From The Moment I Saw Him ....

by MacDonald, Catherine

  Eva had described to me at length the joys of snogging with Teddy Clifford - at far too much length, to be honest. Now I could begin to get my own back. I couldn’t believe that Nick had kissed me, nor how wonderful it felt.

  Back home, I fobbed off my mother’s offer of cocoa, saying I was tired and wanted to get to bed. I wanted to lie there and hug the memory of those moments to myself.

  Of course, it took me ages to get to sleep, and I felt terrible the next day. All I could think of was - when would he ring me? I dragged myself into the end of term assembly - the hall still reeked of sweat and aftershave - and was rewarded with the news that I had been offered a place at St Hugh’s. It didn’t seem such a big deal now I had experienced my first proper kiss.

  I was desperate to hear from Nick DeLisle, but the telephone remained obstinately silent. Eva had gone away with her parents, and my only consolation was the fact that she perhaps had not had time to give our number to Teddy before she went, or had forgotten. It was very frustrating.

  I was mooching about on the afternoon of Christmas Eve, when the doorbell rang. My mother went to answer it; her voice sounded high and surprised, and I wondered if an exciting parcel had come. Then she called me.

  “Eithne. Come here, darling.”

  I opened the door into the hall, and nearly fell over. The object of my desires was standing there, smartly attired in a dark coat, and holding a bunch of roses.

  “Hello Eithne. I heard about your St. Hugh’s place, and wanted to say well done.”

  He flashed that amazing smile at us, and handed the flowers to me with a flourish. I was rigid with embarrassment, but couldn’t help noticing that my mother was knocked out by the smile and the good manners.

  “How nice of you. Do come in - I’m sorry, I don’t know your name?”

  “Nick DeLisle - how do you do?”

  He shook hands very politely, and my mother was even more smitten.

  “Don’t just stand there Eithne, take Nick into the sitting room,” she said. “I’ll go and put these in water.”

  I led Nick into the room, horribly conscious of my old skirt and furry slippers. He walked up to the decorated tree in the bay window.

  “Nice,” he said, fingering a bauble. “For heaven’s sake give me your number, that ass Clifford forgot to get it.”

  I hastily scribbled it on a bit of paper and thrust it at him. Then I remembered my manners.

  “Thank you for the flowers. How did you know where I lived?”

  “Oh, I have ways....” He looked mysterious, then noticed my feet. “I like your choice of footwear, very stylish.”

  “Oh shut up!” I hissed. My mother came back in with the roses.

  “These are lovely Nick, you will stay for a cup of tea won’t you?”

  I didn’t get a word in - Nick was busy charming my mother after that. I realised with something akin to a shock that this seemed to come very easily to him. I wondered why he seemed to reserve the charm for adults, and why he couldn’t have tried some on me during our walk in the park.

  He didn’t stay long, but as he rose to go, he said

  “My parents are having a big party in the evening on Boxing Day. We were hoping that you would allow Eithne to come for a while.”

  “Of course she can. We haven’t got any engagements, her father can run her there and collect her later.”

  I looked at my mother in surprise. Normally she was very difficult about me visiting people she didn’t know, but perhaps she had been influenced by Nick’s winning ways.

  “Does Eithne know where you live?” she asked.

  Eithne didn’t. It transpired that Nick lived on the other side of town, where the old Victorian houses were, and I could feel my mother becoming even more impressed. She tactfully stayed behind when I accompanied Nick to the door.

  “I think you’ve made a conquest,” I said wryly, as I opened it.

  “What? Oh yes, mums always like me,” he said with a smug smile, wrapping his scarf round his throat.

  “Your famous charm,” I murmured.

  “Yes indeed.”

  We stood there, linked in the amusement of the moment. It felt good.

  “Thanks for asking me to the party,” I said at last.

  He gave me a quick peck on the cheek.

  “See you Friday, then.”

  As he walked down the drive, I called out, panicking suddenly,

  “What should I wear?”

  “Just leave those earrings at home.”

  I almost expected to see his grin lingering on in the driveway, like the Cheshire Cat.

  I passed a rather uncomfortable evening, with my mother gushing to my father about Eithne’s charming young man, and asking questions which I couldn’t answer.

  “Mum - I’ve only met him once or twice. I don’t know him at all well,” I said eventually.

  “He likes you, dear. Anyone can see that.”

  I wished that were true, I wasn’t too sure myself.

  Christmas Day seemed a bit of an anticlimax after this exciting invitation. My thoughts were mainly preoccupied about what to wear to the party. The dress I had worn to the dance might be a little too formal. It would have to be the Dollyrockers outfit again. I hoped that Nick hadn’t seen much of it when we were in the cafe.

  And then - there I was, at my first grown up party. I did feel nervous when my father dropped me off. Nick’s house was double fronted and spacious, full of people laughing and drinking, the noise almost deafened me when I went in. It was a noise I wasn’t very familiar with, adults, relaxed and enjoying themselves without constraint. The house was beautifully decorated and seemed very sophisticated to me. I began to understand why Nick was different to the other boys.

  He introduced me to his mother. She was willowy and elegant; apparently she worked as a buyer for a big store downtown. I wasn’t quite sure what a buyer did, but didn’t like to ask.

  His father shook my hand with a grave smile, before turning back to his golfing cronies. Best of all was Nick’s sister Rosine, a dancer at Covent Garden in the corps de ballet. She had come with a posse of London friends, who brought an extra overlay of colour and glamour to the proceedings. I thought to myself that this was living…. how wonderful to find myself part of this sophisticated crowd.

  One of Rosine’s friends, a slender man who seemed to be wearing eye make-up, was fascinated by my hair.

  “Darling - what lovely, lovely locks - you have a beautiful natural wave,” he drawled, picking up a chunk and letting it ripple through his fingers. “I always say little Nicky has good taste in women.”

  Nick, slim in a flowered shirt and jeans, put an arm round my shoulders.

  “Don’t frighten the children, Antoine,” he grinned.

  He seemed absolutely at home with everyone, old and young. It was one of his talents, and I envied it. I wondered how long it would take me to become like that.

  Rosine thrust a glass of white wine at me.

  “Pay no attention to them, darling,” she advised. I smiled, loving the silly chatter, even if I was too dumb to join in apart from the odd word. My head was spinning with the novelty of it all. A few large gulps of wine, which I wasn’t really used to, were having an effect as well.

  After a while, I heard Nick say to his mother, in a tone of deceptive innocence,

  “I’m just going to show Eithne my new guitar.”

  He took my hand, and led me up the stairs. We went down a passage, and he opened a door. It was his bedroom.

  I looked around curiously. There were a few dramatic posters from films and bands on the walls, but the rest seemed tidy and rather impersonal. I was disappointed, I had hoped there would be more clues about the real person under the cool exterior.

  The room was large, and there was a double bed in one corner. Nick sat down on the end of the bed.

  “Come on, then.”

  He patted the coverlet next to him. I must have looked stunned, because he burst out laughing.

/>   “You are funny. Don’t worry, I’m not going to ravish you in the middle of a drinks party, that’s a bit much, even for me.”

  “Your guitar...?” I said stupidly.

  “Sod the guitar. Come here.”

  I went across to him, a little reluctantly. He pulled me down on to the bed, and began to kiss me very passionately, and the next ten minutes were amazing, sexy, an education in themselves. I wanted to go on kissing him for ever, drowning in the bliss of touching him and being touched. I hadn’t realised it could feel like this.

  “Why do you have such a gorgeous smile, Nick?” I asked dreamily, tracing the dimple in his cheek with my finger. (I had wanted to do that for such a long time.) “It was the first thing I noticed about you.”

  “Dunno. Good genes, bone structure, good luck.”

  He glanced at his watch. “I suppose we’d better get back downstairs before we’re missed. The guitar’s a Fender Bass, in case anyone asks.”

  Then it was time for the buffet, but I was too strung up to do more than nibble at a few morsels. I couldn’t stop thinking about kissing him again, and the wonderful sensations which had made my knees grow weak. Was it just Nick? For a moment, I wondered whether I would have felt the same about any of the other boys I had danced with the week before, and felt quite definitely that it wouldn’t be the same thing at all.

  Later, Nick got into a prolonged conversation with a friend of his father about Oxford colleges, and I wandered over to the door into the conservatory, where people were dancing under a net of coloured lights.

  “I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”

  A fair haired young man, one of the London crowd, held out a formal hand.

  “I’m Eithne. I’m here with Nick.” I said - I had nearly said “I’m Nick’s girlfriend”, but wasn’t sure if that was true or not.

  “I’m Martin, one of Rosine’s friends.”

  We watched the dancers for a while. I said,

  “How wonderful it must be to dance professionally. Rosine is so graceful.”

  Martin lit a cigarette and nodded.

  “Yes. She moves beautifully.”

  His eyes followed her longingly, and I began to wonder if he might be in love with her. “Tell me, Eithne, how long have you been going out with Nick?” he asked.

  “I’ve only known him a few weeks. We met just before the end of term dance,” I explained.

  “The end of term dance ...... Christ, that makes me feel ancient.”

  He laughed, and took a deep drag on his cigarette.

  “They seem to be a very attractive family,” I murmured, not quite knowing how to continue the conversation.

  Martin was still gazing at Rosine.

  “Yes. They’re quite fascinating, really very seductive....” His voice tailed away, and he put a hand on my shoulder, demanding my attention.

  “Just one thing, Eithne. I’m telling you this because you seem like a nice young girl to me. You need to watch out with the DeLisles. They get away with a lot because they’re so bloody attractive. Dad - George - is a big noise in textiles - very successful, but he’s put a lot of smaller companies out of business without turning a hair. Mrs DeLisle holds down a great job. Rosine - well, she looks like an angel, but she trails a long string of broken hearts behind her.”

  “Yes, and yours is one of them,” I thought.

  “DeLisles put themselves first. Don’t get too fond of Nick, he’s a chip off the old block.”

  “People are always telling me to watch out for Nick!” I exclaimed, rattled. “I have heard about what he’s like - what he’s supposed to be like. I think I’m old enough to make my own mistakes,” I added defiantly.

  Martin gave me a sceptical glance.

  “Compared to Nick, you’re a baby, Eithne,” he said, laughing.

  I resented this, but I recognised a lurking truth. He was only trying to help me.

  “I expect I’m very stupid,” I said, at last.

  Martin ground his cigarette out in a flowerpot, then turned towards me. His face opened out into a wistful expression of remembrance and loss.

  “Yes - and the worst thing is that you’ve no idea how attractive that can be to a man - or boy, for that matter. I’m sorry,” he said, more gently. “Pay no attention to me, I’m maudlin tonight. Just remember that you can still walk away if you want to.”

  “Walk away from what?”

  Nick appeared at my shoulder, frowning slightly, as if he had overheard the last part of the conversation. Martin held up a placatory palm.

  “No worries. Good to see you Nick. Look after Eithne for me.”

  He moved away into the throng of dancers. Nick looked after him, puzzled.

  “What does maudlin mean?” I asked.

  “Drunk, squiffy, sentimental. I should think he’s had one or two too many tonight.”

  His face cleared. “I hope he wasn’t bothering you.”

  “No, not really. I think he loves Rosine,” I said dramatically.

  “Ah, yes. That’s an occupational hazard. Come on, I think we should play some guitar again.”

  By the time he finally said good night to me, I knew I couldn’t walk away even if I had wanted to.

  Chapter 5

  The rest of the holiday went quickly. I was in a hazy dream of love, both pleasurable and painful. I wanted to be with Nick as much as possible, but I only saw him a few times before the beginning of the spring term.

  We went to the cinema, where we actually watched the film. Nick disapproved of snogging in public, rather to my disappointment. The second time was more thrilling. I was asked to his house for lunch, after which his parents left to go to a race meeting.

  “So now we have the house to ourselves,” said Nick. “Time for another guitar lesson, don’t you think?”

  I had always loathed the phrase heavy petting, something that we had giggled and speculated about in hushed tones at school, and it seemed to have no relation at all to the blissful tuition I was now receiving. Other “lessons” followed in quick succession.

  I was drunk on the physical closeness, could not get enough of Nick’s smooth skin and demanding mouth. No one had ever warned me my body might feel like this, my imagination had never encompassed such wonderful sensations.

  What a waste of time sex education was at school. Dry words from embarrassed teachers, and diagrams on pages could give no idea of the heavenly things which could happen in the flesh.

  I was absolutely besotted with Nick, and was both proud and a little frightened to think how much I had learned about boys - or one particular boy - in a very short time. I felt that the awkward girl in the park was a long way away. Actually - and I only realised this a lot later - I had learned very little at all.

  When term started, we quickly got into a routine. On several nights a week, I would go to his house after school. Nick’s father was often away, and his mother never got home until after 6pm, so we were undisturbed by a parental presence for several hours. I unaccountably forgot to tell my own parents about this fact.

  At the weekend, we usually went out with other friends. I preferred our weekday assignations when I had Nick’s undivided attention. He was too often at the centre of things when we were in a crowd, and I hated sharing him.

  My parents very much approved of him. I felt myself blossoming with happiness, and it was a good job that my A level results could not affect my Oxford place, as my school work began to come a poor second to my all-consuming love life.

  I was happy and excited to be known as Nick’s girlfriend now. It gave me a real kudos with the other girls at school, and I felt myself growing a little conceited as a result.

  Some very thrilling weeks sped by. My 18th birthday was due in March.

  “Thank goodness - I can finally do it,” I explained to Nick.

  “Can we?”

  He sat up, pleased.

  “No! I meant get my ears pierced, silly.”

  “Oh.”

  He slumped
down again.

  For some time, Nick had been pressing me to sleep with him. When we were intimate in his bedroom, he would whisper silkily as he caressed me that I would enjoy it, that it would bring us closer together, and make our relationship special.

  I wanted to do it. I wanted more than anything to please him, and I understood what he was telling me, but the warnings we grew up with made me hesitate.

  “Boys won’t respect you afterwards; you will regret it on your wedding night”.

  This was the received wisdom, dispensed by women’s magazines and teachers. Even Eva and Teddy hadn’t taken this step, as far as I knew.

  I was also concerned about the risks involved, but Nick assured me we would be quite safe so long as “precautions” were taken. He seemed to know all about this, and I realised regretfully that he spoke from experience.

  “Do boys really only want One Thing?” I asked wistfully as we lay, entwined on the couch, watching some programme about Swinging London and the terrible goings on of the youth of today.

  “Christ, yes!”

  He turned those deep, dark eyes on me, knowing I always found it hard to resist him when he looked at me like that. “You know we have these uncontrollable urges, Eithne. It’s your duty to help us cope with them.”

  Then, seeing my blank look, he stopped teasing and became matter of fact.

  “If I just wanted to have sex, Eithne, I could go out and find someone like that!”

  He snapped his fingers.

  “But I happen to be involved with you - and I’d like to make love with you. There is a difference.”

  I wanted him to say he loved me. He never had. It was too hard for me to say it first, it was part of our girlish lore that the boy should be the one to do so, and I had my pride.

  Then I began to worry about losing him if I continued to say no. I couldn’t help but notice how other girls reacted to him when we were out together, and already I had felt some miserable pangs of jealousy. I hoped our relationship would stretch into the future, because life without Nick was unthinkable. So I dithered, until one Friday in early April, he made the decision for me. Perhaps it was just as well.