colouring. He’d tied his wet hair back away from his face and the floppy collar of the jacket made his cheekbones more prominent. Unfortunately the legs of the trousers stopped short of his ankles by a couple of inches and the expanse of bony shin that they revealed, tapering as it did into a pair of moccasin slippers, gave him a ‘dressed by mother’ look.

  ‘No, I’m sorry. I’m grateful, Molly, of course I am. It’s either this or walk down wearing a dressing gown.’ He and I exchanged a look. It had been my first option for clothing for him, only when he’d put it on the nylon fabric had proved to be rather skimpy in the crotch region and we’d both, silently and individually, agreed that it wasn’t suitable. Hence the lilac trouser suit which I’d bought at a car boot sale for some reason, which now escaped me totally, it being three sizes too large and a colour I would only wear at knifepoint.

  Phinn stood up. The trousers sagged, despite the safety pin keeping the waist in, his hips being insufficiently female to keep them up, but disaster was averted by Phinn clamping his hands to his sides to hold them through the pockets of the jacket.

  ‘We off then, mate?’ Link tried to keep a straight face. ‘I hear it’s tranny night in Pickering.’

  ‘It’s not busy out there, is it?’ Phinn looked anxiously at the window. ‘There’s not, like, I dunno, a tourist bus just pulled into the village or something?’

  ‘You’ll be fine.’ I straightened his collar and he gave me a weak smile. ‘People round here are very forgiving.’

  ‘And at least you smell better.’ Link walked around him sniffing appreciatively. ‘Crabtree and Evelyn, if my radar doesn’t deceive.’

  Phinn turned. ‘Thank you, Molly. You’ve saved my life.’

  For one second he was standing very close to me, I could feel the drips from his still-wet hair against my cheek. My eyes were level with the dark swirl of hair that began before the buttons of the jacket and disappeared down onto the torso that the jacket concealed and I had a sudden vision of that chest naked and with water
trickling down it.

  I stepped back. ‘It’s all right,’ I said. ‘I wasn’t even here for most of the life-saving part.’

  Our eyes met and I was horrified to see his eyebrows lift. It was as if he’d seen my sudden, unreasonable lust and found it amusing. ‘I promise not to break in again.’ His voice was softer now.

  Link cleared his throat. ‘What about offering to take this young lady out for a meal tonight, to say thank you properly?’ He grinned at me directly and I was glad to switch my attention from that dark gaze. ‘I mean, he could offer to cook for you but really? Unless you’ve got a thing for tinned soup, I’d go with the eating out option.’

  ‘There … there’s the pub,’ I found myself stammering. ‘They do food. Nice food, not just sandwiches and things.’

  ‘They do sandwiches?’ Link slapped his forehead. ‘Jeez. Enough with the tinned stew stuff already, Bax, mate. Right. You and him, seven o clock, pub. Okay?’

  ‘Are you sure?’ I asked Phinn directly. ‘It’s very nice, but unnecessary, honestly.’

  Phinn and Link exchanged the look this time. Link grinned while Phinn had a slightly shell-shocked expression. Finally he said, ‘Yes. Yes, you’re right. Dinner. I’ll meet you there.’

  I watched them walk back towards Howe End. Phinn’s trousers flapped in the stiff breeze like a couple of mourning flags, his hands still clamped tightly to his sides so it looked a bit as though a shop window dummy was making its way down the street. Link was clearly talking earnestly, I could see him leaning in now and again to make a point, while Phinn just stalked along, probably desperate to get indoors again before anyone saw him.

  And I wondered to myself – how the hell could I fancy a man wearing a mauve ladies’ trouser suit. Because, despite myself, I did.

  Chapter Ten

  Phinn sat behind the table in front of his third Coke and felt the hot, tight sensation of embarrassment close itself around him.

  Molly had stood him up. All right, he could live with that. After all it wasn’t as if he’d even asked her out himself, she might have said yes just to get Link to shut up and leave them both alone – yep, he knew exactly how that went. No, it wasn’t the humiliation of having his third party arranged date not turn up, so much the fact that it seemed that the entire pub knew that he was supposed to be meeting Molly and were giving him little matey grins and encouraging smiles every time the door opened and didn’t reveal Molly standing there.

  ‘You want another in there?’ The barman nodded towards the nearly-empty glass. ‘Or are you going on to the hard stuff?’

  ‘No, it’s okay. I’ll just finish this …’ Phinn looked at his watch, unnecessarily because there was a huge clock behind the bar but he wanted to look as though he was an active participant in his own downfall. ‘Then I’ll get on back.’ Besides, the hard stuff hasn’t solved any problems yet.

  ‘Ah, you can give her another ten minutes. Moll’s usually pretty prompt. There must be something keeping her for her to be this late.’ The barman polished a glass, seemingly unaware of the discomfort his apparently even knowing the time that they were supposed to meet was causing Phinn.

  ‘Probably one of them horses,’ said an old man, raising his pint. ‘She’s a devil for mucking around with those things.’

  There was a general chorus of ‘thass reet’ and Phinn sunk his head lower towards his chest in an attempt to become invisible. It wouldn’t have been so bad, he thought, if he could have lost himself in alcohol. Blurred the edges a bit, taken the razor blade of awkwardness which he could feel scraping along his nerve-endings and blunted it down to an ignorable ache. He glanced up at the display of bottles behind the barman’s shoulder, let his eyes travel over them looking for a favourite; something, anything that would let him slide back into the haze that had sustained him for the past few months.

  His fingers tightened around the glass in his hand and the thick brown liquid within it slopped in protest. No. Come on, Baxter, it’s not the answer, you know that. It just makes the question look more interesting. He took another mouthful of fizz and swallowed it quickly, feeling the last lonely ice cube bump against his teeth. He’d finish this and then he’d go. Perhaps he could pretend that he’d misunderstood the date, that they were supposed to be meeting tomorrow night …

  But the cheer that went up when the door swung back to show Molly, a flustered vision in a red dress, stopped that thought dead.

  ‘We thought you wasn’t coming!’ The barman put a wine glass on the bar and filled it without consultation. ‘Your young man theer, he’s been proper bothered, you’re a bad lass to keep him waiting. Horses, was it?’

  ‘Mmmm.’ Molly stepped down into the bar and Phinn could see that she was wearing heels that made her legs look fantastic. Heels, sheer black – oh Lord, were those stockings? – on her legs and a short red dress that showed off her neat figure to perfection. His libido gave a little moan.

  When she picked up her glass and came over to the corner where he was sitting, he got a puff of some musky perfume which made him wish that his stomach wasn’t so full of coke bubbles. ‘Sorry, Phinn. Caro had a breakout. Stan is such a little sod, he managed to unbolt his door and then went round the yard letting the others out. We’ve been hoiking them out of the hay barn all afternoon and then I had to have a shower and get changed and … are you all right?’

  Phinn’s inner cynic, the one that had spent the last year telling him that all women were only after him for one thing and that he’d better figure out what that thing was before he ever touched another one with anything other than a laser-pointer, was struck dumb. ‘You look … legs,’ he muttered.

  ‘Not seen you in a frock before, lass,’ commented one of the older men. ‘Thought you was just having a quick meal, like, and here’s you done up like Frank’s donkey! Very nice, though.’

  ‘Thank you, Dave.’ Molly turned to give the whole pub the full value of the outfit, and curtsied. ‘It makes a nice change.’ Then she muttered over her shoulder to Phinn, ‘For God’s sake let’s go through to the restaurant, before they start doing my colours.’

  She turned back to him and Phinn got another whiff of that smoky scent she was wearing, knocked his glass with his elbow and managed to splatter himself with the remainder of his Coke. He struggled to his feet amid much inner cursing, aware that his decent white shirt now looked as though he’d been sick down himself and followed Molly’s rapid steps out of the bar and into a much quieter back room, where a few tables were laid up for dinner.

  ‘Wherever you like, we’re not busy.’ The barman, now with a cloth over one arm, clearly doubling up as tonight’s waiter, waved an arm. ‘Over by the window’s favourite, not such a draught, and you can’t smell the bog house.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She slid into her seat, leaving Phinn standing awkwardly, not sure whether he should have pulled out her chair for her, and whether now was too late. ‘Are you sure you’re all right, Phinn? You do look quite peculiar. But really, really good. Well, better than you did this morning, anyway.’

  He finally felt the tension break as she grinned widely at him and pumped her eyebrows up and down. Just a meal to say thank you. That’s all this was. He looked down at his white shirt and black jeans. ‘I thought violet might be a bit much for tonight. But I’ll let you have it back tomorrow, if you’re desperate.’

  ‘No, no, keep it. Actually, no, burn it.’ Molly settled herself in her seat and consulted the menu. ‘And then bury the ashes.’

  They ordered their food and Phinn felt, with something like relief, the creeping return of normality between them. It was lust he’d felt, seeing her there in her tight dress and lovely long legs. That was all. Lust. Hormones. Look but don’t touch, Bax. Like a nice painting, good to look at but it’s only pheromones, only biology making your tongue hang out and your cock twitch.

  ‘I shouldn’t be out late tonight, I’ve got to make a start on reading about the local folklore tomorrow for this article,’ she said, her matter-
of-fact tone reinforcing the return of his clear head.

  ‘Article?’

  And then she was explaining about her column and her editor, Mike, and Phinn felt a faint idea beginning to crystallize around the back of his brain.

  ‘I don’t suppose … I know this is a long shot but is there any chance that he might want a column on stars?’

  ‘Stars?’ Molly looked taken aback. ‘What, like celebrity interviews?’

  Phinn sighed. ‘Black hole singularities rarely get drunk and fall out of bars.’

  The first course arrived, set on the table by a grinning barman, who’d slipped a black coat on over his shirtsleeves and seemed to be attempting to turn into a waiter by degrees.

  Molly sipped at her soup. ‘I’m not sure. He might, I suppose. Actually, yes, Mike’s a bit of a frustrated scientist, he keeps trying to get me to do things about local geology, and I can just about tell a lump of chalk from – actually, the chalk had better be the only thing on the table or I’m lost. Even chalk might be pushing it, science was never my thing at school. And to think Mum spent all those hours trying to get me to learn the periodic table.’ She concentrated on her soup very hard for a moment. ‘Why did you become an astrophysicist, Phinn?’

  Ow. Phinn felt the impact of the personal question in the centre of his chest and buttered a piece of toast to cover his uncertainty. ‘I … my parents … it all seemed like a good idea at the time.’ He layered pâté and a gherkin with immaculate precision on top of the toast but found that his appetite had largely gone. I could tell her about my mother’s expression when I was five and told her I wanted to be a fireman …

  ‘You must be really intelligent.’ He could see her eyes through the soup steam, blue and innocent, making a simple observation with no intent to flatter him. And suddenly he hated himself yet again.

  ‘Yeah, I’m clever.’ He knew his voice sounded bitter and welcomed it. ‘A levels at twelve, degree at fourteen. I’m the youngest PhD in Astrophysics that my university ever turned out. And, do you know something, Molly?’ He leaned forward across the table, surprised when she leaned too, bringing their heads almost into contact. ‘The whole thing is a crock of shit. Being clever, what does it get you? No kind of life at all.’