by Paddy Kelly
Rob crouched lower, hoping the staff wouldn't notice and start whispering into hidden radios for backup. Maybe he should just go talk to her? He hadn't seen her in ages, and wasn't that what adults did, just wander up and chat? What was stopping him?
Nothing really. Nothing at all. So he slid the tin of beans back on the nearest shelf and headed for the door, giving the vegetable section a wide berth. He hurried home and didn't entirely relax until he'd stepped into the cool of his building. He paused there for a minute, and tried to breathe normally and get the blood to stop roaring in his ears. Then he smoothed down his shirt and climbed the stairs.
As he was unlocking the door to his apartment, he heard a voice. He turned and saw his neighbour Annika coming down the corridor, wearing cut-off jeans and a baggy green t-shirt. She was carrying two heavy-looking paper bags.
“Great, Rob,” she said, out of breath. “Just the man I wanted. Can you help me a bit? I just put up some shelves and I'm moving some books up from the basement. There's rats there, did you know? I don't want them to eat things.”
“Um,” Rob said with a shrug. “Fine, yeah.”
“Great!” she said. “Let's go!”
They heaved four boxes up from the basement, each one packed with so many books that it required both of them to lift them. When they were all safely inside the flat, Rob accepted a glass of water with a nod and leaned against the wall while Annika started to unpack.
His blood was still running hot from the encounter with Kajsa and the box lifting had only made the rest of him flush too. He watched as Annika plucked some books from the box. She leaned over in his direction and her t-shirt was strained out of shape by the bulk of the breasts inside. Rob found himself staring at them in a lecherous daze, unable to pull his eyes away.
“Thanks Rob,” Annika said, looking up with a flicker of a grin. “It's hot work you know, to move these things by yourself.” She bent down again, and removed a couple of granite bookends. They were heavy, judging from the way she was straining to lift them.
“Let me help ye with that,” Rob mumbled and moved up behind her, trying to find a place to stand that didn't reveal the unexpected erection straining the fabric of his jeans. She mumbled “okay” and Rob positioned himself behind her, and together they hoisted a bookend onto the high shelf.
Rob smelled her girl-sweat, spicy and sweet with just a hint of smoke. On the way down his fingers traced a line along her well-trained arm, and then slowed to a halt by her armpit. She became stock-still, with both her arms raised, and her breathing turned shallow and fast. Rob shifted his hand minutely and, feeling no resistance, carefully slid it into the armhole of her t-shirt where he traced the edges of her bra.
“Oh,” Annika said. She backed into him, pressing the curve of her body against his. “Well,” she said, sounding far from displeased.
Rob continued to trace a line around her right breast while he brought his other arm down and pressed it to her thigh. She broke the contact and turned to face him. Her features betrayed a shimmer of confusion before shifting into a teasing grin. She slipped her hands around his back and under his shirt. Her scent was now fully in his nose and he realised this was going only one place—her bed.
He tried to recall exactly where that was as he sucked on the lobe of her left ear. He quickly discovered that Annika was way ahead of him. She grabbed him by the wrist and hauled him to the white-walled oasis of her bedroom all in the space of a couple of urgent breaths.
“Bad idea,” she panted as she pushed Rob backwards. He lost his balance and collapsed across the bed. “I think really bad.” She hauled her t-shirt over her head, tossed it aside and straddled Rob, pinning him down with her thighs.
Rob located the waist of her shorts and slid his hand inside them. She exhaled sharply and opened his shirt all the way down to his navel. As her hand wandered down to fumble with the clasp on his belt, Rob realised, with a sudden grin of impropriety, that this was something he would probably regret, but definitely remember.
He also realised that the amount of useful work he'd get done today was very likely to be zero.
“I should probably throw you out now,” Annika said in a sleepy voice, her face buried in a pillow. “My parents are coming by soon.”
“Oh, okay,” Rob said with a hint of surprise. He couldn't deny there was also relief in his voice, since getting thrown out after unexpected sex was a great way of avoiding a dialogue beginning with “so” or “now what” or even “we need to”.
He climbed off the bed, naked and reeking of effort, and drowsily picked up his clothes. He settled on a chair in the hall and started pulling his things on, beginning with the socks, as he considered this novel situation and the strange new feelings it brought with it.
Rob was being sent away after sex. He didn't think it had actually happened to him before, and he realised he didn't like it. Oh sure, leaving after sex was fine, but he wanted to be in control of it. He was a thrower, not a throwee. This just felt weird.
And something else was weird too, but he wasn't sure what it was. Still buttoning his shirt, he padded silently to the door of the bedroom and peered in. He studied Annika as she lay on her bed. Was she the weird thing? The more he stared at her, the more he realised it was true. Something was wrong about Annika, something large and glaring and obvious, but he had no bloody idea what it was
He cleared his throat. “Right then, I'm off. See you round I suppose.”
“Sure,” Annika mumbled from the pillow. She did a mighty stretch and sat up, making no effort at all to cover herself. Her breasts were fantastic, tits fit for a queen, and gravity hadn’t gotten anywhere near them. Rob stared at them, and was tempted to have an even closer look.
But no, damn it. Something was still wrong with her.
“Rob,” she said. “Don't think this was anything, okay? It was just a thing. We're clear on that, yes?”
“Yeah, sure. Course!” Rob grinned, she smiled, he winked, she nodded and then he got the hell out of there as if his ankles were on fire.
He closed Annika's door and traversed the hall to his own apartment, a grand journey of five steps. He slipped inside, hung his keys on the hook and went directly to the kitchen to make a pot of tea and locate a cigarette. He was stirring the single teabag and looking for the lighter when it suddenly hit him like a punch in the chest—what was wrong with Annika. He sat down, winded, as it unfolded in his head, all suddenly blazing clear.
The problem with Annika was that she wasn't Kajsa. It was that simple. Annika wasn't Kajsa, and all those other girls weren't Kajsa either. The only person who was Kajsa was out there right now, sitting on a picnic blanket with Some Guy, laughing about cock-shaped potatoes and clinking champagne glasses together.
Rob suddenly realised it could have been him on that picnic blanket, but he'd fucked it up. He'd let it go on too long, being an indecisive bastard and deftly avoiding every gesture she'd made. And now that ship had sailed. He'd made her angry, and caused her to give their website idea away, and now she was just getting on with things. Getting her life moving forward, but with somebody else.
Rob lit his cigarette, and watched the smoke curl up. That was it then. His chance was gone, before he'd even realised it was a chance at all.
Chapter 30
Eoin groaned as he rose from the sofa. He gripped the chair and waited a few seconds as the world spun and skittered about. When he was sure it wasn’t going anywhere he shuffled to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. His arm ached as he lifted the glass to his face and once again he felt very sorry for himself.
He was home and sick. It wasn't a flu as such, just some nasty thing that gave him thumping headaches and an occasional spike in temperature. Whatever it was, it was sufficient to make being off work a very boring experience. He couldn't even watch TV for more than ten minutes at a stretch and surely lying on the sofa and watching TV was what being home sick was all about. Damn rotten luck.
He grabbe
d a pill and swallowed it with a mouthful of water, looking forward to his half-hour of clarity. He turned and made his way back to the sanctuary of the sofa and had just settled down on his pillow pile when his mobile announced the arrival of a new message. He groped for the phone and stared at it with widening eyes.
Anja. It took a while for him to coax his finger out to press the screen.
I see you are home today. I am not working. Can I bring your socks and toothbrush by? They are still here.
Eoin bit his lip as he considered this strange turn of events. First of all, how did she know he was sick? The answer occurred to him soon enough—Facebook. Of course. He'd posted his sick status a few hours back and he still had her as a friend. He hadn't been sure if he should unfriend her or not. What was the etiquette exactly? And was the actual verb unfriend or defriend? And should you un/de-friend somebody you were forced to stop seeing, even though you weren't really “seeing” them in the first place? Was there a relationship status option for an involuntary ex-lover lost through inept subterfuge?
He never should have added her at all, but she asked, so he accepted. Curse Facebook for making these things far more complicated than they needed to be. Social interaction was already tense enough without all these extra layers of fretting.
But whatever, the damage was done and now he needed to decide what to do about it. He carefully considered his reply and sent it off.
Okay bring them by. I'm not the best company right now though.
He put down the phone and wondered what he'd say to her when she arrived. How should they act? Were things still awkward? Would she try to continue the verbal battering from their last meeting? Maybe Maria was secretly coming over too so they could tie him down and extract an apology using tights and pointy shoes?
A reply came. Good, be there in an hour.
He put the phone down and looked around. It might be good to get the place cleaned up a bit—put away the dishes, water the plants, check there was toilet paper and it was hanging the right way around. Instead he sank into the sofa with a sigh.
What the hell, she was only dropping off a toothbrush. He'd just take another pill, stretch out and wait for the knock on the door.
While trying very hard indeed not to fret.
Eoin opened the door and was relieved to see Anja on her own. She gave a shy smile and hung up her jacket where she usually (used-to usually) hang it. After an attempt at a relaxed hug she ordered him to the sofa.
“Lie down, rest!” she said. “I fix you some tea.”
Eoin was glad to have his role so clearly defined. He returned to his pillow nest while Anja headed for the kitchen and started opening cupboards and rattling around. It was strange to have her in his flat again. It almost felt like nothing had happened between them. Except of course for all the stuff that clearly had happened and couldn't be undone.
“I'm sorry,” she said, putting her head around the corner. “Where is the spoons?”
Eoin pulled himself to his feet. “I'll show you. I anyway have to get the thermometer and check how close to death I am.”
She voiced her protests at him getting up but he waved them away. He pulled the infra-red thermometer from its resting place and checked both his ears. Thirty-eight and a bit. Definite fever territory.
“You should check me too,” Anja said. “Just in case.”
Eoin blinked at her odd request. She looked fine, but sure, whatever. He pulled out a new plastic cover for the thermometer and indicated she should come closer and turn her head. She covered the distance in two swift steps. Her scent stirred quite a few memories.
He had to push her hair back from her ear before shoving in the thermometer. She stood very still as he did so. He pressed the button and read the display with a nod. Then he looked at her as a suspicion blossomed in his slightly fevered head.
Why was she standing so close to him? Why was her breathing fast and shallow? And why had she just asked him to touch her?
“Um, normal,” he said, a tad distracted. “Officially only one of us is sick.” She met his gaze and gave a nod. Eoin hurried back to the sofa and by the time he'd settled down again she had arrived with two mugs of tea. She put one at each end of the coffee table and positioned herself at the far end of the sofa.
Eoin looked at his tea and then up at her. She was staring back. This couldn't drag on any more; something had to give. So he simply blurted it out.
“So why are you here Anja? I mean, just arriving like this when things are like they are. Is it for sex?”
Anja tried to look shocked but didn't succeed very well.
“Oh, why do you think that? Maybe I just feel like to help you. Make you tea. Although”—a smile flickered on her lips—“I admit it was on my mind. A little.”
Eoin felt his whole face go red. “Oh. Well I guess it was on my mind too. You know, a bit.”
“But we don't have to,” she said. “If you are not—”
But Eoin had already lunged across the small gap between them to kiss her on the neck. Her hand slid across his shoulder as she drew the kiss to her mouth. He responded enthusiastically, losing himself in the surreal tingle of the moment, and trying to ignore the fact that he was still in his totally unsexy pyjamas.
Anja was biting his ear while he considered if this was a bad idea. He found, as he reached down to stroke her thigh, that he didn't care. He could just blame the pills. Or the fever. Or the fact that it was raining outside and that it was Tuesday.
Yes, that would do. Stupid bloody erotic Tuesday.
They lay in bed afterwards as their sweat evaporated in stiff silence.
“Well,” Anja announced after a while. “I'll have to get to my job. Okay?”
Eoin nodded as she hopped lightly from the bed. She pulled her clothes on and went to the hall to collect her shoes. She returned and sat on the corner of the bed while she pulled then on. Eoin watched her preparing to leave with a strange mix of feelings, although he knew that relief was one of the stronger ones.
The shoes were on. She patted Eoin's foot and stood up. “Well, see you then.” Eoin could think of nothing to do except wave to her. She hurried out and moments later he heard the front door softly close. He lay back on his pillows and gave a heroic stretch, feeling a little sad but also far more manly than he'd done in a while.
It seemed that Anja had come round to say goodbye, in her own way. As goodbyes went, it had been pretty spectacular, but he understood that was the last he'd see of her. She couldn't be expected to choose a half-arsed casual relationship with him over her friend. Things didn't work like that. His mess with Maria meant that Anja was out of bounds forever, regardless of what she may or may not feel for him.
And this was quite okay with him. He was mildly surprised to discover he didn't want a relationship with anybody. He really didn't. He had sacrificed five years of his life to Making Things Work With Other People and had watched it all fail, regardless of how much effort he’d poured into it. He was tired of all that.
The last few months he’d felt parts of himself waking up, parts he had ignored for far too long. What had happened to all his own plans, his own desires in life? And when had they been shoved aside by somebody else's?
Eoin loved strong food with piles of garlic, and Jenny had hated it. He liked traditional old-fashioned clothes and hats, but Jenny had “updated” his wardrobe and convinced him that he was actually preppy. And he liked strong colours and dark-wood furniture, but Jenny had explained at length why white and minimalistic were so much better. And he'd just accepted it.
But those things weren't him at all. They had simply been bolted on over the real him, like a shell on a hermit crab. Well now it was time to crack off that shell and let the actual Eoin underneath peek out.
Life should be simple and he'd make it simple. Damien, and him, and his project with Rob. That was it. No more text-message dances with women, no fretting mail exchanges, no tiptoeing around people's emotions. That would all stop here.
Eoin reached for his water glass as a giddy sense of freedom and possibility tingled in his head. He felt like making a memorial plaque and hanging it on the wall so he could look at it every day and remind himself of this place and this moment. It would be brass and shiny and it would simply say: Life resumed here.
Eoin studied the white wall and narrowed his eyes. What a typically unthreatening Swedish wall. It would look so much better if it were green. Or maybe purple with a cluster of gold-framed portraits on it.
Yes, he thought, already seeing it in all its loud and gaudy glory. Why the hell not?
Chapter 31
Milly was already sitting outside the bar when Rob arrived. She'd seized the table furthest out, the one with the most remaining minutes of precious evening sun. “Mine's a cider,” she said. “And don't worry, I've taken care of the snacks!” She waved a hand over the pile of crisp packets. “Behold my snack wonderland!”
Rob deposited his jacket and pressed his way to the bar through the Friday after-work crowd. He glanced to his right and saw Helena was working. She was positioned at the end of the bar waiting to take delivery of some drinks. She'd clearly noticed him too but was making a point of not looking in his direction.
Yeah whatever, Rob thought. He caught the attention of the barman and ordered three drinks. When he had transported them back to the table, Eoin was settling into place, unusually for him a few minutes late. As soon as Rob had sat down the meeting, without a word of preamble, got underway.
“So how is our baby doing?” Milly said. She had squeezed her ginger dreadlocks into two pigtails and looked like some slightly mad schoolgirl.
Eoin flipped open his project notebook. “We're looking good. Rob's put in the icons and the layout that Karen sent. And it's a bit bright and flashy, but it definitely makes everything more alive and integrated.”
