I felt suddenly unsteady, waiting in my seat. Until now the intensity of my feelings had felt solid, unshakeable. The current I had let myself be swept away in had felt inevitable, part of some larger plan. And yet now, as the city began to roll away past my window, I was reminded of that first dinner after the symposium, where Ben's attention had felt probing, demanding, alarming. The remains of my as yet untested passion lingered in my gut, and I mentally tried to cling onto those threads. The alternative was worse, hurtling towards a man I'd barely met to spend 48 hours of intense time alone with him. I pushed my fear aside. This will be fine! Everything's fine. You're excited about this. This is thrilling.
The train to Cambridge was hell. I tried to read, I tried to pay attention to the countryside and failed at both. I ended up just sitting there in agony for about 25 minutes. For the last ten, a particularly charming 2 year old played peekaboo with me - I don't think he realised he was actually helping me out more than I was him. We arrived, then the slow interminable walk from the platform to the entrance. Should I carry my bag on my shoulder or in my hand? I don't want him to think it's heavy, and that I've packed to many things, so it should be hand. But it is heavy. Ok so shoulder to the doors, and then you can suffer it in your hand from there. I arrived at the doors, and couldn't see him. Chill. Get your ticket out, and get through the gates. There he is. Don't panic. More whooshing.
We said hello, then hugged and I leaned in for a kiss. I got it, but it was definitely a little awkward. I'd imagined that it might be, but I had steeled myself to do it regardless as I wanted to be unambiguous as to my feelings. I'd come to Cambridge to be Ben's lover, something that terrified and thrilled me. He took me to a taxi and we drove to his cottage. The weekend of Ben had begun!
