Back to Vanilla (14 page)

In the 20 years and
three kids that followed, through the myriad challenges life had
thrown at them, there was no doubt they’d worked well as a family.
They kept bouncing back, keeping on – she had made sure of that.
But this, this now, was something apart from him, something solely
hers, and these were, she thought, the first tentative steps in a
journey with no fixed path or destination. Randy_Waterhouse was
simply a stop on the route, and that first hurdle, she reasoned,
was generally the most difficult.

She watched him
intently now, as he stood at the counter. His relaxed-fit denim
jeans, she noticed, were worn a little too high, leaving a hint of
sock exposed over his mid-brown loafers, and his brown T-shirt was
tucked neatly below the waistband. She swallowed down the vague
unease that had plagued her for the past few days, and smiled a
thank-you at his return to the table, carrying two full cups on a
tray.

“I only have a short
time until my lunch break finishes,” Waterhouse began. “We’re very
busy, which is why I was late.”

“That’s, erm, fine. I
mean, I’ve never done this kind of thing before… um, the coffee
thing, but I guess it’s really a chance to suss each other out a
bit, more than anything. I mean, as people. In the real world. You
work nearby?”

“Just round the
corner. Accounts,” and he raised the red-strapped staff card he
wore around his neck to show her. “I guess that shows you I exist
in what you call the real world. And you?”

“Well, I don’t have an
ID card on me, if that’s what you’re asking… but I’m still pretty
much me, I think. Do you normally ask women for proof of
identity?”

Her nerves had begun
to fade in the wake of what was rapidly turning into a bizarre
little exchange, and it slowly dawned on her that what she’d
consistently put down to wry wit might very well be a total absence
of humour.

“But, seriously… it’s
good to meet you, like this, at last. Seems weird, knowing each
other so well, but not really at all. How does this normally
go?”

“I like,” he said,
“just to meet for coffee first.”

“Okay. Coffee’s good.
Sane. Anything else would be madness, though God alone knows, I’ve
had quite a few much more extreme offers across cyberspace. You’d
not believe the things guys expect you to do, so soon, and on a
first meet. I mean, hell, does anyone do that?”

He seemed a little
distracted, not just his eyes, but his head darting around too,
taking in the sights of this generic café. She assumed that she had
slipped into her habit of talking way, way too much when she was
nervous. Perhaps it was time for a few questions; maybe what she
perceiving as disinterest was simply shyness.

“But, hey, you must
have some tales to tell yourself, though? I mean, you’re so much
more experienced than I am… How long have you been doing… this… you
were married, right?”

He snapped back with a
start, as if dragged from some private reverie.

“Yes, married, 11
years. But these things… it was difficult.”

“You have
children?”

“No,” he nodded. “She,
it wouldn’t have been right; she suffered from chronic depression
and it was enough for us to make sure she got through each day.
Children weren’t an option. I looked after her, until one day, I
stopped. She went back home – lives with her mother now. We stay in
touch.”

“And then you went
online?”

“My friend, a woman,
suggested it. Not long ago. So I tried. I’ve met one or two women.
Mostly very nice. Coffee. Nothing more really.”

“So your experience…
the experiences we talk about..?”

A quizzical look
answered her unfinished question, so she went on.

“I’ve met, as you
know, no one. But the suggestions… I mean, come on… am I really,
outside of my craziest fantasies, outside of my head, about to meet
two guys, Big Cock and Make-You-Cum, for a night in Big Cock’s
attic room in Leyton? With a takeaway promised for afterwards…
before if I’d prefer?”

Taking his silence for
interest – he was now focused, staring intently at her, rather than
flitting – she continued.

“It’s just nuts. Or am
I to take the virginity of Lonely Boy, aged 37, who hasn’t left his
parents’ home since May 1998? Or get into a taxi sent by some guy
or other who looks like a serial killer photofit to take me to his
home, where he’ll introduce me to the delights of anal, and
probably his gang of burly mates, before sticking me back into a
cab?”

By now she was
sniggering at her rendition of the absurdity of the world that had
led them both to that precise spot.

Randy_Waterhouse, on
the other hand, was looking deeply flustered.

“Shhh. Hush, please.
Keep your voice down.” He raised his hands, flat, and moved them
down, as a visual cue to echo his words.

“Sorry?” Her giggling
had come to a sharp halt. “My voice? Hush?”

“Keep it down. You’re
attracting attention. People are… looking at you.”

A cursory glance
around the place showed nothing, just the same people sipping the
same cups of coffee; same old, same old.

“They are? I don’t
think so, and anyway, Mark, what does it matter? Isn’t that why
we’re here? You and I? Isn’t it what we do? It’s what we’ve talked
about for days.”

“I think we should go
for a walk. Our coffee is finished. I have 15 minutes before I need
to get back. A bit of fresh air will do me good. How does that
sound?”

It sounded excellent.
Maybe he was right to be freaked out. This was weird, without doubt
it was. Maybe it had been as much a fantasy for him as her. Or
maybe, as she’d thought, he was a normal guy with a secret life and
her own inexperience meant that she was lacking in the finesse and
discretion such encounters required, under covers, in dark corners.
Megan desperately searched for a way to fit this mismatched jumble
of pieces together so things made some kind of sense.

They left the café,
him leading, and turned right up the high street, and this pattern
continued – her trotting a step behind him the whole time.

“You work near here,
then?”

“Not far. It’s good to
be out and about. Breaks the day up a little. I like to walk. Are
you a fan of science fiction?”

“Yes, yes, it’s good
to get out. A little, yes. I mean, my sister was a massive Gary
Numan fan in her teens and through her I got into Philip K Dick.
Love him.
Blade Runner
’s my favourite film, I think, of all
time.”

“Hmmm. I was thinking
of a different type, perhaps, of author. For example, I’m a big fan
of Neal Stephenson. You won’t know him, but that’s my kind of
book.”

“Never read any, but
he rings a bell… name spelt an unusual way? N-e-a-l? Maybe… sure
I’ve seen him on our bookshelf at home… my husband is a massive
reader.”

“That’s him!” he
almost shouted, suddenly animated. “
Cryptonomicon
– best
book ever written. You must read it.”

And the next ten
minutes were taken up by a plot summary as she practised her
listening skills, watching his face intently as he spoke.

“It’s about a
hypothetical, top-secret military unit whose purpose was to run
around the fringes of the war planting fake evidence intended to
throw the Nazis off the scent. Brilliant, the way the book
alternates between the 1940s and the present day – and I don’t even
think he started with that as a plan.

“The man’s a genius.
Simple. An absolute genius. You need to read him. You must.”

Having reached that
point of the main road where the shops began petering out towards
suburbia, they stopped and, in turning round to walk back, paused
and faced each other.

“I’d better go. Work’s
in this direction. I do hope we can meet again.”

He leant in to kiss
her cheek, the first and only hint at a desire for physical
connection throughout the encounter. Megan side-stepped into a
wriggling manoeuvre to escape his grasp, reminding herself, with an
internal smile, of the long-suffering Penelope Pussycat from Pepé
le Pew.

“Perhaps,” she smiled,
holding out her hand. “My life is quite hectic at the moment. I’ll
get back to you.”

In the distance, Megan
could see the 365 drawing closer to the bus stop with enough people
waiting in the queue to guarantee that she could reach it in time
with a minimum of effort. She turned sharply on her right heel,
and, for the first time in many years, sprinted down to meet the
bus.

********************

Back home, with an
overriding desire for someone to confirm her own sanity, Megan
logged in to her latest chat service of preference in the hope of
speaking to the one person with whom she had shared the details of
her planned date.

It was rare for anyone
to stick around for long in the ephemeral world of cyber-friends,
but Luke_-66, a man she’d met just a few weeks previously, had
instantly been a fairly obvious kindred spirit. Similar age,
married, a grandfather already, there was something about him that
made her feel safe and relaxed. And there he was.

Luke_66:
So… Tell me then… How did it go?

SuzyTD:
OMG, Luke. I don’t think I can.

Luke_66:
that good?

SuzyTD:
You have no idea. How could I be sooooo stupid?
I genuinely thought… I mean…he seemed perfect. Intelligent, okasy
looking… well, not creepy anyway, dirty-dirty-dirty-dude… Aaaargh!
What the hell was I thinking?!

Luke_66:
Okaaaaaay. So, tell me his worst
crime?

SuzyTD:
If I tell you his pants were riding way too
high that’s not enough?… and, aw fuck, I’m embarrassed to
say…

Luke_66:
you know you want to… it’s all cathartic,
girl, let it all out…

SuzyTD:
He shushed me…

Luke_66:
What? Like, “quiet, shush”?

SuzyTD:
Exactly like quiet shush, except he actually
said “hush”. Said my voice was too loud, like I embarrassed him. It
was like being out with my teenager!

Luke_66:
I… I genuinely don’t know what to say. Sorry
seems to be the only word. But, errrr, I kinda feel like giggling
too… don’t hit me Suzy! Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

SuzyTD:
I know. I know, I know, I know. You did. What
the hell am I doing, Luke_66… this is nuts. Why the hell haven’t we
ever just…?

Luke_66:
… just…?

SuzyTD:
what if I changed my mind, Luke?

Luke_66:
keep talking.

SuzyTD:
You know what I’m saying. You’re enjoying this,
right? You want me to spell it out?

Luke66:
You suggesting I haven’t earned that? Hmmm?
Yes. Yes, Suzy TurtleDove. Yes, I want you to spell it out. I need
you to spell it out, so that even a total simpleton like me can
understand. Changed your mind about what?

SuzyTD:
Okay… What, Luke, if I changed my mind about
married men? What if everything I’d ever said about never meeting
anyone who was attached was a steaming pile of poop, and I admitted
I was wrong… that I’m nothing but a hypocrite. What if you and I
actually got our sorry arses into gear and our acts together and
followed the writing on the wall, which states, loudly and clearly,
that of everyone I have ever met online, you – and don’t you dare
let that head of yours swell any bigger than it already is! – seem
like the sanest. What if I asked you if you’d meet me, please,
pretty please, Luke_66… What if I asked if you’d be my first proper
meet, because that’s what I’d like – then what would you
say?

********************

The late May
Saturday evening grew slowly dark around her as she sat on the
couch, curtains open; a small string of butterfly fairy lights,
garlanding the mirror on the chimney breast, provided the only
illumination in the room. Megan noticed none of it. She simply sat
and stared unseeing into the space in front of her and thought.

Her thoughts were, on
the surface, possibly mad, she knew, but she also understood that
she was way beyond the point of being sure any more. The only thing
she felt certain about was what she wanted, and if that was crazy,
then so be it.

It was not the best
timing, perhaps, and Rich was bound to be completely shattered
after his shift, an early one for him, but Sam was fast asleep and
unlikely to wake, Becky was at a friend’s sleepover, and Grace,
although she might pop down for the odd snack or glass of water,
was ensconced in her room for the night, accompanied by her iPad,
which seemed to be all the company she needed at home most of the
time lately, and so the house was currently as quiet as it was ever
likely to get.

It was just after 11
when the front door opened into the hall right beside the lounge
where she sat, and Rich poked his head round the door into the
darkened room.

“Bit gloomy in here,
isn’t it? Lost a bulb?”

“Hey? Oh, er, no, no,
I guess I just drifted off. Let me make you a coffee, Rich. Prefer
tea? Long day?”

They walked into the
kitchen together and her plans for a serious discussion began to
dissipate as he began slowly and uncharacteristically to open up
about his day. Normally, with 23 years of nursing experience, he
somehow managed most days to walk out of the hospital grounds and,
at least on the surface, leave it all behind.

Not tonight. His voice
cracked and his shoulders began to shake as he spoke about the
parents he’d watched a few hours previously when the news was
broken to them that their four-year-old boy, knocked down on a
zebra crossing while out for a weekend stroll with his granddad,
hadn’t made it.

“I was there, Meg, I
was there when he was brought in, and the paramedics, you could see
it written in their faces that he wasn’t going to make it, we all
knew it… and, hell, you know me… I’m an old pro. But… but... all I
could see as he lay there was our Sam, and all I could think of was
how they must feel. Can you imagine…?”