The Boleyn Effect (The Boorman Ending) (4 page)

Returning home, I couldn't
wait to get the dress off and my face clear off all the make-up. It
was like I needed to clear all the sleaze and corruption from me to
be clean once more. That's what hanging around Gaskill does to me.
He makes me feel unclean and unworthy.

'I left because he never
turned up and you know damn well how much I hate going to these
things. Also I am pig sick of your father having snide digs at
me.'

'Well if you'd have stuck
around then you would have known that bastard was late as usual,'
George snaps. 'Did some fucking speech, sauntered around and then
fucked off again.'

Grabbing my robe, I shrug
it on as George sits down on my sofa. I am fully aware I'm not
going back to bed just yet. George is not going to move any time
soon. I get why he's angry, but in reality, even if I'd met Harry
it doesn't mean that he'd fall at my feet. Just because George
thinks I'm god's gift doesn't mean that everyone else feels the
same way. True, I've never had problems when it comes to men. My
problem is keeping hold of them. They never seem to hold my
interest long enough. I get bored far too easily.

I have some stupid
romantic notion that there will be one guy out there that will
knock me clean off my feet and he will be the one. I realise that
the reality means that I could be waiting a long time, but I'm
prepared at the moment to hold out hope.

'You do know it's twice
you've called him that. I take it you don't like him?' I say
sitting beside him.

'What do you think?' he
mutters. 'He treats his wife like shit.'

'I think that you need to
think about whether you want your supposed best friend to try and
seduce a guy like that if he's that bad. You know you are supposed
to like me.'

George turns my way with a
glazed look in his eyes. Great! A drunken George is an
unpredictable George and sure enough the next thing to come out of
his mouth is obvious.

'You know how I feel about
you. Let me stay?'

His face moves close to
mine and instinctively my body tenses. Not through fear, but more
of knowing how much power he really holds over me. He's the only
one who does. I'd never allow anyone to get under my skin. I don't
like letting anyone in. But George holds an advantage that I
desperately try and change every day. I get to my feet and pull the
large throw that hangs on my sofa and drag it towards
him.

'Sofa it is then?' he
smiles.

'Goodnight George,' I kiss
him on the cheek and make my way back to bed.

As I tuck myself under the
covers, I find I'm staring at the door, waiting for it to open.
Just one last plea or beg to share the bed, but after a few moments
I hear the sound of his drunken snore.

Memories of a camping trip
come to mind. Once again it involved too many beers. Cooped up in
some small tent and just the two of us. George's persistence that I
am the only woman he wants. Then the wandering hands until I slap
him so hard that he falls over and nearly collapses the tent. Of
course the cold light of day brought apologies, especially since I
had kicked him out of the tent to sleep outside.

But I know better not to
push him too far and we were soon friends once more. It took a long
time to trust him after that. But no matter how long ago it was, I
still get nervous when he drinks and I still wonder how much longer
he will put up with our platonic relationship. He's a man after
all.

CHAPTER
SIX

'Why am I here again?' I
mumble as I slouch on the wooden chair.

'Because some of us need
to work and I also could do with the company.'

It's been over a week
since the event and neither I nor George has talked about Harry
Cobain since. I've kind of hoped that's it. Over.

If I’m honest, this whole
thing makes me nervous. I mean if Harry Cobain is that alluring,
I'm sure that won't be too difficult. I have probably seduced and
fucked with worse through my own stupid choices. But I've always
been able to walk away. This, I won't be able to until the deed is
done. I am more or less committed and that word scares the freaking
life out of me.

Also, I may trust George,
but to trust this faceless wife is a different kettle of fish.
After all Clair does have a point, why doesn't she just walk away?
Surely divorce is much easier to do nowadays? But it all seems to
be forgotten about for now and I am in no mood to nudge any
reminders George's way either. Hence why I am being a little more
giving and now stuck in the university library with him while he
works.

It's the holidays and
almost everyone is away and so there is nothing but an eerie
silence. It's a beautiful building by all accounts with old
panelled walls and stone floors. The book cases are the only things
modern and with small windows there is another worldly feel to the
place. I rummage in my bag for my small digi camera and get to my
feet.

'Where you going?' he
asks.

'I may as well do some
work while I'm here too,' I say.

George waves me off and
that's it I have freedom. I wander around taking snap shots of some
of the shelves while laid on the floor. There is a stream of
sunlight coming from one of the high windows and filled with dust
particles it gives my pictures a magical feel.

Spying an opportunity, I
get to my feet and make my way up onto the second floor. The steel
staircase is old and rickety and I'm sure there are many health and
safety issues with it, but it looks good. The top floor is totally
empty and I have moment of feeling being spooked out. It's just a
little isolated, even though George is not far. I can just about
see George's bowed head. He doesn't even notice that I've
disappeared. Far too engrossed in his books.

I've no idea why I never
found him sexually attractive. It's not like he's ugly, in fact the
total opposite. He's tall, dark and very handsome. He's not built
like his father. He's much leaner, more like an athlete than
contact sport man and for that I'm grateful. If he looked like his
father I think I'd struggle to even like him. He's always
thoughtful and caring, and would give me everything, but for me
there's something missing. He's too much like a big brother and
that's the problem. He loves me more than I love him.

Moving away, I spy a
perfect picture. I try to work out how I am going to get it and
realise I'm going to have to play daredevil. I climb and straddle
the wrought iron safety barrier and using the wall as an anchor I
prepare to take the quickest shot I can without killing
myself.

Using the LED screen, I
can make out the beam of sunlight hitting a stack of books below.
It's almost biblical. This is going to make a great poster for me
to sell. Tightening my thighs so I grip the railing, I dare to lean
further out just to make sure it's perfect.

My heart is racing with
working hard to steady my breathing so the picture doesn't become
blurry. This needs to be done in one, because I'm not sure I have
enough adrenaline to try it again. One final deep breath and a
press down on the shutter and then...

'I think the
librarian...whoa.'

Suddenly a pair of arms
holds me tight after the moment of falling passes.

'Jesus fucking Christ,' I
nearly scream into some stupid idiot's shoulder.

'Not quite,' a voice
chuckles.

The pair of arms that hold
of me start to let me go, but my legs are still wobbling from the
shock and they grab me once more. There is a strong smell of spiced
aftershave and its scent causes me to close my eyes for the
briefest moments as I lift my head from the safety of the shoulder.
Even though my heart is racing, I am starting to calm. Looking up,
I'm greeted by water blue eyes filled with concern and for a moment
we hold each other's stare, until I recognise their owner. The man
from outside the party. What’s he doing here?

'Come, let us sit you
down,' he says.

He lets me go as my feet
slowly touch the floor and he leads me to where a couple of comfy
chairs sit. Taking deep breaths, I allow my body to steady itself
and relax. My heart is still pounding hard and I am little pissed
off that this guy is stupid enough to make me jump. He sits down
opposite and while I steady myself I look him over. Compared to the
suit he was wearing at the party he's now much more casual, but
still smart.

With his white tieless
shirt, black jacket and a pair of jeans he reminds me of one of
Gaskills friends. His blond hair is curled at the top, but cut
sharp and precise around his neck and ears. His face round, but not
fat, almost cherubic with a handsome cuteness to it.

With broad shoulders
there's a little weight that usually comes with age. Concern and a
little annoyance is on his face. But me, for some reason I can feel
all my anger diminishing and it catches me off guard.

'What on earth were you
doing? He asks.

'I was trying to get a
picture.' I say.

'What of? The floor?
Because the way you were going you would have ended up getting one
hell of a close-up.'

'Why did you sneak up on
me?' I ask.

'I didn't, you just
weren't paying attention and you shouldn't have been on the
railing. We tend to advise students against it,' he says now
smiling.

'I'm not a student and
anyway what are you the Head Librarian or something?'

He laughs once more and I
find myself smiling at him.

'No, I'm the
Dean—Harry.'

My heart does a double
flip as I quickly glance to where I know George is still studying.
That I didn't expect. He doesn't seem half as bad as George makes
him out to be. Although, there is the arrogance that comes from
someone in a position of power. Neither is he bad looking, not for
an older man.

'Are you going to give me
a name?' he asks.

I shake my head from the
tumble of thoughts running through.

'Leigh,' I
answer.

'Leigh? Short
for...Leigh-Anne?' I give him a nod although a little surprised
that he made such a prefect guess. 'Did I not meet you at the
Macmillan Appeal? I seem to remember something about dick
extensions,' he smiles.

Heat rises to my face. I
can't believe he remembered that of all things. I was wearing the
most gorgeous dress and he remembers dick extensions. I clearly
didn't make that much of impression physically.

'I'm sorry, I thought you
were trying to chat me up,' I say.

'What makes you think that
I wasn't?' he asks.

He now leans forward so
his elbows are on his knees and his joined hands hang between his
legs. My eyes wander from his hands towards his crotch and I feel
myself blush again. When did I start blushing? I don't
blush.

'You gave up too easily,'
I manage.

He laughs at me and I
can't help but respond to him. Getting to his feet, he holds out
his hand for me to shake.

'Nice to meet you again,
but kindly don't try and climb the fixtures again. It would make a
god awful mess if you fell.'

I laugh shaking his hand.
He starts to walk away and there it is. The confident swagger, but
where I expected to be bowled over by clichéd chat-up lines and
compliments, there was nothing.

He's a subtle player,
because he's left me with some slight interest. The problem with
the subtle ones is that you don't know you've been hit until you're
knee deep in complicated emotions. I get to my feet and he stops
and looks back at me with a wide welcoming, but flirty
smile.

'By the way I could tell
you weren't a student. You neither look like a rabbit in headlights
nor exhausted to the bone.'

Grabbing my camera, I
check out the picture I've just taken. It's damn near on perfect
and one that holds a memory. Now I've just to get my legs to work
just enough so I can walk down the staircase to where George
sits.

'Where have you been?'
George asks as I sit down.

Now I have two choices and
hindsight is always a blessing. Tell him I'd just met Harry Cobain
and risk us going down this bet road or just keep quiet. The
problem is that in that short time of talking to Harry I like him.
I don't feel I could really mess with the guy's head and try and
ruin his life.

'Just been wandering
around,' I lie, deciding on the latter. 'You done yet I could do
with a coffee?'

George closes his books
and giving me grin he packs them up into his rucksack.

'Yeah, I'll finish it
later.'

CHAPTER
SEVEN

We're sat in the car
arguing once again. It's the Gaskill annual summer barbecue and of
course I have been dragged along. George knows I hate going to
these things, most of all because I know I am not really wanted
there. This is just George's way of exerting his own authority over
his parents.

It's an argument that
neither of us ever win, because even though I'm there, George knows
I'll sulk through the whole thing and neither of us are ever happy.
I just get sick of the same old conversations with elderly
relatives about why he and I are or not together. Not to mention
the constant digs and death glares I receive from Gaskill
himself.