When Love Knocks Twice (A Contemporary Love Story) (4 page)

And
Tom. She hadn't thought of him for years. She remembered him as one
of the good guys, but always in the background. He was right though,
she had never been short of boys interested in her as a teenager, but
that had brought its own adolescent problems. Who to go out with,
whether to have a serious relationship, whether there was a future,
and she had always been afraid of hurting others' feelings. Breaking
off relationships had been an agonising time of tears and heartache.

Had
she ever seen Tom as a potential relationship? She supposed they had
had a relationship, a friendship. Had she ever felt she wanted it to
be more? She confessed to herself that she had lied to Tom. At a
youth club they both worked in, not long before he had left the area,
standing in the kitchen with Tom, and it was if she had just become
aware of him and for the first time she registered a physical
attraction. At that moment she had desperately wanted him to ask her
on a date. She couldn't remember the conversation, it was such a
confusing time, blundering your way through the teenage years, at the
mercy of rampaging hormones.

But
the memory brought a physical warmth now, much to her surprise.
Whatever else, she remembered him with fondness she decided. It was
perhaps why she had felt comfortable inviting him to dinner. And it
occurred to her that, that had been the trouble with her relationship
with Tom as teenagers, he had been comfortable, when as a teenager
she was looking for exciting. The thought was a minor revelation to
her. So what was she looking for now, a comfortable life, or an
exciting life?

Her
thoughts became more rambling and less focussed as sleep slowly
started to overcome her.

Thursday

Tom
came down to the breakfast the next morning and found, to his
pleasant surprise, Gail sat at a table perusing the menu. Having
completed his double take, he joined her at the table.

“ This
is a surprise. I didn't expect to see you until later.”

“ Good
morning,” responded Gail. “I trust you slept well.”

Tom
raised an eyebrow. “What's this about? Why the formal polite
approach all of a sudden?”

“ Early
morning. It pays to be civilised,” she grinned. “I
decided that if we were going on a route march that I would treat
myself to a Full English Breakfast.”
“Such decadence,”
mocked Tom.

Their
orders were taken, and arrived promptly, precluding much more in the
way of conversation as they tucked in. Once they had finished toast
and coffee Gail called for her bill.

“ No,
no, no,” insisted Tom. “This is on me. I probably owe you
something from forty years ago anyway.”

“ Okay,”
accepted Gail. “ But only on the understanding that you come
back to mine for dinner tonight.”

“ It's
a deal. How could I refuse? Do you want to come upstairs and use the
facilities before we go?”

“ Are
you inviting me up to your boudoir, Mr Drysdale?”

“ Yes,”
retorted Tom. “But only because you've got bacon stuck between
your teeth.”

She
took a half-hearted, backhanded swipe at him that was so slow he
dodged without any trouble, and they went up to his bedroom, before
returning downstairs, Tom shod in walking boots, and Gail carrying
her car keys. Once in the car park she beeped her remote at a sleek
SAAB sports convertible and provoked a ribald remark from Tom, which
she ignored. Retrieving her walking-boots and lacing them swiftly and
efficiently, she announced herself ready to walk.

As
they started out to trek to the edge of town, curiosity overcame
Gail.

“ So
where exactly are we going?” she inquired.

“ The
moor outside the town, beyond the reservoir. It used to be our
wilderness as kids.”

Gail
shook her head. “I'm afraid you could be sadly disappointed.
They have tidied it up somewhat, made paths for Sunday walkers with
pushchairs. There's even a café in the middle.”

Tom
mimed Aghast. “No! Sacrilege!”

Gail
was right, but Tom's dismay didn't stop them having morning coffee at
the café, before they continued out into the country beyond
the neat, where wilderness still survived.

They
denied themselves any lunch on the basis that they were still working
off breakfast, but sat down on a grassy knoll, in the sunshine,
overlooking the low valley they had just walked through.

“ I
don't think I've ever been up this far,” mused Gail.

“ You
are joking.”
“No,” Gail insisted. “We
lived on the other side of town, remember. As kids this was too far
to come on our own.”

Tom
laid back on the grass and clasped his hands behind his head. “You
definitely missed out then.”

“ So
it would seem.”

They
enjoyed the peace and quiet for a few moments before Gail broke it.

“ Do
you ever feel guilty that they're not here and you are?”

“ Our
other halves you mean.”

“ Yes,”
confirmed Gail.

“ Yes,
sometimes,” agreed Tom. “More often I feel saddened that
I can't share the moment with them, but somehow I feel that it's me
that's lost out.”

“ Yes!”
exclaimed Gail. “You're right. I never thought of it like that,
but it does. So should I feel guilty?”

“ Not
unless you can justifiably hold yourself accountable for their
absence.”

“ That
would be silly.”

“ Yes
it would.”

“ It's
so good to find someone who understands,” sighed Gail, putting
her arm through his. “So few people understand.”
“You
can't expect them to. It's not their fault.”

“ No,
I know. It just makes it a terribly lonely place to be in.”

“ Tell
me about it,” agreed Tom, getting up and brush grass from his
trousers. “Time to turn around.”

They
walked slowly back by a different route, around the reservoir,
talking of this and that, until they parted in the car park, Tom to
get changed, and Gail to go and put on some dinner, something of
which Tom teasingly kept reminding her.

Tom
arrived at Gail's in good time, and was met at the door without
having to press the doorbell. Gail waved him into the house and
handed him a substantial glass of chilled white wine.

“ Mmm,”
intoned Tom appreciatively. “I like the way your mind works.”

They
sat side by side on the sofa. Gail had changed into a flouncy blue
dress that spread around her as she sat curled up with her feet under
her, 'as dinner takes care of itself.'

“ So
what do you do for holidays these days?” enquired Tom.

“ Ah,”
considered Gail. “Holidays are tricky things when you're on
your own. Don't you agree?”

“ Most
certainly,” agreed Tom. “Hence the reason I'm here.”

“ Indeed.
That's why I tend to take the family away with me. Gives them a
holiday and gets me some company.”

“ What
a good idea.”

Half
way through their second glass of wine, the timer went on the oven
and Gail declared that 'dinner must be ready'.

They
ate in relative silence, punctured by the odd snippet of
conversation, and the odd wine-glass top-up. By the time they had
finished coffee the table looked like a bomb-site, Gail was giggling
like a school-girl, and Tom was desperately trying to remember when
the second bottle of wine had been opened without him noticing.

As
he endeavoured to clear the table and fill the dishwasher and the
sink with the appropriate dishes, with eyes that were getting fuzzy
around the edges, Gail watched him through blurred vision whilst
trying not to laugh.

“ Tom,”
came the slightly slurred voice from Gail's mouth. “You're not
fit to drive tonight. There are two spare bedrooms upstairs, both
with beds made up. You can take your pick, but please, don't drive.
If anything happened to you I would never forgive myself.”

A
saucepan slipped out of Tom's grasp but he managed to catch it before
it hit the floor.

“ Are
you sure?” came his somewhat slurred response.

“ Sure
I'm sure,” responded Gail, and ruined the effect by hiccuping
in classic style.

They
left the remainder of the dishes and switched out the lights, Gail
remembering at the last second to lock the front door.

They
said goodnight on the landing, neither in a particularly fit state to
follow the niceties of host-guest protocol, Gail disappearing into
the master bedroom, whilst Tom discovered a twin bedded room that
would do nicely. He managed to negotiate his way to the bathroom and
brush his teeth with his fingers after a fashion, before climbing
into bed in somewhat of an alcohol-fuelled haze.

He
wasn't sure what time it was, perhaps one or two in the morning when
he became aware of Gail standing in his bedroom doorway.

“ You
know what?” she said. “I'm sick to death of having to
sleep on my own in a king size bed. Would you come and sleep in my
bed tonight. I just want to have some company for once.”

Tom
by this time was just about managing to find consciousness as she
finished her sentence, and swinging his legs around, sat up in bed.

“ I
can think of lots of reasons why it might not be a good idea.”

“ Sod
them,” cried Gail. “We're grown-ups. We don't have to
answer to anyone else.”

She
held out her hand. “Please?”

And
so they went through to the master bedroom and climbed into the large
king size bed, and promptly fell asleep, the wine finally taking its
toll.

Tom
awoke, uncertain of his surroundings, the sun streaming in through
open curtains that somehow he knew was not his hotel room. As a vague
memory of the previous evening returned, he turned his head and his
gaze fell on the head on the pillow beside him, framed by dark hair
that swirled across the pillow. Gail slept on, a peaceful and serene
countenance that Tom would like to have captured, but could only make
a conscious memory to hold onto.

A
motorbike went past the house, and Gail's eye's fluttered open. A
frown crossed her face for a second, followed by a shy smile.

“ Good
morning,” she murmured. “Goodness, what must you think of
me? Did I really invite you into my bed last night?”

“ You
insisted.” confirmed Tom. “In fact you wouldn't take no
for an answer.”

“ Shameless
hussy,” accused Gail. She looked at the clock. “Oh, I
need a shower.” A thought seemed to flit through her mind.

“ I
can't remember much about last night.” She paused. “When
we came into bed. I mean my bed......”

“ We
both went straight to sleep,” reassured Tom.

“ Right,”
said Gail thoughtfully, leaving Tom unsure as to whether she was
pleased by the news or not.

Tom
stood in the shower, hot water sluicing over his body, his thoughts
all over the place. He could not believe what had happened the
previous night. That Gail had made the plea that she had, was bad
enough, but that he had acquiesced made his brain spin. This was so
unlike him, normally the safe dependable type, trusted to do the
'right thing'. Had it been the alcohol dulling his judgement or had
there been more? Was he being too hard on himself, after all no one
would know but them.

He
hoped it hadn't spoiled anything. Anyway, they would go their
separate ways today and it would be consigned to the past. Why did
that seem to matter to him? It mattered, he confessed to himself,
because he still harboured an affection for Gail that surprised him
in its intensity. The temptation to reach out to her in bed had been
enormous and had taken huge effort to control.

He
shook his head as if to free his brain from this train of thought and
concentrated on getting clean before the hot water ran out.

Gail
sat in the kitchen and downed a couple of paracetamol. Was it the
alcohol from last night or was the headache a result of the turmoil
in her brain? The events of last night seemed like a parallel
universe. How could she have done what she did? What is just the
wine, or was there a subconscious rebellion against loneliness?

And
yet, despite the nagging feeling that what she had done was extremely
foolish, there was a glimmer of a smile that for a while that
loneliness had been banished. She acknowledged to herself that waking
up next to somebody had been a joy, she had wanted to hug Tom, to
curl up in his arms, to enjoy the intimacy of his body, and she
suddenly realised just how much an enemy loneliness had become.

When
Tom finally came down into the kitchen, he found Gail seated at the
refectory table, her head buried in her hands.

“ Oh
God,” she groaned. “What must you think of me? First I
get you drunk, then I coax you into my bed. I can't believe it.”

Tom
sat down opposite her and took her hands, lifting her face. “First
of all, you didn't get me drunk. I did the drinking. Secondly you did
not force me into your bed. I came willingly. And thirdly we did
nothing that we need be ashamed of.”

Gail
managed a lop-sided grin. “You always were so sensible.”

“ No,”
disagreed Tom. “If I was sensible I wouldn't have got drunk in
the first place.”

They
set about coffee, eggs and toast, at the end of which, feeling
slightly more human, they managed to finish clearing the mess from
the previous night.

“ I
need to go back to the hotel for a shave,” remarked Tom,
rubbing fingers over the stubble on his chin.

“ Or
there is shaving kit still in my en suite that might be usable,”
suggested Gail, and at his raised eyebrow continued. “Gordon's
stuff. I've never been able to throw it away.”