It was summer of 1980. I was twenty years old.
One afternoon, I was sitting on the patio at home, reading a book, when Nicholas called to me from the side gate.
Nicholas was the boyfriend of my older sister, Justine. He was a good-looking Neanderthal. Six-two or thereabouts, one hundred and eighty pounds or thereabouts, with a broad, flat face and short sandy-coloured hair. He played rugby (which he called "Rugger"), liked real ale, and occasionally smoked a pipe.
I unlocked the gate and let him in. "Justine had to go out," I said, in answer to his enquiry, "but she'll be back soon, if you want to wait"
"You're here on your own?" he asked.
"Yep, just li'l ol' me."
Actually, I was quite little. Just 5'4" tall and as slender as a reed.
"Where's Isabelle?"
Isabelle was my twin sister.
"She's visiting a friend in Liverpool or maybe Birmingham - I'm not sure."
I waited, but he didn't move.
"So, are you coming in?"
It took him several more seconds to decide. "Yeah, I'll come in," he said with finality and, maybe, a hint of foreboding.
I led him to the patio.
"So, how's everything?" I asked.
"Oh, you know," he said. " You?"
"Very hunky and particularly dory," I said.
I asked him if he wanted something to drink. He didn't. I asked him if he was taking Justine to his parents' house at the weekend (his parents had a place in the country). He said "yes". Then he picked up the book I had been reading.
"Slaughterhouse-Five," he said, then he mispronounced the author's surname.
"Have you read it?" I asked.
"No, I don't read many books," he said. "Don't have the time."
His not reading many books didn't surprise me. Nicholas was a fellow more at home in a gym than a library. And I, for one, didn't see anything wrong with that.
"It's really good."
"Yeah?" He changed the subject. "So, how long do you think Justine is going to be?"
"She said she'd be back by five, or just after."
He looked at his watch. The time was four, twenty-eight.
"So, thirty minutes?"
"Thereabouts," I said.
He nodded. Then, he cleared his throat. Then, he picked up the book again, flicked through the pages, and put it down. "So... everything's okay with you?"
"Tickety-boo,' I said. "Particularly boo. I've been enjoying the sunshine."
"Doing a little reading."
"Yes, doing a little reading. Or just daydreaming."
"About what?"
"Oh, the usual things."
If you had asked me then, I would have said, quite confidently, that my usual things would not be the same as his. Little did I know.
Nicholas nodded. Then, he took off his jacket. He had obviously come straight from work. He took off his tie and unbuttoned a couple of shirt buttons. Then, he started to roll up his sleeves.
I looked at the space below his throat. It was just as tanned as his face. I wondered if there was any spot on his body that wasn't sexy. Maybe he had hideous toes. I watched the slow reveal of his forearms.
"Have you had a chance to enjoy the weather?" I asked.
"A little bit," he said. He looked at me. "Looks like you've caught the sun."
"A little bit," I said.
"I expect you have to be careful, don't you? Your skin's quite fair."
I could see he was suddenly a little embarrassed, mentioning how fair my skin was.
"I do burn quite easily," I said.
"Yeah, you have to be careful with fair skin," he said.
"I usually slather myself in sun cream," I said.
We sat in silence for a while. I wondered if he was imagining me slathered in sun cream.
Then, we both started to say something at the same time.
"You go," he said.
"No, you," I said.
"No, really, you go."
"Well," I said, "I was just going to ask how often you work out. You obviously do."
"Not a lot," he said. "Just three times a week."
"Well, it's really paying off. You look great."
He shifted in his seat. "Thanks," he said.
"And I bet Justine doesn't complain."
"No," he said, with a grin.
"Anyway, what were you going to say?"' I asked.
"Hmm?"
"What were you going to say?"
"Oh. Well, I was just going to ask if you would mind me asking you about something."
