by J Thompson
He had found her instantly stunning and he knew she wasn’t like other women. He had never seen her with female friends, unless he counted the blue rinse trio that he had seen her talking to on occasion, and she didn’t seem as flaky as other women he had met. She was intelligent, that was obvious, but she also hinted at some issues that made admitting his own easier. He had overheard the trio talking about her a lot; she seemed to be the focus of their conversations most of the time. They had mentioned she lived on her own since her parents had passed away and that she wasn’t a drinker or a heavy party animal; she preferred a good book and a cosy night in. Mike liked the sound of that.
He smiled and remembered the times he had seen Belinda buried behind a book in her garden and would, again, admit he had watched her. Yes, she was his crush, but he felt she was so far out of his league it was like watching Braintree United take on Chelsea in the FA cup final. Everyone knew the result would be one way, but it didn’t stop them believing.
He had approached her today in the hopes of maybe asking her out, but when he had scared her he had chickened out and made up the bullshit about her car needing a service. He knew she had issues with organising and slight OCD, so when she had got twitchy he had back tracked, but he had been thankful when she had agreed. Her car ran perfect and he had done it for free. His boss had known the minute he had driven the car into the garage and he had been subjected to a morning of piss taking. It had been lucky he had booked the afternoon off so he could see a physio. He had decided that morning to try and catch her before work and the fact he had to drop her keys off had fitted in with perfection, in theory that was.
The plan had been made in his head, just executing it had been the biggest issue; walk in, give her the keys and then say “want to go for a drink”, only that never left his lips. Instead, he had to battle his stutter the entire time and in the end, had bolted out of the door leaving only a small note tucked in her planner he had seen laid out on the desk.
Mike leaned back in his seat and tapped his palms on the wheel. When had asking a girl out become so damn hard? It had never been this difficult when he had been younger.
Slamming his hand onto the wheel again, he started the engine. His consolation prize was the look on her face when she had seen him out of his overalls. He knew he looked alright in the body department. Twice weekly rugby training, coupled with gym time meant he was healthy and looked good. He grinned, he wasn’t cocky about it, he just knew it. And the fact a few ladies had mentioned it, along with the lads at work making remarks, calling him the local Hulk. He didn’t mind, he enjoyed keeping fit and healthy, as well as knocking the shit out of the lads when playing rugby. If he happened to look good whilst doing it, he wasn’t about to complain, and if the look on Belinda’s face was anything to go by, it was worth every god damn bead of sweat, bruise and busted nose.
He slotted the truck into gear and pulled out of his space at the back of the garage. His physio appointment wasn’t for another half hour, but he never expected to be such a pussy and back out of talking to Belinda. He dreaded both her agreeing to meet him for a drink and her not answering his message.
Reaching down, he grabbed a mint from the centre console and grinned when he thought back to her choice of lunch and lunch box. She may act all prim and proper, but she had quirky and unique tastes. He had sworn he had smelled pickled onions when he had walked up to the desk, and her face had looked like she had been busted doing something she wasn’t meant to.
His grin quickly turned into a wince as he remembered his appointment. His physio was neither relaxing nor gentle, it was more along the lines of minor torture. Focusing on the road, he dreaded what was about to happen; that he was about to be put through a world of pain by his physio to sort his back out from his last rugby game.
Yes, this was certainly going to hurt.
Belinda walked through her front door, kicked it closed and dropped her bags. Turning her head to the left, she was faced with her reflection, her soaking wet, mascara smudged, red faced reflection. The weather was supposed to have been dry all day but, of course, decided to chuck it down the minute she had to get some shopping. She’d had to lug all the heavy bags from down the road to her house, causing her now drowned rat look. All because some muppet had parked in her usual space outside her home.
With a sigh she pushed the wet strands from her face and dumped her keys on the small table that was beneath the ornate mirror. So instead of coming in and getting the dinner on, in her usual regular routine, she would instead be sorting her damp self out, as well as drying her wool coat to make sure it didn’t ruin. Most people would have just dumped it on the hook but Belinda couldn’t physically do that. The mere idea that she had left something like that and it could possibly start to smell or get ruined gave her palpitations.
Belinda picked up her shopping bags and took them into the small kitchen. Being in an old townhouse meant the kitchen was at the back of the house and was one of the smallest rooms. But she liked it. There was enough room for a two-seater table near the back door so she could look out onto the garden when she ate her breakfast. She placed the bags on the counter and then put the food packets away in the fridge and cupboards. Everything had its place and had to be sorted straightaway.
She draped her coat over the back of a chair and placed her handbag on the table, she needed her phone so she could google how to deal with a damp wool coat. Google had been her saviour more times than not. Typically, she could never find her phone when she needed it. She pulled out her tissues, make-up bag, perfume, purse, coin purse, kindle and then her planner, setting them next to each other on the table before she headed back into the craterous bag for a second look.
“Got you, bloody slippery thing,” she called out loud and fished her iPhone from the bottom. She stopped as she noticed a pink piece of paper wedged into her planner on the table. She never wedged anything into her planner; anything she did put in there was always neatly placed inside to await being dealt with. It was strange as she hadn’t made any notes this week, her planner had been up to date on Monday and she had known what was happening by heart as it was a quiet week.
Her phone and Google forgotten, she picked up the planner and took out the battered, pink post-it note. The writing was not hers and was legible, although a little messy. She had never seen the writing before, so at first, was very confused as to how and why it was in her planner.
* * *
Can I buy you a drink tonight? My number is 07789 454 781
Mike
* * *
What the hell? Belinda thought. Mike had asked her out! Yes, it had been on a note, but he had asked her out! Belinda closed her eyes and thought back to the last time she had seen Mike; he had returned her keys after he had taken her Beetle for a service. That had been a few days ago. She had, in his eyes, ignored his message.
“Bollocks,” she cursed, pulling out a chair before slumping into it. She bet he thought her to be an uptight cow now and would probably avoid her in the future.
A smile formed as she thought back to the day she had seen Mike at the library. She had found his stuttering so cute and had noted he seemed on edge as well as looking hot as hell in his jeans and top. He must have slipped the note inside her planner when she had turned to grab her purse and had made his escape soon after. But that just brought another memory to the forefront of her mind: the day they had met. Belinda would never forget it.
Oh god, she had looked awful, just like she had today. It hadn’t been long after her parents had passed away and she had made the decision to move to the property that had been left to her by her grandparents.
It was a day just like this one; wet, dismal and depressing, which had made her mood even worse. Grief is a unique emotion and changes with each and every person it consumes. For her, all she had wanted was to vanish in her books and work and not see a soul.
In her emotional state, Belinda had forgotten the need for a removals company and had to settle
for lugging numerous boxes and furniture into the house herself. The rain had hammered against the pavement and on every trip she had become increasingly drenched until even her underwear was soaked through. And that had been how Mike had found her, on the front step to her house, the contents of her precious memory box littered across the entrance and tears streaming down her face.
There had been pictures of when she was a child playing on the beach with her dad, horse riding with her mum and snippets of their busy but happy lives. She had watched, dumbstruck, as a man she had never met before had just smiled and then bent to collect the pictures, before placing them inside the damaged box and had then started to collect the rest of the broken contents.
In that one moment, Belinda had given a part of her heart to him. It didn’t matter that she didn’t know his name at the time, or that he could have had an ulterior motive. All that had mattered was he had simply smiled and then helped her instead of asking what was wrong. It was like he had known then and there that if he had asked, she would have erupted into a storm of emotion that wouldn’t have been easy to stop.
He had stood there getting soaked to the bone and just smiled, it wasn’t a cocky smile either, it was an understanding smile that said it was ok and he would help. And he had, he had helped her finish up moving all of her things from the car and then she had made them both a cup of tea. She had then found out that he was a mechanic and, in turn, they had talked about her little classic Beetle.
Mike had been there when she had been convinced she had no one left in the world.
Belinda wiped her face of the tears that had escaped at the memory of their first meeting. It was amazing how such a simple act could cement a person in your heart. But it had, and he had remained there ever since, not that he knew, nor would he ever until she had gained enough courage to broach the subject.
Belinda came back to the present and immediately felt awful. He would think she hadn’t bothered to call or message him because she didn’t want a drink, when that was far from the truth. She looked at the phone in her hand then back to the paper with Mike’s surprisingly neat scawl across it, in seconds she had saved it to the memory. She wouldn’t message him yet. She had to compose a message that didn’t sound too desperate or stupid and portrayed how sorry she was that she hadn’t messaged him that night, or since. The possibility she had blown any chance of seeing Mike on a more regular basis gave her slight anxiety. Belinda had always prided herself on being a kind and honest person, and the thought of someone thinking ill of her actions because she could be forgetful didn’t sit well at all.
She left her handbag and its contents spread out on the table, switched the cooker on and walked out into the hall and up the stairs, she had started to dither due to still being soaked through from the rain. She would have a nice hot shower, sort the wool coat out, eat and then sit down to send the message. Only then would she be able to switch off from the week and ready herself for the weekend. Carter’s had advertised that they were holding a special antiques festival this weekend, so Belinda wanted to be there bright and early the next morning.
†
The shower had been wonderful; the warmth had slowly seeped into her bones and made her feel more human once again. She had put her clothes into wash, had eaten a delicious meal of chicken in a white sauce, with rice and veg, and now sat on the sofa curled up with her laptop once again googling how to deal with a wool coat. That was the last time she bought one. With the British weather being so unpredictable, she would have to get one of those warm and cosy TOG coats, but they didn’t quite go with her work outfit.
Luckily, she hadn’t trashed the coat. It had been a good job she hadn’t stuffed it into the dryer when she had got in or else she could have had a coat that would have fitted one of her mum’s porcelain dolls. She had done exactly the right thing by hanging it up in the utility room and letting it air dry. She just hoped the rank smell would vanish as it dried; it currently reminded her of the old man that ran Carter’s, the one with the protruding front tooth and food down his trousers.
Everything in the house had been sorted and her OCD, for now, was under control. Well, it was until she remembered the unanswered message and that she needed to reply to Mike.
Her anxiety started to show then, making her hot and sweaty as she reached for her phone and brought up a blank message and… just sat and looked at it. Flashbacks of not being able to talk to the boys at school hit her, along with the memories of realising they weren’t the most important thing in her life.
One boy, who had been Mr popular and who had all the girls after him, had approached Belinda after PE one day; she had still been dressed in her navy blue netball skirt and bright green t-shirt and had thought she had gone to heaven. He had stood next to her, saying how much he thought she was brilliant at netball. Which, she was of course. But things had soon taken a turn when he had started to try and lift her netball skirt and then she had heard the laughter of the boys around the corner. She had been a dare and a practical joke.
Well! She grinned at the thought; the joke, in the end, had ended up on him. Her father had always taught her to not put up with bullies, so she had done the first thing to pop into her head. She had grabbed his wrist from lifting her skirt and, as her dad had taught her, bent his wrist backwards before slamming the heel of her other hand into his nose.
He had hit the deck in a flood of tears and blood, and she had been sent to the headmaster’s office and her parents called. That was the day she had known she didn’t fit in with the other kids and had decided to focus on being herself. It was a hard lesson to learn at 11, but it had served her well in life so far.
She had kept her guard up when it came to men, which was one of the reasons why she was still a virgin. It wasn’t that she didn’t like them, she just knew that the moment she slept with a man she would become emotionally compromised to them, and in turn, they had the power to hurt her. It was a daft notion and could mean she would go through life not experiencing that most powerful of acts, but she would rather protect her heart than have an orgasm. She had lost too much to risk putting herself though that kind of pain all because she had been a crap judge of character. Yes, she was most likely being a fool in waiting and hoping on finding someone that would take her, quirks and all. Though, a part of her had hoped Mike would be the one. Well, that was before she had blown it. Biting her lip to stop herself from twitching, she started to type.
* * *
Mike.
Hi it’s Belinda. I wanted to apologise for not messaging you sooner. I have only just found your note in my planner. Please believe me, it wasn’t deliberately missed.
* * *
She paused and read it back. Did it sound pathetic? She just wanted to be honest, but sometimes her honesty made her sound worse. She blew out a breath and continued on, her fingers flying over the screen.
* * *
I am so very sorry if I have let you down in any way.
Belinda.
* * *
She kept it short and simple, not wanting to waffle on as she would like. After hitting send, she placed her phone down and looked back to her laptop before shutting it down and putting it away. She would make a hot drink, then go to bed and read a few chapters of a book before heading to sleep. Tomorrow was another day and would hopefully be a good one.
Mike rolled over and groaned; his head felt like someone had pierced it with an axe. The pain came in waves, over and over, the crescendo of each one nearly sending him back into bed. He had to get up, had little choice, in fact. He had to be up and dressed, ready to drive his mate, Gary, to their rugby game today. Why he had gone out last night he didn’t know, usually when he had a game he would stay in and get an early night. But the lads at work had persuaded him that he needed some time out of the house and to see what the world had to offer. He snorted and then winced, he had foolishly told them he had given “the librarian” his number, and when she had never texted back they had taken the piss,
but also offered to introduce him to ladies that would appreciate him more. Those ladies had most definitely not been his type and he had sat in the corner of the bar getting quietly drunk until Stuart, his boss, had offered to take him home.
He had been shocked that Belinda had never messaged him, even to turn him down. He had always thought her to be nice and not stuck up, but her actions were now changing his mind. He would have preferred a message of rejection, at least then he knew where he stood. Was it his stutter that made him such a turn off, or did she think she was better than him because he was just a mechanic and she was a snooty librarian?
The more he had thought about it and the more he drank, the more pissed off he had become. But now he cupped his head in his hands as he sat on the side of his bed, still dressed in the clothes from the night before. Now he was paying for it, his head hurt, he felt sick as a dog and he smelled bad. The smelling bad part must have been from the drink launched his way when he had mentioned that all women were the same and were not to be trusted. Yeah, women don’t take man rants well and he had been given a glass full of Baileys in the face to prove it.
Mike stood up, slowly stripped off and then headed across the hall and into the bathroom. He turned the water on for the shower and turned up the heat. It would be hot enough to take a layer of skin off, but he didn’t care, he would do anything to clean off the excesses of last night and attempt to make him feel slightly better.
Most weekends he would already be at work, but for certain games he had booked the days off or had put in some overtime so he could have the day off. He was looking forward to the game, it offered a way of getting out any pent up frustration, and it also meant hammering the shit out of the other players. He would no doubt end up straight back in his current position; running a shower hot enough to blister skin as he washed away the game, revealing every bruise and scratch.
