Love & The Goddess (12 page)

“I’ve always been interested in myths and legends, ever since I was a kid. At one point I thought I would have loved to study anthropology since I’m fascinated by ancient
civilizations. I’m thinking of going to Peru to do the Inca trail. I feel I need to expand my horizons after endless summers holed up in pretentious golfing hotels.”

“I think you’re great.” He poured the reminder of the wine into his own glass and threw it back. “I admire the way you’re following your heart. You have a very
adventurous spirit.”

I smiled. “Do I live up to my photo? You seemed to be very worried about that.” He had asked me to send on extra photographs before he’d finally asked me on a date.

“That’s because so many women use ancient photos. Actually I think you’re better-looking than your pictures. Your eyes are more expressive in reality.”

Ping! Something went off in my brain again. Why was I keeping score on myself?

I wasn’t usually so easily flattered, but I was enjoying the affirmation that someone like him found me attractive.“What about you, Ray? Any holidays planned?”

“Not this year, I’m afraid. I need to work harder than ever to overcome a few obstacles. Owned a beautiful holiday home in Provence but in the interest of peace I handed it over to
my ex. That’s one thing I’d advise you – don’t drag property issues through the courts if you can avoid it.”

“Thanks for the advice. No, Trevor’s fine that way. We haven’t sorted anything yet but I don’t intend to challenge anything.”

“Divorce is stressful and expensive enough. If you can agree terms with your ex you save a lot of money. I’ve given in for the sake of peace. It’s important where there are
children involved. Though Judy was still determined to battle it out for as much as she could get her hands on. But I’m determined to work hard to get back up to where I was pre-recession and
pre-divorce.” As we finished our meal, the conversation turned to children and how hard the whole business of marriage breakdown was for them to cope with. “They are innocent victims in
a mess made by their parents,” Ray said. I admired the way he constantly put his children first. Like me, he obviously would have stuck the marriage out for the sake of keeping family
together. We seemed to have similar values, unlike most of the other men I’d met. When the bill arrived I offered to go Dutch, but Ray wouldn’t hear of it and insisted on paying in
full. Ella was right about him being like Trevor in certain respects. He was well groomed, a gentleman to his fingertips and he certainly knew how to treat a woman. I felt very secure in his
company, feeling fate had a hand in bringing us together.

Afterwards we headed to the bar in La Stampa hotel for a drink before going our separate ways. As I was getting into a taxi, Ray asked me would I like to call over to his house the following day
for a casual lunch. “The kids will be with my ex.”

I hesitated. “I’d love to but I don’t know if my mother has planned something, and I don’t know if I’ll have time.”

“I’ll text you my address and directions. I’m not too far away. We’ve got on so well, I’d love to see you again.”

After he kissed me on the cheek, I climbed into the taxi. I was on a high, feeling as though every cell in my body was tingling from the thrill of meeting someone who seemed to be resonating on
the same wave length.

T
he following morning, I awoke to the smell and sound of rashers sizzling. As I arrived downstairs, my mother was standing at the cooker,
metal tongs in hand, tea-towel slung over her arm. “I thought Dad was supposed to be watching his cholesterol.” I regretted saying it as soon as the words were out of my mouth.

My mother shot me a look. “I cook everything on the grill for him, Kate. Give me some credit.”

“Good morning, Liz.” My father pushed his empty plate away and stood up to put on his jacket. “It’s my Saturday morning treat and your mother is careful to poach the eggs
rather than fry them. Don’t forget who you got your talent for cooking from in the first place.”

“Kate … It’s Kate. And I’m not questioning mam’s ability as a cook.”

“Ah yes, Kate. Well, good to see you. I must rush to work now.” He paused. “How’s Julie? I would have given her a job for the summer. No need for her to go all the way to
Boston.” He bent to touch my arm as he passed by. It felt like a grip for support as he appeared to falter, his back stooped as he carried on.

“Next year, Dad,” I called after him, as he headed out the kitchen door. “Why’s he going to work on Saturday morning?” I asked my mother.

“The recession hit the practice hard. He had to let a lot of staff go in the last few months, so he’s had to make a lot of court appearances himself now even in minor cases where the
junior partner would have stood in before.”

The door burst open. It was my father again. “Now where did I leave my car keys?” He rummaged around the worktops, looking very flustered.

My mother sighed. “They’re hanging in your usual spot.”

“Where’s that?”

“In front of your eyes, where they’ve been for the past forty years.” She handed them to him. As the front door banged shut, she said to me, “He’s always forgetting
things.”

I sat down at the kitchen table. “I thought he was planning to retire soon? His working harder than ever is crazy at his age.”

“Ah, look Kate, it’s good for him. If he was around here all day he’d be bored stiff and he’d be like a child under my feet. He’s better off having something to
keep him occupied.”

“Is he still on the anti-depressants he was put on when Uncle Harry died?” His brother had passed away six months previously and Dad had taken it badly.

“Yes, they seem to suit him. They’ve made him more mellow.”

“Is he talking to anyone? A psychologist?”

“Not at all. What would he need to see one of those for?”

“I thought his doctor wanted him to go to a therapist? The Prozac will only treat the symptoms not the cause.” I poured a glass of orange juice from the carton on the table.

“Kate, will you stop fussing. There’s not a thing wrong with your father. He’s in a better state than I am.” She rubbed her back with her left hand. That was my
mother’s way of drawing attention to her own troubles as a long-suffering wife and mother.

“How’s your back, Mam?”

“I’d say it’s riddled with arthritis. What with my father’s history, it’s not like I didn’t see it coming. Well thank God I have my faith in the man above.
” She tossed her head towards the teak crucifix hanging on the wall above the cooker, then continued to moan as she filled a plate for me, piled high with rashers, black pudding, half a beef
tomato and two poached eggs.

“Did you ever make an appointment with the osteopath, Mam?”

“I don’t believe in any of that nonsense,” she snapped.

I knew she was in a mood and there was no point trying to convince her of anything at this stage. Since my teenage years I’d been trying to persuade her it was possible to have a wider
view of the world than the one from the narrow window she looked through. As I dug my fork into the food in front of me, I decided to take up Ray’s invitation to visit.

Brooklawn turned out to be a new up-market housing estate, not far from my parents’ house. Ray had texted me his address as soon as the taxi had left last night. I had slept soundly and
felt very relaxed after our date the night before. That was surely a good sign, after how anxious I’d felt in Trevor’s company for many years before we split. I allowed a delay of
thirty minutes between Ray texting me his address and replying to say I would call for lunch.

I loved the way Ray looked, I thought, as I followed him through the sparsely furnished contemporary house. The chin thing seemed to have been a trick of the light. I found myself thinking we
could be great together and pictures of a romantic family life started to surface from the recesses of my imagination. I simply couldn’t stop soft-focus pictures from forming in my head. I
loved his easy going manner, and he seemed trustworthy and safe. Judging by the décor and his clothes, he had impeccable taste. His profile had said he had a degree in law as well as
economics; he had to be highly intelligent. We sat at the kitchen island on bar stools, eating triangles of pizza between chatting and gazing at each other. He entertained me with funny stories
about dating.

“I met one woman, lovely girl – but we knew straight away there was no spark between us. She had been on a date the previous week. Had arranged to meet a guy from the internet site
in a large bar in Ranelagh. You know the kind of place, with nooks and corners and crannies where couples can sit, in relative privacy. Anyway, she liked this guy and they were getting on great to
the point of arranging a second date. Next thing yer man says to her, as he stands up, ‘Just wait there one minute. I need you to meet someone else.’ So he leaves her sitting there, and
she’s suddenly wishing the ground would open up and swallow her whole. Next thing he arrives back with another woman, both of them grinning from ear to ear.”

“Oh no!”

“Yer man says, ‘I need to introduce you to my wife.’ This woman thought she has him all figured out, until he explains that his wife is dying of cancer and he needs her
blessing on his new relationship. Apparently the wife encouraged him to go online and she picked out a selection of possibilities for him.”

“What a control freak! I mean I feel sorry for her but she obviously wanted control beyond the grave. God, there are nutters online all right.”

“You’re telling me. You and I don’t need to be online. The only reason why we are is we couldn’t be bothered trawling the club scene. But some people have a strange
attitude.”

I nodded, then I decided to broach an issue that had been niggling at me since meeting him last night. “Ray, I’ve just noticed you never use my name when you speak. Not on the phone
or in person. Why’s that?”

At this, he blushed from the top of his lemon polo shirt to his hairline. “I … I wasn’t aware of it. They say people use someone else’s name a lot when they want to
establish intimacy quickly. I’m not like that. I’m shy in lots of ways and I’m not contrived enough to effect intimacy.” Then, brightening, he launched into jesting with:
“Katey … Kitty-Kate … Hey Katie … Isn’t that a song? Hey Katie?” Jumping off his stool, he went to an iPod on a facing counter and scrolled through until he
found what he was looking for. After replacing the iPod in the docking system, he extended his hand towards me. I put mine in his, and he pulled me gently off my bar stool and pirouetted me around
before drawing me close to dance. In tune with the rhythm of Josh Kelley’s “Hey Katie”, we twirled and jived, albeit a little awkwardly, until the song had finished and he began
gently caressing my neck with his fingers, before kissing my cheek sensuously. As the next track set a slower pace, I felt myself being swept away by a throbbing and an aching in my pelvis. His
mouth searched mine and I responded eagerly, arching my back as my breasts thrust forward, moulding into his body. Taking my hand he led me to a downstairs bedroom, all the while keeping his
smouldering eyes hypnotically locked on mine. Hold on a minute – what was I about to do?