Not What it Seems

by Pamela Fudge

  For this second date Stuart had booked a table at Annabelle’s after discovering that it was one of my favourite restaurants. On reflection I hoped he realised it was because of the fabulous menu and didn’t think it was just because I favoured the booths taking up the centre of the room. The high-sides afforded the diners a privacy that was quite unique in an eatery and I wondered how Stuart had managed to secure one, because they were very popular indeed.

  Knowing the venue we would be heading for had been an advantage and I had pushed out the boat and purchased a whole new outfit. With all the upheaval of moving my weight was less than it had been for quite some time, so I treated myself to a figure-hugging pencil skirt and top, both in black, with matching tights and a very pointed pair of killer heels that I would never have tried to either drive or walk far in. The jacket, I thought, made the outfit, being in an eye-catching black and white zebra print and very fitted. I knew I was looking good – and I didn’t add the rider ‘for my age,’ not even in my own mind.

  I was glad I’d made the effort when I’d opened the front door earlier to my tall, dark and handsome escort, clad in what I recognised as an Armani suit in black, with a crisp white shirt, and a red tie adding a splash of colour. He looked good enough to eat and I was glad I was ready to leave, because I feared to consequences of letting him inside my door.

  Once the touchy subject of Owen and my previous living arrangements – which had quite spoiled the first course - had been dropped, the intimacy between us built deliciously as we tasted food from each other’s forks and our legs nudged under the table. I realised I hadn’t felt like this about anyone since Kevin, and the sudden and unwelcome thought of my ex-husband suddenly made me understandably wary and determined not to rush into anything with Stuart.

  There was no doubting the sexual attraction between us - the air was practically crackling every time we touched - but at my age I didn’t want to be leaping into bed with someone I hardly knew. In fact, I wouldn’t have wanted that at any age.

  This time, at the end of the evening, he leapt out of the car, opening my door for me and walking me up the path. There was no doubt in my mind that he was expecting to be invited in – especially as our kisses became increasingly ardent.

  ‘Aren’t you going to ask me in?’ Stuart asked when the invitation wasn’t forthcoming, his breathing was laboured, his look hot, heavy and longing.

  I successfully fought the desire to just give in and enjoy the delights he would undoubtedly have to offer, ruthlessly ignoring the voice that reminded me it had been a very long time and I was of an age to please myself, not to mention the clamouring of my eager body, and shook my head reluctantly.

  I guessed women rarely rejected his advances and I was in no doubt of his state of arousal, but he merely said softly, ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  I was certain he would try to convince me or even get annoyed, and was relieved when he did neither, but just wrapped me tightly in his arms and kissed all the breath out of me before letting me go. He then held me at arm’s length before drawing me closer again, looking down at me for a very long moment before kissing me briefly once more, and walking away.

  He was gorgeous. What was I thinking? Why couldn’t I just take what he offered for however long it lasted and just enjoy it for what it was? I would probably never hear from him again and spend the rest of my life wondering what I had missed.

  I had turned away and was fumbling for my key when he called, ‘G‘night, Evie. I really enjoyed tonight. I’ll call you tomorrow,’ before driving off. Opening the door at last, I skipped inside with the biggest smile on my face and slept dreamlessly through the night.

  True to his promise, Stuart did ring the next day, but it didn’t look as if we would be meeting anytime soon. He had already said the orders had been building up, with everyone predictably wanting their office, kitchen or bedroom fitted before Christmas.

  ‘We’re going to be working late and probably even weekends to keep on top of it,’ he explained, and I had no reason to disbelieve him. If I had visitors coming and the house in uproar I would want the work completed, too.

  ‘Honestly, don’t worry,’ I assured him, ‘I’ll have enough to do with winding up classes for the end of term and getting on top of the present and food shopping for Christmas. I ought to spend some time with Arthur, too, because I’ve been neglecting him lately.’

  ‘I’m not sure I like having a rival,’ Stuart said. His tone was carefully light, but I think we both knew that it wasn’t Arthur he was referring to.

  I was quite certain he would not have been impressed had he known that it was Owen who turned up on my step with a Christmas tree and stayed on to help me put the decorations up.

  I was just thankful to have someone who knew what they were doing to fix the tree lights when they fused and – if I was being totally truthful – it was it was lovely to have someone to share the memories of Christmases past. We reminisced over each tree decoration, the majority of them made or purchased by the children and amassed over many years. Not many would understand the value of a robin with a broken beak or a glass angel with only one wing.

  The tree was far too big, clearly having been bought with the dimensions of a much bigger house in mind and when Owen had first arrived his dismay was clear to see.

  ‘I’m so sorry, I just wasn’t thinking.’

  ‘It doesn’t have to go in the hall,’ I reminded him, though that was where it had always proudly stood in the old house.

  ‘In fact,’ he said ruefully, ‘if you put it there, no one will be able to get in the door.’

  ‘Corner of the dining room,’ I suggested, and it was perfect once we had done a bit of judicious pruning.

  We stood back to admire it, once all the decorations that had used to adorn the untrimmed tree in a much bigger house had been determinedly, yet artistically, forced into place. There was no doubt it was overloaded but then our trees always had been, it was the way we all liked it.

  ‘Perfect,’ Owen gave his nod of approval, ‘and the fairy on the top hasn’t even noticed she’s a bit lower where we had to cut the top off.’

  ‘I’m sure she was never fond of having that spike thrust up her skirt anyway. She looks much happier.’

  We laughed uproariously, like naughty children at a smutty joke, and then enjoyed a sip or two of mulled wine and nibbled mince pies before we set to work with the rest of the decorations. With the Christmas songs album playing in the background it was beginning to feel very festive.

  ‘What about your house?’ I turned from where I was standing on a chair pinning up a Merry Christmas banner that had seen better days, but still looked pretty as long as the main light wasn’t on. ‘There’s nothing left for your tree and now we’re using all of this stuff as well.’

  Owen didn’t look up from arranging nativity figures in the crude stable that Jake had made in woodwork class at secondary school. ‘I didn’t think I’d bother,’ he said.

  I almost drove a pin into my finger. ‘Oh, don’t say that. It sounds so sad and now I feel mean for stealing Christmas from you.’

  ‘We’ll be here anyway,’ he pointed out mildly.

  ‘But only for Christmas day.’ I felt like crying. ‘You know we always decorate early in December, or you wouldn’t be here with the tree.’ He went to speak, but I held up my hand. ‘No, I’m not having it. I’m going out tomorrow to buy Christmas for your house and I’ll be over to help you decorate.’

  He came to lift me down and I hugged him. ‘Can’t have you without a Christmas, can we?’ Then we stood like that with our arms around each other admiring our handiwork, just as we had done on fifteen other Christmases. Except this one was very different and that was brought home when the doorbell rang and we sprang apart guiltily – or perhaps that was just me.

  Chapter Eight

  My relief at finding Arthur on the step almost overwhelmed me and I was probably over-effusive in my welcome because of
that.

  ‘Arthur,’ I cried, ‘and Gizmo, too, come on in out of the cold.’

  I was trying to pretend it didn’t matter a jot exactly who had been standing on the step, but wasn’t fooling myself for a minute. Had it been Stuart, I would have, far more reluctantly, had to issue a similar invitation and then watch the expression on his face change from pleasure to suspicion as he’d taken in the festive and very cosy scene with Owen in the centre of it.

  ‘Look, it’s Arthur from next door and his dog, Gizmo, ‘I repeated for Owen’s benefit, because somehow I didn’t think they had ever been formally introduced, what with Owen storming off so regularly those first few days after I’d moved in.

  Owen thrust out a hand, ‘Lovely to meet you, Arthur.’ The two men shook hands and then Owen hunkered down and held out a hand tentatively to Gizmo. ‘What a grand little chap,’ he said, as Gizmo licked his fingers.

  ‘He belonged to my wife. She thought the world of him.’

  ‘You’re a widower then, like me. I expect you miss her.’

  ‘Only every day,’ Arthur said, ‘but you have to get on with it, don’t you? We’re not here to mope. We had a good long marriage and our son was grown up with children of his own before she passed. I believe your children were quite young when you lost your wife and that must have been hard.’

  I poured Arthur a mulled wine and put a mince pie onto a plate and watched as they sat down to chat.

  ‘Pretty well impossible, until Evie and I got together, but it wasn’t…’

  ‘What it seemed,’ Arthur finished. ‘I know, Eve’s told me all about it. What a blessing for you both, and for your children that you had the good sense to see the benefits of getting together.’

  ‘Mulled wine, Arthur, and a minced pie?’ I placed them in front of him, and added, ‘Something of a tradition when we put the decorations up.’

  Arthur raised his glass, ‘I’ll drink to tradition,’ he said, and looking round he nodded, ‘It’s looking grand.’

  ‘Not too much?’ I asked and we all looked at the over-decorated tree and generously festooned dining and sitting rooms, even the kitchen had a couple of bells hanging from the ceiling.

  ‘You can never over-do Christmas,’ Arthur stated, beaming at us both. ‘I can still mind our family Christmases and the memories always make me smile.’

  ‘Why don’t you join us for ours?’ Owen said suddenly, and then as an afterthought he added, ‘That’s if Evie doesn’t mind.’

  ‘Owen took the words out of my mouth,’ I insisted, and actually, he had. ‘Having you here for Christmas day would completely make our day.’

  Arthur didn’t take too much persuading, and he never did say what he’d come round for, though I thought perhaps he’d heard the Christmas songs through the wall.

  ‘You didn’t mind, did you?’ Owen asked, when Arthur had returned to his own home. ‘When I thought of him spending the day on his own I forgot it wasn’t my place to issue invitations.’

  ‘You only just beat me to it,’ I reminded him. ‘Having him here will be quite nice, won’t it? The kids all missed out on having a grandparent. What with Kevin’s parents making themselves scarce as soon as he did, mine already settled in Australia, yours being that much older and living in Scotland, and Susan being an orphan.’

  ‘There’s no doubt they’ve been deprived and, therefore, will probably adopt Arthur on the spot,’ Owen was smiling. ‘Now, about the food - I do want to pay my share.’

  ‘And so you shall.’

  ‘Do you want me to come to the supermarket with you?’

  ‘But you hate supermarket shopping,’ I reminded him, and watched his face fall. ‘Well, we’ll see,’ I promised, but determined not to accept his offer because, as nice as this evening had been, it was all beginning to slip back into it being exactly as it always had been. I didn’t want to give the impression that nothing had changed – because everything had and it couldn’t change back just because it was Christmas.

  In the end it was Stuart who came to the supermarket with me, simply because he turned up his way home from a job on the off chance we could spend an hour or two together just as I was setting off.

  ‘I can leave it,’ I said immediately, thrilled to see him.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ he offered, just as quickly. ‘It will be a whole new experience for me. Shopping for a family for Christmas groceries must be very different from shopping for one or two. In fact,’ he said flatly, ‘Claire and I always went away – usually skiing. The snow made it seem a bit more festive that a beach in Barbados might have done.’

  ‘Mmm, a beach in Barbados holds definite attractions for me,’ I mused dreamily, happily accepting his offer to drive since the Beetle wasn’t known for its roomy boot and hopping into the Passat.

  ‘We could do that,’ he said, concentrating on pulling out of the close and not looking at me, ‘after Christmas, of course.’

  ‘Really?’ I stared at him, because it sounded as if he was envisaging a future together for us – even if it was only the immediate future.

  ‘Why not?’ Stuart did look at me then, with a raised eyebrow.

  I said the first thing that came into my head, and it was practical, at least. ‘It would have to be half-term because of my classes.’

  ‘When’s that?’

  ‘Mid-February.’

  ‘It will still be hot in Barbados then,’ he said knowledgeably, making me laugh, and adding lightly, ‘February it is then.’

  He carried on making me laugh all around the store, taking charge of the trolley and seriously discussing the merits of homemade versus packet stuffing, when it was perfectly clear he didn’t have a single clue what the hell he was talking about. We must have been an hour deciding which crackers had the most to offer in the way of hat, motto and novelty.

  I only just stopped myself from saying that Owen was the only one in the family who still put a paper hat on, and pointed out instead that the novelties always ended up in the bin.

  ‘Ah,’ he said, holding up a very fancy box, ‘but they wouldn’t if they were worth having, and,’ he said, as if it clinched the matter, ‘you’ll get a much better class of motto with these. I can guarantee they won’t end up in the bin.’

  It was as if thinking of Owen had conjured him up because heading, still laughing, towards the delicatessen we bumped smack into him and the expression on his face as he took in the picture of us together pushing the family Christmas in the trolley almost tore my heart out.

  If I’d given the matter any thought at all, I would have said the chance of meeting him was exceedingly slim, but in a small town like Brankstone there was only one major supermarket within easy distance so there always was a chance.

  ‘Glad to see you found someone willing to help you bring the feast home,’ he joked, as soon as he’d collected himself, ‘though I did offer.’

  Stuart took in the situation at a glance, and surprised me by immediately pouring oil on what could have been troubled waters by saying, ‘Oh, I just turned up at an opportune moment and got roped in.’

  ‘I expect you’ll be joining us, then, on Christmas day. Least you deserve, I’d say,’ Owen sounded most civilised. Only I could have guessed the effort it took him to issue such an invitation when it was obviously the very last thing he wanted.

  ‘Evie’s already told me it’s a bit soon to include me and I’d already made my own plans anyway - nice of you to offer, though.’

  ‘Stuart and I have only just started seeing each other.’ I was so glad of the opportunity to make that clear. ‘I think this constitutes our third date.’

  ‘See what happens when I let her choose the venue,’ Stuart complained and we all managed to laugh.

  ‘Well, nice to meet you Stuart.’ Owen held out a hand and they shook. ‘Let me know what I owe you, Evie.’ He indicated the contents of his own trolley that comprised a variety of meals for one. ‘My bill should be quite a bit lower.’

  ‘About the s
ame as mine usually is by the look of it,’ Stuart nodded, before adding, ‘It seems we have the same taste.’ He didn’t need to look at me for the inference to be clear.

  I felt a bit shaky, but I couldn’t have said why. It wasn’t as if I was doing anything wrong. To hide my confusion I made a big show of selecting cheeses, giving my choices all of my attention.

  ‘Well,’ said Stuart, as we walked away with a selection that included everyone’s particular favourite, ‘that could have been awkward. He obviously didn’t have a clue we were seeing each other. When were you going to tell him?’

  I stopped in the middle of the aisle and gave him a straight look. ‘When I was certain there was something to tell,’ I said firmly.

  ‘You don’t think that I’m serious about you, do you, Evie?’

  ‘I really have no idea,’ I found myself saying honestly but, before he could reply, someone requested, ‘Excuse us, please.’

  Steering the trolley out of the way I turned to make my apology to the couple waiting to pass. ‘Oh, I’m so so…’

  ‘Evie? It is you,’ the woman said, ‘I wasn’t quite sure from the back.’

  ‘Sandy – and James.’

  There was a lot of exclamations, hugging, and explanations of them being in the area to visit relatives, before I remembered Stuart waiting patiently by the trolley.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ I hurried to introduce him a little awkwardly. ‘This is Stuart my – ah – friend.’

  While Stuart and James were shaking hands Sandy took the opportunity to waggle her eyebrows about and look him up and down in what she obviously fondly assumed to be an approving way.

  When it was her turn, she said, in the most exaggerated way, ‘So pleased to meet you, Stuart. I’d like to say I’ve heard all about you, but Eve has obviously been keeping your existence all to herself.’

  Even I laughed. ‘We’ve been seeing each other all of five minutes, Sandy, and I’ve been busy moving house.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ James put in, ‘we got your change of address card. Finally got the children off your hands and moved on after – how long was it? – fifteen years.’