by Mandy Baggot
‘Thanks,’ Cleo accepted.
‘Listen, I’m sorry if I went a bit over the top this morning. I’m just panicking a bit about the Civic Hall. I do like Jeremy, yes his shoes are big and irritating but he’s certainly not the worst you’ve brought home. That accolade most definitely goes to Byron, the ZZ Top loving librarian,’ Samantha stated.
Cleo couldn’t help but laugh at her sister.
‘And, I didn’t want you to rush into anything and get yourself hurt,’ Samantha added seriously.
‘I know and you were right. I mean what do you really learn about someone in a week? He could be an axe murderer or someone who likes S Club 7 for all I know,’ Cleo remarked.
‘I don’t think he’s an axe murderer but you’re going to have to ask him about S Club 7. You know the rules of the house, he simply can’t be allowed to have ever owned or downloaded an S Club 7 song,’ Samantha replied.
Cleo smiled and then her face clouded over again.
‘I just really like him Sam and he really likes me. I don’t think I’ve felt like this about anyone before. I know you’ve heard me say that loads of times but honestly, this time I really mean it. He just accepts me as I am you know - he seems to love my eccentricities. I don’t have to put on any airs and graces, I can just be myself. Like I was supposed to go out for bagels at lunchtime the other day and I kind of got sidetracked and ended up buying this cute handbag in Dorothy Perkins. Well Jeremy just got that. He smiled and said it was nice and I’d completely forgotten about everyone’s lunch,’ Cleo spoke, her eyes misting over.
‘That’s nice,’ Samantha replied, thinking about Jimmy.
‘But we’ve talked again about it and we both agree it would be too soon. And if it’s really going to be a long term relationship then there isn’t any point in rushing things,’ Cleo said as Samantha brought over her tea.
‘Well, I’m sorry I reacted like I did this morning. I’ve just got a lot going on at the moment, with the hall,’ Samantha spoke as she sat down opposite her sister at the table.
‘And Darren? Have you heard from him today?’ Cleo enquired.
‘No, no, not today. He’ll probably call me later,’ Samantha spoke rapidly, burying her face in her cup.
‘So how do you feel about him? Could he be ‘The One’?’ Cleo continued.
‘Oh I don’t know, I’m not sure I’d really know what I was looking for - apart from no wives, no nipple ring, and definitely no body odours,’ Samantha admitted.
‘Well, how does it make you feel when you see him?’ Cleo asked, sipping her tea.
‘Sick usually because I never know what’s going to come out of my mouth next. I go to say one thing and something else comes out,’ Samantha told her.
‘And your stomach turns over and your heart races and all you want to do is rip his clothes off?’ Cleo guessed.
‘Well I’m not sure I’d go that far. I mean I haven’t known him very long,’ Samantha answered, flushing as she thought of Jimmy’s chest.
‘But you’ve thought about it? Considered that you might?’ Cleo assumed.
‘Maybe,’ Samantha admitted thoughts of what Jimmy would look like naked springing to mind.
Cleo shrieked excitedly.
‘But how do you really know if a guy likes you? I mean, if they haven’t made it obvious - you know, not just likes you as a friend but likes you,’ Samantha wanted to know.
‘How old are you Sam? Twelve?! What d’you mean how do you know? He snogged you last night didn’t he? When he brought you home,’ Cleo asked.
‘Well no, but I don’t think I stayed in the car long enough to find out if he wanted to. I didn’t really sit still from the moment he put the brakes on. And the journey home was awful, he started asking me questions and I didn’t know what to say - he makes me nervous,’ Samantha admitted, recalling the previous night.
‘God! What did you do? Run away?’ Cleo enquired.
‘No, well, not really. But he has touched my hand and…’ Samantha began.
‘He touched your hand,’ Cleo repeated.
‘Yes and it felt strange - you know - different, not platonic - like he liked me,’ Samantha attempted to explain.
‘And that’s all he did? Touch your hand? Bloody Hell Sam! I mean I know you like to take things slowly, but Christ!’ Cleo spoke, gulping her tea back.
‘Well, like I said, I don’t really know if he likes me in that way and you can’t just leap on someone and hope for the best,’ Samantha responded in frustration.
‘But he gave you his number, he invited you on a date - surely that means he likes you,’ Cleo told her.
It was impossible for her to understand - she didn’t know the real situation. Samantha knew her sister was picturing the six foot reasonably faced executive with the expensive house and a wardrobe full of beige trousers and red shirts - not the gorgeous, toned, intelligent, humorous celebrity ice dancer.
‘I suppose so,’ Samantha mumbled, hiding her face in her mug again.
‘I’d make the first move if I was you, before he starts to think you’re a lesbo,’ Cleo told her.
‘I have trouble talking to him about anything that matters, except the Civic Hall. I can talk to him about that, but there’s no way I could make a move on him without hyperventilating,’ Samantha admitted honestly.
‘Then be prepared to have him stolen away by someone who can talk to him and will make a move. Good blokes don’t hang around forever and I really wouldn’t spend all your dates talking about the Civic Hall - it bores me rigid and I only listen because we’re related,’ Cleo informed her.
Samantha knew that her sister was right but it was an impossible situation. She just didn’t have the nerve and she wasn’t sure she ever would. Not with anyone. She was destined to be a virgin forever and it wouldn’t be long before Cleo started offering her use of her Rampant Rabbit. She could think of nothing worse than ten inches of rubber your sister had already used.
That evening, while the skating show was going on in front of her, Samantha was jotting things down on her notepad. It was still just rough notes and she had to turn it into a formal presentation by the following night. It was driving her mad, she knew she had all the ideas, she knew what she needed to say, it was just how to get it in order and then to deliver it eloquently and effortlessly when the time came. She had only ever spoken in public once before. She had to say a four line prayer at a school assembly when she was eight. She had said ‘Our Father’ in a voice that resembled Mickey Mouse and Douglas Davies, the school bad boy, had snorted with laughter, leading everyone else to follow suit. She had heard Mary Kennedy and her cronies giggling too and she had clammed up. She stood on the stage, open mouthed, with glazed eyes for what felt like hours but was really only seconds. Then Cleo had run up the steps, hair flying behind her, skirt six inches above regulation, and gently moved her aside to take over. Cleo made the four line prayer sound like the Martin Luther King speech. Everyone applauded and Samantha felt smaller than she had ever felt before. She had never put herself in that position again, until now.
She wrote down ‘history’, ‘OAPs’, ‘21st century’ and chewed the end of her pen. One of the songs from Miss Saigon ended and it was time for Jimmy and Dana to take to the ice to perform to ‘Don’t Cry For Me Argentina’ from Evita. Jimmy and Dana always got the best reception from the crowd because they were the most well known skaters of the ensemble. Dana always looked amazing and tonight was no exception. Samantha envied the way she looked, the hair, the make-up, the beautiful outfits, how they fitted her, and her perfect poise. Samantha watched intently as they began to dance. There was no way she could ever be as elegant on the ice as Dana.
Samantha continued to watch as Jimmy held his partner, twirled her around, lifted her skywards and held on to her hand. Cleo was right, a touched hand was no indication of someone’s feelings. He held hands with Dana every night and he didn’t even like her. It was part of what he did and she needed to get realistic about things
. There was something far more important at stake than her feelings for Jimmy - something that could affect her whole future. She needed to keep her concentration on the hall, her hall.
‘I can’t skate tonight,’ Samantha called later.
She was sitting on the front row of seats when Jimmy arrived back in the auditorium well after the audience had left. Hearing her call he walked over to her, his skates slung over one shoulder.
‘How’s it going?’ he asked, sitting down in the seat next to her.
‘It isn’t. That’s why I can’t skate tonight. I need to get home and finish this,’ Samantha informed and she put the lid back on her pen and stood up.
‘Let me see what you’ve got so far,’ Jimmy said, indicating the pad.
‘Oh no, thanks, it’s very rough. I only just got started trying to put it in some sort of order,’ Samantha spoke, clutching the pad to her chest.
‘Come on, this is no time to get possessive of it - show me,’ Jimmy said and he stood up, took the pad from her and began to read.
Immediately Samantha’s face began to flush as she watched him read. It was awful, it was basic. It wasn’t awe inspiring or Shakespearean - it was just her thoughts and feelings and her ideas about the future of the hall.
‘It isn’t very good, not yet. I need to spend the rest of tonight on it and probably all day tomorrow and then maybe it might make some sense. Well it still might not be perfect then but it will definitely be better than it is, because it isn’t very good now, I mean…’ Samantha started, feeling she had to defend the text.
Jimmy looked up from the pad, the Minstrel eyes staring directly at her.
‘Goodness, you think the hall’s doomed don’t you? Despite all the help you’ve given me, and all the favours you’ve called in with Air Patrol and Tyrone the internet guru, I’m going to blow it all because I can’t write anything remotely good enough,’ Samantha spoke, her voice rising in pitch.
Jimmy shook his head at her.
‘This is the story of my sad little life you know. Nothing I ever do is going to be good enough. I’m just pathetic, weak, useless Samantha Smith,’ Samantha exclaimed louder than she had anticipated.
She was on the very edge of gushing her real feelings about who she was. The fears she had were set to tumble out of her at any minute.
‘That isn’t true,’ Jimmy responded.
‘Oh yes it is, I’m a NIGHTMARE! I don’t know why I’m even bothering writing this speech because no one has ever listened to me before - why should they start listening now? People look at me like I’m weird and when I speak I prove them right. I stumble over my words, I feel sick and I get breathless, and that’s just on a good day. Standing up in front of the council I will probably have a freaking heart attack. I’m not up to this, I can’t do it! I can’t do it!’ Samantha shrieked hysterically, dropping the notepad on the floor and getting out of breath with panic.
Jimmy grabbed hold of her and forcefully pulled her towards him, shocking her and relieving her of breath. Before she had any chance to react she felt his lips on hers, firm, passionate, and definitely not platonic. She couldn’t breathe at all now. She could feel his mouth on hers and it felt magical. She felt his hands on her cheeks, holding her face to his and she tried desperately to savour every moment in case it never happened again.
Then he let her go, stood back from her and she was left stood opposite him, her mouth hanging open like a guppy fish. She hurriedly closed it up and swallowed nervously.
‘I - I - I…’ Samantha attempted to speak as she looked up at him.
‘Do you find me attractive?’ he asked directly.
‘I - I - I…’
‘Don’t try and talk, just gimme a nod if you do.’
Samantha vigorously nodded her head up and down like the Churchill bulldog.
‘Good, because I find you so attractive Sam, you just wouldn’t believe. When I’m not with you I can’t stop thinking about you. Don’t ask me why, because you hardly speak and I’ve no idea what stuff you like, but, I’ve been trying to decipher how you feel about things in between the panic attacks and I’ve come to the conclusion that I like you - a lot.’
‘I…’
‘Sshh, you don’t have to say anything,’ Jimmy spoke softly and he put a finger to her lips, gently rubbing the skin.
Samantha desperately tried to suppress the urge to cough that was rising in her. Just feeling his finger brush her lips was almost too much.
‘I don’t want you to say anything yet. I know you’re panicking right now thinking you’re probably going to throw up or laugh or cough and say something stupid, but I want you to know that’s OK. That’s you and it’s those kitschy, skitzy things you do that I find kind of endearing. Well maybe not the fainting because that’s a bit worrying, but the overreaction to things is kind of cute,’ Jimmy told her.
Samantha didn’t respond, couldn’t respond. All she could do was look at him and wonder if she really was hearing what she thought she was hearing.
‘I really like you Sam and the more time I’ve spent with you the more feelings I’ve had for you. Which is pretty crazy seeing as I only really know about your sister - but I’m hoping that may come in useful,’ he continued.
This had to be a dream. She had had a similar dream two nights ago except she hadn’t been herself, she’d been Sandra Bullock. It had seemed much more believable seeing Jimmy kissing Sandra Bullock.
‘Sam, you’re bright and honest and genuine and you care about things. You’re funny and you’re real and I like that. I really like that,’ Jimmy said.
Samantha started to feel very hot. What he was saying couldn’t be true. He couldn’t like her like she liked him, that only happened in films. Sandra Bullock films.
‘And I want to know about you, if you want me to. I kind of took advantage a minute ago didn’t I?’ Jimmy spoke, running his hand through his hair nervously.
‘No, you didn’t,’ Samantha responded, surprised at the strength of her own voice and the fact that she had managed to say anything.
‘No?’ Jimmy enquired.
‘No, you didn’t take advantage. Cleo would probably have slapped me for getting hysterical, you kissed me - it was infinitely better,’ Samantha found herself speaking.
‘I’m not out of the woods with the alcohol Sam, I want you to know that. That’s my baggage. Every day’s a minor battle, it’s getting better but it’s always going to be there,’ Jimmy told her honestly.
Samantha nodded, cleared her throat and took a deep breath, crossing her fingers behind her back.
‘I do suffer from panic attacks and sometimes, well a lot of the time, I wish I was my sister,’ Samantha replied, not believing her own ability to get the words out.
‘What a couple huh!’ Jimmy remarked with a smile.
‘A couple,’ Samantha repeated not really meaning too.
‘Yeah, if you want to see how it goes. If you’ll have me,’ Jimmy replied quietly, looking at Samantha.
‘You and me,’ Samantha spoke, drowning in the Minstrel eyes as they looked at her.
‘Yeah, you and me,’ Jimmy repeated, edging nearer to her.
He cupped Samantha’s face in his hands again and she felt the full lips for the second time, so soft on hers. This time it was like being kissed by the lightest, most sensual of feathers. Her head was spinning with excitement and arousal and she clung to him, holding his muscular shoulders, touching his hair with her fingers. She felt out of control, her deep emotion for him overriding any impulsive tendencies she might normally have had.
Jimmy kissed her mouth gently and then held her away from him to look at her. He smoothed her hair back behind her ears and held her hands.
‘I’ve - I’ve never been kissed in the Civic Hall before,’ Samantha admitted and then she blushed at the stupidness of the remark.
‘I’m glad. Besides, I had to kiss you here. It’s the only place we’ve ever really talked properly and the only place you really feel comfor
table. My God we have to save it!’ Jimmy responded with a smile.
‘I don’t know if I can change,’ Samantha admitted almost sadly.
‘Change? I don’t want you to change,’ Jimmy insisted and he gently stroked her fingers.
‘Not even the gasping for breath and coughing,’ Samantha replied.
‘We can work on that,’ Jimmy responded with a smile.
Samantha smiled back at him and then she let out a gasp and put her hands to her mouth.
‘The speech! You made me forget the speech! I don’t have a speech for tomorrow! It’s all just notes and ramblings and you hated it - even though you were too polite to say and I need to feed Gobby and…’ Samantha exclaimed in panic, looking for her notepad which was lying on the floor.
‘Come on, let’s go feed Gobby and I’ll take you home. You can get a good night’s sleep and tomorrow morning we can look at it together,’ Jimmy told her, putting an arm around her shoulders.
‘Together’. The word sounded so unfamiliar to her in the way he had spoken it, but it wasn’t frightening or unwelcome and the weight of his arm around her wasn’t worrying or repellant. It was comfortable and she liked it.
Eighteen
‘Sam, are you OK? Are you sick?’
Samantha opened her eyes to see Cleo’s face extremely close to hers, so close she could smell -.
‘Worcester sauce,’ Samantha said out loud.
‘What?’ Cleo queried, retracting slightly.
‘You’ve had Worcester sauce on toast again - I can smell it. You’ll need to clean your teeth again,’ Samantha spoke, yawning and sitting herself up in bed.
‘It’s gone seven,’ Cleo stated, still eyeing her sister with suspicion.
‘Oh is it?’ Samantha stated, checking her watch.
Then she smiled, remembering the previous night. Jimmy had driven her home, in the small car she had actually ended up wishing was smaller. Who would have thought it? And he kissed her again, right outside the house - for ages. And she hadn’t cared. Usually she would have worried about Mr Peterson at number twelve twitching his curtains but she hadn’t given him a second thought.
