The One

by Diane Lee

  She raised herself up on her toes and kissed him gently on his lips.

  He didn’t resist.

  - 9 -

  Morning came with a ferocious freshness, light cutting its way through bamboo blind, ambushing the sleepers into a dozy wakefulness. Clothes were strewn around the room in little mounds of disarray. In bed, Tom and Paton were naked, the pale sheets crumpled around their bodies, legs intertwined, arms slung casually over each other’s waists.

  Paton turned and moved toward Tom and cuddled into him from behind, kissing his shoulder, her arm wrapped tight around his chest.

  ‘Hi,’ she murmured.

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘I’m ok.’

  She moved closer to him and breathed in the light musky scent of his skin.

  ‘It was good, wasn’t it? We were good.’ She kissed his shoulder again.

  ‘Yeah. Yeah it was.’

  He gently extricated himself from her arms and sat, slouched, on the edge of his side of the bed. Paton noticed that he wasn’t looking at her, or making any move to reach for her or touch her. Her stomach churned, and she felt ill.

  ‘I’ve got to go to work, Paton.’

  ‘But I’ll see you later?’

  ‘Maybe tomorrow. I’m not sure. I think I’m pretty busy for the next couple of days.’

  Paton’s disappointment was obvious. ‘Oh.’ Her stomach flip-flopped.

  Tom collected his clothes from the floor and dressed, knowing that Paton was watching him. Fully clothed, he leaned over and kissed her quickly on the cheek, then stepped away from the bed, inching his way towards the door. Paton turned away from him, wrapped her arms around her body, shielding herself from the words she knew would come, words that would wound her heart as if fired from a cross-bow. They didn’t come.

  Tom stood in the doorway and said, ‘Maybe in a few days, ok?’

  Paton, through the soft armour of her pillow replied softly, ‘I don’t have much choice, do I?’

  ‘It’s the best I can do.’

  ‘Then…ok. See you in a few days.’

  And Tom turned and left the room, closing the bedroom door after him.

  - 10 -

  Paton always welcomed the first days of autumn. It was a time of recovery from the harsh, dry heat of summer. She could feel the gentle change of the seasons, air cool and moist, the sun more forgiving in its warmth. The dry heat was mellowing, becoming softer. She spent the days outside, gardening, reading or drawing, making the most of the weather’s hospitality.

  It was here in the garden that Tom found her—some weeks later—sitting comfortably on the swing seat, reading and sipping beer from a delicate, amber bottle. He watched her for some time, before a shift in his weight caused a twig to snap. Paton glanced up, disoriented, before smiling broadly up at him in recognition. Her stomach lurched with that familiar butterfly feeling of desire.

  ‘Hi,’ she said.

  ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d be happy to see me.’

  ‘How have you been?’

  ‘Ok,’ he said. ‘You?’

  ‘Ok, but I’ve been thinking a lot about you. I was wondering when you’d turn up.’

  ‘You’re so sure I would?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I wasn’t.’

  Paton moved over, and patted the space next to her. ‘That’s where you and I are different. I look at something and take it at face value. You have to analyse everything. Pick it apart. You shouldn’t do that, you know. You should just let things…be.’

  ‘I wish I could be as sure as you.’

  ‘Maybe I’m sure enough for both of us,’ she said.

  ‘Maybe that’s not enough.’ He looked directly at her, challenging her.

  Tom hadn’t moved, and Paton gestured again for him to sit with her.

  ‘I’m prepared to take that chance, Tom. Are you?’

  With his hands stabbed deep into his pockets, Tom half-smiled at her. Her innocence, her knowing, her surety, had become an enticing self-challenge. He sat next to her on the swing, easing his frame into the tiny space beside her. He reached for Paton’s hand, and bringing her hand to his mouth, he kissed her fingers.

  - 11 -

  Paton was woken by a far off rooster, his cockle-doodle-doo daring the morning to appear on his watch. It was still dark—the sun not yet risen—and the street light outside still burned bright through the slits of the bamboo blind. She watched the gentle rise and fall of Tom’s shoulders as he breathed in and out, and pulled up the sheets to cover her naked body against the chill of the morning. The sheet was twisted around his legs, and he stirred as she untwisted it, and pulled her to him.

  ‘Morning,’ he mumbled, speech slurred with sleep.

  ‘Hey,’ Paton replied softly. ‘I’m just about to make some coffee. Want some?’

  ‘Sure.’

  She slid out of bed, slipping a kimono around her body, drawing it in close, the silk liquid against her skin. He could hear her padding around the kitchen, opening drawers and cupboards, sorting through cutlery, filling the kettle.

  She returned with two mismatched mugs, and held out one to Tom.

  ‘White with one, right?’

  He nodded and took the mug she offered him, and sipped the hot liquid.

  Paton removed her kimono and hopped back into bed, careful not to spill her coffee as she got in.

  They were quiet for a few minutes before Tom spoke.

  ‘Last night I came to tell you that I can’t… couldn’t… do this. I can’t lie to you, Paton’

  ‘Oh.’ Paton let him finish.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about you—this—a lot. I don’t want to hurt you, but… you are not who I imagined I would end up with. And that’s why I’m saying this now. Before this goes too far. Further than it has.’ Tom put his cup down on the floor and sat on the edge of the bed, the sheet covering him, but only just.

  Paton seethed at his words, the anger white-hot and melting over the twisted knots in her stomach.

  ‘You want to know what I think, Tom? I think you are lying to yourself. And I don’t understand how you could do that. What we have is real. This… this is real.’

  Tom got up from the bed and located his clothes, strewn like discarded toys around the bedroom. He pulled his jeans on first, unable to find his jocks, then his singlet, and his feet slid into his thongs. The sense of déjà vu was unsettling, disquieting but Tom was resolute. He knew what he needed to say.

  ‘So. What are you looking for? I mean, you must have some idea. If you know what you don’t want, surely you know what you do?’ Paton’s voice was knife sharp, and cut through the chill of the room. She sat up in bed, sheet clasped around her naked body. Vulnerable, she felt like a wounded bird whose nest has been upturned by bullying children, and the sheet offered her a modicum of protection, not quite armour, but better than nothing.

  ‘I don’t know, Paton, but I’ll know when I find her. I’m sorry it’s not you. I really am.’

  ‘You know what, Tom? I would laugh if you got to the end of your life, and you were old and sad and alone, and you realised it was me… me all along. I was the one. Me. I would laugh.’

  The tap of his feet on the wooden floor, and the gentle slam of the front door being closed shut ricocheted around Paton’s soul for an aeon.

  - 12 -

  It was the sound of laughter from the TV that woke the old man from his sleep. Groggy, he could make out the giggles of children and the chortles of adults, seasoning conversations where the words had faded and blurred and muddied. The nurse was seated near the wall-screen, and she was laughing softly. The wintry sun shared its weak light with the window, but not enough to heat the room. His hover-chair had been manoeuvred close to the fauxplace, the dark glass logs shining blue-bright, and with the lapcoosh tucked in tight around his thin legs, he was warm, perhaps too warm. He struggled to open his eyes, but they were heavy with sleep. The nurse, sensing the old man was awake,
turned and smiled over at him.

  ‘Oh… you’re back with us then,’ she said. ‘Have you seen this show? It’s very funny.’

  The old man ignored her, although his black eyes, red-rimmed, found the screen. They sit in silence until the nurse looked at her watch, as if to confirm what she already knew. ‘It’s nearly dinner time,’ she said, swivelling around in her chair. ‘Tell you what. I’ll stay and eat with you.’

  The old man sighed. ‘You’re new,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, I am, Mr Marshall. How did you know?’

  ‘If you knew anything, you’d know that I always eat alone. I prefer it that way. I…’The swoosh of the trolley-bot entering the room interrupted his tirade and he sank, subdued, back into his hover-chair, the smell of roast chicken and potatoes and gravy seeping into the room from under the cloche.

  The nurse smiled at him. ‘That’s not very sociable. How do you know you won’t like my company if you’re not even prepared to try?’

  The old man started. From a shining point way back in the recesses of his brain, a spark of memory pushed its way forward. A different time, a different place, but it was there. The memory wriggled and squirmed and demanded to be noticed.

  ‘What did you say?’

  The nurse lifted her slim frame from her hover-chair and walked over to the trolley-bot, choosing a meal, then lifting the cloche, breathing in the savoury steam and collecting cutlery. She picked up a tray and cutlery, before sending the trolley-bot over to the old man with the roast chicken.

  ‘I said… you’re not being very sociable. How do you know you won’t like me if you’re not even prepared to try?’ She clipped the tray to his hover-chair, handing him his dinner, cutlery and a crisp, linen napkin.

  The old man sucked in his breath, reached out and grabbed her arm, fingers digging into her flesh. She looked directly at him, and he recoiled in recognition, the years falling away like sheets of rain.

  ‘Your name,’ he said sharply, almost panicking. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘I’m Paton,’ she said, laughing.

  And the old man wept, the years falling away like sheets of rain as regret burrowed into his soul like a cancer.

  What to read next

  If you’ve enjoyed reading this short story, you’ll love reading my other short stories and my series, Love & Other Stuff. The Delicious Publishing Bookstore on the Diane Lee website has the entire range of my scribblings.

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  About the author

  Diane Lee lives in Adelaide, the capital of South Australia and one of Australia’s premium wine and food districts. Adelaide is a gateway city to the outback and is regularly rated as one of the top cities to visit in the world.

  Diane has a Graduate Diploma in Education, a Master of Arts in Communication Management, and has been working in education since her early thirties. She is currently working part-time for the South Australian government in corporate learning and development.

  Active on social media, Diane has been blogging regularly since 2006 and at The Diane Lee Project since 2009.

  A keen runner, traveller, and photographer, Diane lives with her daughter, Tessa and is the valued employee of Bella, her much-loved cat.

  Diane has never married.

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