Confessions and Giving in
After the best part of eighteen years, I've been reunited with my childhood best friend, Emily, a school friend and swimming partner. It came about because after a failed marriage, I moved back to my home town; it came about also because my mother encouraged me to rediscover the swimming pool, a place where I'd been happy and comfortable as a growing child and teenager. Em was at the pool, and we swam together and raced again. Then, somehow, we were suddenly very close to making love in the showers and in the locker rooms, but we resisted; instead we've been making love with our words, our conversation, just in company with each other. We've rediscovered a bond, one which promises both a future relationship and no small amount of emotional healing, for both of us. First however, some questions needed to be answered - just how much of a coincidence was all this? I needed to know.
So then
I asked, just as the Indian food arrived at the table,
how come my mother knew who it was I'd bumped into this evening before I'd said anything myself? What is it you've not told me Ms Barrington?
Emily put a fork of chicken and rice in her mouth, a stalling tactic, If ever there was one. She thought a short while about how to phrase her answer, before launching into a short story:
I've seen your mother on and off these last eighteen years, in town, around and about. We've always passed the time of day, kept up with news - nothing regular of course, and perhaps we've gone as much as two years without news at certain times. But I always liked your mother, she was very kind to me as a kid, and of course, we have some shared history. As I started my work, and then more recently, had Daisy, we mostly spoke about the nursery and then Daisy herself. Your mother doesn't pry, she is in no way nosy, but if you share something, she is genuinely interested and has a way of showing concern without treading on toes. When we were in our early twenties - ten years and more ago - I would ask about you and she would share your news. She is proud of your teaching career, and that you had found a wife who could share and understand that career. But she wouldn't talk about you unless I asked; she's a wonderfully reactive listener, not the generator of gossip at all.
Em paused to eat some more and to take a few sips of her wine. Then she continued:
We met whilst Christmas shopping a couple of years ago, and when I asked of you then, your mum told me that you had been separated from your wife, more or less since the death of her mother. Your mum wasn't sure how much to share at that time, I think it troubled her somewhat, but she did tell me of your then decision to stay in London to sort things out, rather than attempt to move to be nearer to your wife. I honestly think your mother predicted your return to Devon at some point, but couldn't predict how and when. I was another six or eight months later before we met again, and again we talked about your staying in London, but no mention whatsoever was made of your return. There was a little bit of me that wanted to ask for your contact details, but I just couldn't. My focus is on Daisy, please understand that.
I nodded, still intrigued as to how and when our 'random' meeting at the swimming pool had come about.
I think I know now that your mother was trying to get you to contact old friends when you came to visit at the weekends?
I nodded my admission of this fact. So Em continued.
You resisted, and whilst you did your mother couldn't bring herself to 'put us together' so to speak. I have no idea whether you ever asked after me, but that's not really the point. Your mother saw you regularly, and me less so, but after our respective relationships ended, she saw two people who were - are perhaps - a little lonely for company. My guess is that what she saw was an accurate, if not wholly complete picture.
Again, I nodded; again Em paused for some food.
You came back in August sometime, and it was another complete coincidence that I saw your mother when you were on holiday, Spain I think. I'm sorry, John, but knowing that you were back in town, I wasn't going to be able to resist getting back in touch with you, the only question in my mind was whether I should just turn up on your doorstep, phone to say hello, or find another way of meeting you. This, probably to our benefit, is where my daughter and your school work gets in the way to some extent, and we both had other priorities. But in the end, I phoned your mum when you were in school and asked whether you'd spoken about visiting the sports centre since being back. Yes, John, I suggested to your mother that you'd enjoy the adult swim.
I coughed on my rice and beer and was now smiling like a Cheshire cat!
Not that, you dirty sod, the swimming. Anyway, I was telling the truth when I said I was a regular on Friday nights - I love an hour in the pool when Daisy is with her dad - I was hoping that our meeting would be as it was, a stage-managed coincidence. I had no idea where it would go from there, it might've just been an occasional drink together after a swim, or whatever. Tonight has, already, been beyond my wildest dreams. It might yet be somewhere close to my wildest fantasies too! There: I've said my piece, are you satisfied?
I'm extremely satisfied
I replied.
We could speculate as much as we want about the 'what ifs' of getting back in touch sooner, but everything has a time and a place, I think, and your timing tonight has been perfect. Seriously so.
So how soon can I ask you to finish your curry, pay the bill and take me home?
You can ask me whenever you like
I replied again
but actually, you're the one who has been talking, and it's you that needs to eat up!
With that we settled to finish our curries and drinks, chatting about mothers mostly, and their perpetual matriarchal influence. It wasn't difficult to imagine how Em was doing a good job of being one herself, given difficult circumstances. It struck me, for the first time, I think, that perhaps Eve had never been 'quite the right sort' of wife for me - possibly not the right sort of mother for children. Ah, who knows? That was a life that was never lived.
I drained my pint and with that Em picked up her glass of wine and finished it too in one swift mouthful. Our plates weren't clear, but it was late, and we'd had enough to eat. In one sense.
Em said:
I think it's time for us to go home. Will you stay the night, please?
If that's really what you want, then yes, of course I will.
Thank you. It is what I want, more than I could say, but hopefully I'll be able to show you.
I paid the bill, and we left the restaurant, hand in hand. It was now approaching midnight, but there were no thoughts of tiredness; we had both had a little alcohol, but neither anywhere near intoxication, in fact, senses and sensitivities seemed as sharp as they needed to be. We were at Emily's flat in next to no time, and she opened the door to let us in. I'd love to tell you of my first impressions, of the flat which was at the same time perfectly clean and yet demonstrably lived in by a mother and child. I'd love to tell you about how I failed to find a glass for some water, or the light switch of the small closet toilet. But the rest of this chapter is bedroom talk; in fact, not so much talk, as we reverted to the telepathy of our swimming pool action earlier in the evening.
After ablution, we went straight to Emily's bedroom, a functional room with a double bed, lamps either side, furniture for one and a small television with in-built DVD player. The decor and bedding were lightest green, some floral pattern, but not overly feminine. The floor was wooden and bare, but deliberately so, and not a cheap or cold feel. I put my hand on the bed, which was firm to the touch; I hate climbing onto or into a bed without knowing how it might respond. But before I could take in any more of my surroundings, Emily put herself in my arms, lifted her head towards mine and, after a moment or two of looking as deeply into my eyes as she could possibly have done, our mouths met. They locked, not with aggression, but with insistent passion all the same, tongues exploring, teeth nibbling lips, bodily fluid passing between us with no questions ask and no quarter given. Emily was, literally, drinking from my mouth and asking the same of me from hers.
Em climbed onto the bed in a kneeling position, and had me stand in front of her, our heads still level with each other, the kiss broken for no time at all between changes of position. I leaned forward and lifted her sweater over her head, and followed it immediately with her t-shirt which was a tighter fit at the collar, and got stuck momentarily. Emily giggled as I leaned forward to kiss her collar bone and then the top of her left tit, exposed flesh above the plain white bra. Although we'd been naked together in the changing room earlier, the eroticism of this disrobing was on a different level entirely. Em's hands were now grabbing at my sweater, and I shifted to allow my t-shirt to be removed with it as if one garment. Once it was off, Em took me completely by surprise, suddenly clamping her mouth over
my
