You meant it for evil - 11 by Maeryn Lamonte A long bath and half a mug of hot chocolate later, I was sitting on the sofa, absent-mindedly scratching Toby behind the ears when the phone rang. I thought about screening it for a moment, but decided not to. “Hello?” “Hi, it's er Mike.”

-oOo-
A cold rush of excitement ran through me and my legs all but buckled under me. I settled onto the arm of the sofa. Wow, just the sound of his voice. How could it affect me so much? I told myself to be sensible, he probably didn't want to talk to me.

“Er hi. If you’re looking for Phil or Sharon, they've gone out.”

“Yeah I know. Phil called me and told me to stop being such a prat.”

“How were you being a prat?”

“You tried to apologise. I wouldn't let you.”

“But you had every right to be upset. What I said was totally out of order, especially after the way you treated us.”

“Well let's just forget it shall we? I was wondering if you'd like to go out.”

“What now?”

I looked at my watch. Ten-thirty was kind of late.

“No, no. I'll be in the restaurant until gone midnight. I'm just taking a five minute break to call you. No I was wondering what you had planned for tomorrow.”

I slid onto the sofa properly and tucked my legs up under me. I loved the way I could do that and still feel comfortable.

“Well I'm off to church in the morning, then, Oh sh!t.”

“What? What is it?”

“The pastor and his wife invited me to lunch tomorrow along with Sharon and Phil. I told him I'd get back to him once I knew what their plans were and I just realised I never asked them. I don't suppose you fancy coming along instead?”

“Not really my idea of a first date.”

A warm feeling spread slowly from between my breasts; he wanted to ask me out on a date. His voice faltered as he carried on.

“I'm not doing very well here am I?”

“I don't know, I've no complaints so far.”

I could hear the smile in my voice. I hoped he could too.

“No, I mean I'll be back in the kitchen tomorrow evening and every evening after that. I'm guessing you'll be back at work on Monday morning.”

“Actually I have a week off. I'm going to be decorating my flat.”

“I thought you were staying with Sharon?”

“I was, I am. It's just that the flat opposite came free and Sharon's place is a little small, and now that I'm working... Well it gives us both a bit more space and privacy.”

“Can I help? Decorate I mean. I swing a mean paintbrush.”

“Do you have your own overalls?”

“I'm sure I can work something out.”

“That's really kind of you. Yes please. Can I cook you lunch?”

“Well I was thinking of bringing a take-out from the restaurant for both of us, but whatever you prefer.”

“Oh, that's mean. How am I ever going to get a chance to make things up to you if you tempt me like that?”

“I'm guessing the duck paté and the paella?”

“Yes please, but I warn you, one of these days I will cook something for you.”

“I'll look forward to it. Food always tastes so much better when someone else cooks it.”

“Really? I've been thinking the exact opposite since Sharon's started giving me lessons.”

“You haven't had to cook for over a hundred people a night, every night for the last three months.”

“No I guess not.”

I was snuggling into myself and willing a hug down the phone to him. Just sitting here was so wonderful.

“Well I have to get back to work, no telling what these monkeys have been doing while I've been away.”

“I'll bet they're getting on just fine without you. You just can't stand not being in control.”

I managed to put just the right level of teasing into my voice and he rewarded me with a laugh. He had a nice laugh, deep-throated and rich.

“Guilty as charged. What time on Monday then?”

“I should be up and doing stuff from about eight-thirty onwards, so any time you can make after that.”

“Well I have to do some grocery shopping for the restaurant first, how about tenish?”

“I'll have the kettle on. Oh, Mike?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank-you so much for calling tonight, I can't tell you how much you've turned my day around.”

“Well, I'm sorry it took me so long.”

“Well you did it, and now that's all that matters.”

“Goodnight Liz.”

“'Night Mike.”

I waited for the dial tone before putting the phone down. Toby butted at my elbow and I couldn't help but lift him into a hug. He wasn't impressed and scrambled out of my arms.

-oOo-
I remembered to phone Pastor James and apologise for my oversight. He laughed it off saying they could always invite a couple of the street kids if Phil and Sharon had other plans. I didn't want to risk calling or texting Sharon in case she was in the cinema and still had her phone on, but I had to talk to someone, I was so full of what had just happened with Mike.

I thought of Karen and decided that she probably wouldn't appreciate a call from a bubbly, air-headed teenager at this time of night. I racked my brains for someone else to call. Elizabeth, my dresser, would be in the same boat as Karen and that more or less summed up my list of friends.

With that sad thought, my mind turned to my family. Mum and Dad would be in bed by now, but maybe... I dived deep into my memory for a number that I usually relied on my mobile phone to remember, then punched it into the phone, remembering at the last moment to enter star one four one to hide the caller ID. It rang three times before a young female voice answered.

“Hello?”

“Lisa?”

“Who is this?”

I hadn't thought this far ahead. Still not so hard to come up with something.

“Oh sorry, you won't know me. My name's Liz, I'm sort of a friend of Ken's.”

Sort of the truth. Close enough anyway.

“Oh my gosh, Glen come quickly. Sorry, that's my husband. Tell me how is Ken, we've been so worried.”

“He's ok, better than ok actually, but he's had to adjust to some changes in his life. He misses you guys and his parents, but, well I guess you've been told some things.”

“Yes, there wasn't a lot of details. I don't know if you can tell us anything more.”

“I'm sorry, but for now the fewer details you know the better. Listen he's given me a list of questions to ask and I have a recorder here next to the phone, so he'll hear the answers straight from you. Do you mind?”

“No of course not.”

It was Glen's voice sounding a little distant, as though they were sharing the phone. Just the sound of his familiar tones was enough to bring tears welling up in my eyes. I had to cover for the sudden catch in my voice.

“Just a minute I have the questions here in my bag.”

“Are you alright?”

Trust Lisa to be all concerned. I forced myself to take a deep, calming breath.

“I'm fine, just dropped a few things here.”

The conversation drifted into the personal and familial. How were they and the kids? - Fine although Gemma had chipped a tooth being too adventurous on a swing a week or so back. How were my parents? - Worried about Ken, but otherwise doing well. What news on my Dad's knees? - Appointment for surgery arranged for March. How about Glen's promised promotion? - What do you think? You know, that sort of thing. There was more, but I wouldn't want to bore you with it. Suffice to say that emotionally I was hanging on by a thread by the time I'd run out of questions.

“What about Ken though? You can't expect us to say to his parents we had this conversation and then nothing. There has to be some news.”

What could I tell them?

“Well, like I say, I'm going to have to keep the details sparse for everyone's sakes, but he's happy with the way things are, except that he can't contact you guys directly. He's had a change of appearance; honestly you would not recognise him now. He's also had to change his job. What he's doing now is so different from what he was doing, but he's really enjoying it. He's made a few really good, close friends and he promises that someday soon he'll find a way to come and visit.”

Well apart from the pronoun I hadn't done anything to damage my karma there.

“Tell him not to do anything silly; we'd much rather he was safe. Thank-you, Liz, so much for phoning tonight. You can't imagine how much it means to us to have this news.”

Oh I think I can imagine.

“I'm glad I can help. If it's ok I'll call again, though I'm not sure when I'll be able to.”

“We'd appreciate it. We're in most evenings. Please tell my brother I love him.”

“He wanted me to say the same thing. It's been really good talking to you. I'll call again soon.”

“See that you do.”

We said our goodbyes and hung up just as the dam broke. I collapsed on the floor where I was and surrendered as wave upon wave of unexpressed emotion washed over me. The flood waters were still in full flow when the door opened and Phil and Sharon came in.

“Liz, sweetie, what is it? God if I'd known you were in this kind of state we'd never have gone out.”

“Right I'm going to kill the bastard.”

Phil was walking out the door, an expression like thunder colouring his features. I tried to get to my feet.

“Phil stop, you don't understand.”

“I understand enough to know that I told him to call you and I come back to find you like this.”

“But he did call, and he's coming round on Monday to help me decorate and move in, and everything's wonderful.”

Enough to stop Phil in his tracks.

“Then what in the world was that about? We always used to joke about how we could never understand women; I never thought I'd be saying the same thing about you.”

He was calming down slowly. Sharon was still hovering, ever the mother hen. I turned to her. I mean she would understand, even if Phil wouldn't.

“After Mike called I just had to talk to somebody. I didn't want to phone you guys in case I disturbed something and, apart from Karen and Elizabeth from work, who I didn't think would appreciate the interruption, I realised that I didn't have anyone else to call.

“So I phoned my brother. No it's alright, I pretended to be a friend of Kevin's making contact. We talked for ages, and it was just too good hearing Glen's and Lisa's voices again. I guess I really have been missing them and worrying about them, and it all just came pouring out afterwards, just as you guys walked in.”

“Well I'm going to put the coffee on. Phil you can stay as long as you stop ogling Liz's boobs.”

He looked away guiltily and reddened, stammering an apology to me as Sharon headed for her beloved galopiter galopiter machine.

“I'm sorry Liz, kind of reflex. You know how it is?”

“I'm in the perfect position to know aren't I?”

I pulled my dressing gown around me obscuring the scenery and smiled me best disarming smile.

“Besides it was kind of gallant the way you went charging to my defence like that. Almost as if you're over the whole issue of who and what I am now.

“Just promise me one thing though. Mike's a great guy and he hasn't done anything to earn that kind of reaction response from you, so whatever happens between us, stay his friend, eh?”

He nodded.

“I'm going to miss Ken.”

“Yeah me to a bit. But I'd miss Liz more.”

“Me too.”

We were laughing at some old shared memory when Sharon came back in with the coffees. I remembered to mention Pastor James's invite and fortunately they didn't have other plans. Nice as Aaron was, things might become a little awkward if he got the wrong idea over the two of us being invited to the same lunch at the same time. I didn't want to go down that route, especially given my burgeoning feelings for Mike.

It was getting late so with coffees drunk, I took quick advantage of an empty toilet while Sharon said her long slow goodnight to Phil. I wasn't going to get my early night though. As soon as Sharon joined me in the bed, she was quizzing me about what had happened with Mike, and wasn't satisfied with anything less than total disclosure, including vocal inflections and in depth psychoanalysis. I didn't mind, reliving the conversation with my friend was almost as exquisite as the original phone call and by the time I was settling down to sleep, I was immersed in the warmth of my feelings for Mike and looking forward to a night of wonderful dreams.

-oOo-
I have to admit I wished most of Sunday away. I didn't pay any attention to the sermon and drifted through the coffee time in a daze. Karen sought me out as she had the previous few Sundays.

“I know that dreamy look. Do I take it you'll be providing your own plus one on Friday evening?”

It took me a few moments to register what she was talking about. She rolled her eyes and laughed.

“God, I remember feeling like that. Wonderful as it was I don't think I could stand to go through it again. What's his name?”

At last something I could answer, being as it was right at the front of my mind. My dreamy look became, if possible, even more dreamy.

“Mike, his name's Mike. He owns a restaurant in Highgate. I'm not sure if he'll be able to come on Friday; he's usually working in the evenings.”

“Shame, I'd like to meet the man who captured your heart. I doubt it was easily won.”

“I'll ask and see if he can come. Let you know by Wednesday.”

We chatted about other things, mainly related to vague plans she had for me following the launch. Mostly they seemed to involve high profile parties and public events. I began to see opportunities for networking and putting together a group of potential allies in my crusade for the homeless. With most of the events being in the evening, I would still have a lot of time during the day to relax with a certain highly eligible restaurateur as well as to pursue other interests.

I did manage to talk to Aaron and his friends briefly but they were a little standoffish. I'm not sure if it was because I had dressed for lunch with the pastor in a smart cream top and beige skirt and jacket, or if there was something else entirely. Maybe he had seen that dreamy look in my eyes and figured that he wasn't going to get lucky, who knows?

Lunch with the pastor and his wife was delightful. They were practised hosts and not only fed us well but entertained us in to the bargain. I managed to avoid a few awkward questions about my past and, once they sensed I didn't want to talk about it, they steered the conversation down a safer route.

After lunch I managed to persuade Marion to let me help with the washing up, while at the same time finagled Sharon and Phil into staying with the pastor. Phil didn't take much convincing as he and Pastor James had discovered a mutual interest in, yep you guessed it, football. Sharon was less keen, but seemed to sense that I wanted to spend some time alone, talking with our hostess. It turns out that I didn't fool a great many people with my clumsy attempts at manipulation because no sooner were we in the kitchen behind closed doors than Marion turned to me.

“Now dear, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Am I that obvious?”

“I wouldn't say so no. It's a gift, kind of goes with the job. You learn to look for certain signs.”

I shrugged. All this did was confirm that I had chosen the right person to confide in.

“Do you mind if we work while we talk. I think it'll be easier with a little distraction.”

She smiled at me and held up a pair of rubber gloves and a tea towel.

“Wash or dry?”

So this was the conversation I'd failed to persuade myself to have with pastor James the previous week; the one about having a relationship with God. I'm not going to tell it to you in all it's fine detail because it's a bit of a private thing, besides which I doubt you'd appreciate me preaching at you in the middle of a story. In essence, I wanted to know what was involved, and even went to the extent of telling her something of my recent experiences — well mainly the one with the man in the park. She talked a bit about the Prodigal Son, which was kind of cliché but the way she used it was pretty cool. All about how the first move had to come from the son, after which the father did the rest. I'll tell you about it if you're interested, but the long and short of it is that, once we'd finished the dishes, we went and found a quiet room and Marion introduced me to her God.

When we re-joined the others, Pastor James and Phil were enjoying a football match on the idiot box, and Sharon was looking slightly bored, but scooched up next to Phil and leaning on his shoulder. Marion went over to her husband, kissed him on the top of his head and shared a knowing smile, which he then turned in my direction. In an attempt to evade the general announcement that I knew was coming, I went over to the window. Fortunately it was a bright sunny day and, even though most of the flowers were sleeping their way through winter, the garden, with its rockery and variegated evergreen shrubs, was stunning.

“Oh, that's beautiful. Would you mind?”

Marion smiled. Obviously this was a brownie points winner.

“Come on, I'll show you around?”

I turned to Sharon.

“Coming?”

Oh, the relief in those eyes. We spent a delightful half hour wandering around Marion's pride and joy, listening to her point out all the varying features and explain what we could expect to see at different times through the year. Despite a lifelong aversion to anything green and growing, I couldn't help but be interested, given the passion with which she spoke.

We were invited to stay for tea, but the football match was over and I think Sharon wanted to reclaim her man before she lost him to some other form of male bonding. We made out excuses, offered our thanks and retreated to Phil's car and home.

Sharon kept glancing at me all through the journey. If truth be told, I felt an amazing sense of peace and it must have showed. No I don't attribute it to anything supernatural, but somehow some things that had always seemed slightly off about the world seemed to have clicked into place today and I was immersed in the serenity of feeling — what was it the old man in the park had said? Oh yes, 'God's in his heaven and all's right with the world.'

I did eventually tell my two best friends about what had had happened that afternoon, to be rewarded with an excited squeee from Sharon and a more subdued but genuine approval from Phil. I wanted to go for a walk, to embrace and explore this new calm I was feeling, but the winter sun set too early and I Phil dissuaded me from exploring the neighbourhood in the dark. Mr Bryant had posted the keys to my new apartment through Sharon's letterbox while we were out so I settled on wandering around the empty rooms and planning tomorrow's activities while Sharon and Phil curled up for a while on their own.

Eventually the need for company reasserted itself and I re-joined them just as Sharon and Phil were disentangling themselves in a prelude to Sharon's latest Opus Maximus in the kitchen. Conversation was subdued over tea. I suppose I was caught up in my thoughts and the others didn't want to break into my reverie. After we'd eaten, I retreated to the bath, ostensibly to give my two friends more time together, but really looking to escape by myself and while away the last of the day. I headed to bed early and drifted slowly away amidst swirling thoughts and feelings.

-oOo-
Monday. It was Monday. Mike was coming today. I woke ahead of the alarm, filled with fluttering anticipation; a whole storm of butterflies performing Olympic gymnastics throughout my whole body. God what a feeling, was life ever so wonderful?

I dressed quickly into my overalls and set about making breakfast. A bleary eyes Sharon came to investigate the clattering and to tell me that it was only five o'clock. I did my best to look contrite, but nothing could dampen my mood and Sharon headed for the bathroom with a martyred air.

“I give up. If this is the way you're going to be from now on I can only be thankful that you're getting your own place.”

I tried to make amends with a spectacular breakfast and, between the toasted bagels topped with cream cheese and chives, the cereal with twist cut strawberries and bananas and the coffees with foamed cream, I think I earned my pardon. Sharon certainly left the flat with more of a spring in her step than might be expected of someone woken an hour ahead of schedule. She left me with some sound advice.

“Don't throw yourself at him sweetie. He may be as crazy about you as you obviously are about him, but you'll both enjoy it more if you take it slow.”

I made an effort to tie my mass of hair up and out of the way, choosing to cover it with an old but clean tea-towel, then waltzed my way across the hall to my new home-to-be. My dad had always been one to promote self-reliance in his children and both Glen and I had learnt early on about decorating, having been given the job of repainting our own rooms every couple of years from the age of twelve. He'd been meticulous in his work and exacting in his expectations of us, so by the time we each blazed our separate trails out into the world, we knew how to make a room look good.

I set to with a will and a passion, filling holes, sanding down rough surfaces, priming repairs, washing the walls. It was hard work and, at this stage, not particular rewarding as there was little visible evidence of the improvement.

I was almost ready to start slapping paint about, having just shut off the electricity to the flat and loosened all the electrical fittings, when ten o'clock arrived and with it a buzz on the doorbell. I wiped some of the dust from my face and headed downstairs, half expecting to take delivery of one of my new pieces of furniture. I opened the door to find Mike waiting, a polystyrene box under one arm and his cheeky half-smile on his face.

“Well, I do like the new look. Is this part of the collection you've been modelling as well.”

“Why don't you come in and find out? I'm sure I can find something similar for you.”

I climbed back up the stairs with Mike in tow and opened Sharon's flat.

“Sharon suggested we use her place as a base of operations until mine is liveable in. I'm presuming the box contains lunch, in which case it needs to go in the kitchen and the door closed before any cats sneak in. Then you can come over and join me in my place.”

A few minutes later we were standing in my large, bare living room. Mike looked around, the twinkle in his eye warning me to arm myself.

“Aw, you waited for me before starting... Ow, hey is that how you treat all you guests.”

It had only been a light foam sanding block, but my aim had been good, bouncing it off the bridge of his nose.

“It’s the way I treat cheeky so-and-so's. You said you were good with a paintbrush, let's see you back that up and show me what you can do with a properly prepped surface.”

“Yes m'lady, sorry m'lady.”

The bowing and tugging of the forelock were a nice touch and had me laughing, with him joining in shortly after. That set the scene for the rest of the morning with him proving to be as good a painter as he'd boasted the day before. In no time the living room was done with the main wall a rich burgundy and the other three in the same colour but thinned to a pleasant pink. We had just finished the second coat and were tightening down the sockets and switches when the front door opened and Mr Bryant came in. He didn't say anything but it was obvious from his face that he was impressed. I gave him a cheery smile of the sort Sharon assured me would turn legs to jelly.

“Hello Mr Bryant, What do you think?”

“Wh... wha... It's very good, very good indeed. I have your carpets in the van downstairs if you'll tell me where you'd like them.”

“Well on the floor eventually, but for now could they stand in Liz's flat? I'd like to paint the ceiling before we put them down if that's alright. Probably be ready for them to go down tomorrow morning.”

“Well that's up to you how you sort it. We'll pop them in the flat opposite then and you can take it from there.”

“Sorry weren't you going to get the carpets fitted?”

“I said I'd buy them and deliver them. The rest is up to you.”

I was about to protest but Mike put a hand on my shoulder.

“It's alright, I have a friend who does carpets. He'll do a decent job of fitting them too, which is what you want after all the effort you're putting into the rest of this place.”

I didn't argue. In retrospect my landlord was right, and it was me who had assumed the rest. Still it seemed a bit cheap of him, especially with the savings I was making for him. Mike was already on his phone arranging things, so I led Mr Bryant through to Sharon's flat and showed him where to put his delivery. I was peeved enough to let him do all the heaving and lifting himself, but Mike followed him downstairs and, once I'd seen the size of the rolls, I went to lend a hand as well. Not that that entailed much more than holding doors; there were times when I really missed even the mediocre strength that I'd had as Ken.

For the rest of the morning Mike painted ceilings — a backbreaking job that I was glad to delegate — and I repaired and prepared more walls. At my request Mike talked about his restaurant and how he'd started it up, and he filled the time with stories that had laughing so hard at times I couldn't see straight. When the alarm on my phone sounded, I called a break for lunch and we washed up before heading across to Sharon's and a welcome meal.

“You're going to regret offering to help at this rate.”

I glanced over to Mike as I spoke, worried that perhaps I was speaking the truth.

“Nonsense, I'm glad to help. It's not often I get to spend so much time with such a beautiful woman, and in any case, they say that a change is as good as a rest, and this is certainly a change from what I would normally be doing right now.”

“Oh, and what would that be?”

“Probably sitting behind my desk, ploughing through receipts, wishing I had a life.”

I laughed and squeezed his arm, leaning into him briefly.

“Well I for one am glad of your company, and not just for all your efforts and obvious decorating skills.”

I gave him what I hoped was an earnest look. He held it for a moment then turned away into the kitchen.

“No, I imagine you're just as glad of the food. Would you mind working that infernal contraption while I set about heating up the paella and preparing the paté.?”

The infernal contraption in question was obviously the coffee monster. I set about my task feeling a little rebuffed. Perhaps I needed to try another approach.

“Mike? About Friday night.”

“Forget it. We both made mistakes; water under the bridge.”

“I'd like to explain mine. My mistake I mean.”

I had my head down focusing on doing the necessary to prime the beast for its task of preparing caffeinated heaven, but mainly keeping my eyes averted. I didn't dare look at him.”

“I said there's no need...”

“Except that I feel there is. Please?”

He turned my way, arms folded. There was something of frustration and anger in the way he stood, but there was also a brittle quality to it. He let out a short sigh, almost a gasp.

“Alright.”

I'd been running this through my head over and over, what I'd say, how I'd say it. Now the time was here, none of my planning seemed appropriate so I just went for it, improvised.

“Just over a week ago Liz and I were chatting over one of her exceptional meals and I wanted to know what I was going to do if she ever agreed to marry Phil. She suggested that I might find myself a man who could cook at which point, and I have to say that I was a bit drunk at the time, which is going to sound pretty awful because you're going to start thinking I get drunk all the time when in actual fact I've only been drunk twice in the last I don't know how long. Anyway I asked her would this man be rich, handsome and hung like a horse which set her laughing and the other night I figured since you already filled three of the criteria I thought I might ask about the other, and it might get a laugh. And in the end I don't care about any of it, just that you make me laugh and I feel so alive when you're around...”

I stuttered to a halt, aware that I'd been gabling and cringing inwardly at the mess I'd made of the explanation. I'd been overfeeding the machine and ground coffee had overflowed all over the counter. I was suddenly terrified of the way Mike would react. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe. An eternity passed and I could feel the tears building, pressing against the insides of my closed eyes. Why is it that women leak so easily?

Soft hands on my shoulders, pulling gently but firmly. I have no will to resist. Grey eyes, he has grey eyes. Odd that they should be so warm and inviting. There were tears there. Maybe it isn't just women who leak. His expression, unreadable, crumbling, giving way to... His hand on my cheek, turning it, guiding it, lifting it. His lips on mine. Soft lips. Warm lips. Welcome lips.

And then my arms are around his neck, his around my waist. I have never felt like this, the shuddering relief, the soaring hope, the singing joy. My soul is a skylark shouting out its rapture to the world. This moment can never end; there will never be another like it. It is too much and I feel myself shattering into a million shards of stardust, melting into a golden pool, reforming, returning.

He pulls away and I see my own hope and doubt mirrored in his own eyes. I reach forward to kiss him a second time and for a second time he responds as eagerly, and the world collapses into blissful confusion again for another eternal moment.

We come up for air again. We have to. This time the questions need words. Mike first.

“I can't believe. Do you really think that I'm...”

“Everything I want, yes. I've never felt this way about anyone before. I was so afraid I had pushed you away with that stupid joke.”

I lean forward on his chest. On his shoulder really, he isn't so much taller than me. The tears are welling up again. Reassure me Mike, tell me I didn't blow this. This wonderful, this perfect thing. Tell me you forgive me, tell me we can be together. His head leans on mine.

“I didn't know what to think. What you said seemed to be so much out of character with what I'd seen all evening. I thought I knew who you were, not just beautiful, but bright, witty, thoughtful, compassionate. All those illusions shattered in a moment.

“There's a stupid saying, small man, big dick. I thought you were making fun of me. Drunk or no, it hurt either way. I didn't really think, just acted. I don't suppose Phil and Sharon said anything, but I regretted it the moment I asked you to leave, but by then it was too late. I couldn't take back the words no matter how much I wanted.”

We held to each other as though the world were ending, as though the slightest relaxing of that hold would tear each of us from the other. The words 'I love you' formed in my head. I knew they were true, but this was too soon. I put them aside for some time in the future when I could be more certain that they would be welcomed.

“So what do you think of me now?”

“I think you're everything I hoped you might be. I think perhaps you need to be rationed to two glasses of wine per evening, and I think you're either blind or stupid for wanting to be with me.”

The laughter was a welcome release, for both of us as he joined in, and at last we were able to let go of each other, no longer so fearful that this might be our last time.

“So, lunch?”

“I think so.”

“Would you mind if my coffee were a little less strong?”

I looked at the mess on the counter and burst out laughing again. The spilt coffee went into a zip-lock bag for personal use later and I made a better job on my second attempt. Mike looked my way again.

“Aren't you worried that I'm a bit old for you?”

“Not really. I mean you're allowed half your age plus seven, isn't that the rule? That means the youngest you should go is twenty-one years old and I'm mature for my age; at least when I don't have a whole bottle of champagne sloshing around inside of me. Besides in six years we'll be ok anyway, and I'd rather not wait that long if you don't mind.”

He smiled and shook his head. The paella was sizzling in one of Sharon's woks, receiving an occasional expert shake from the master-chef as he divided his attention between it and the paté, melba toast and rocket salad with vinaigrette dressing. In the time it took me to make two measly cups of coffee, our lunch was ready, the main course simmering gently on the stove while we dug into the entrée .

Everything was delicious of course, almost as good as Friday night and hardly diminished at all for being transported in a Styrofoam box then reheated. We ate our fill and sat back with our drinks.

“You know, if we count Friday as our first date, sort of, and today as the second, I can pretend I'm not such a slut.”

He was in mid sip as I spoke and choked. Some of it came back out his nose.

When he'd finished spluttering, he looked across at me.

“What are you talking about?”

“I think I remember someone telling me once that properly brought up girls don't kiss on a first date. I'm a little concerned that we haven't actually been on one yet and I already have intimate knowledge of your tonsils.”

“You are the oddest mix, you know that?”

“What do you mean?”

“It's like someone took a little girl and muddled her up with a grown woman. Most of the time you act so mature I find it hard to believe you're only eighteen, then in just a mouthful of words you regress ten years.”

“I am a conundrum. One day I'll tell you about it, but not today.”

I drained my coffee and stood up.

“Because today we have three more rooms to paint, and since I can only have you 'til...?”

“Five-thirty.”

“Five-thirty, I shall have to work you like a dog so that I don't have too much to finish on my own this evening.”

“Hey watch it. I'm not much for indentured servitude and if you work me too hard today, I may not come back tomorrow.”

I held out my hands and he allowed me to pull him to his feet. He had to do most of the work at that since I was just too small and weak to make much of a difference.

“Ah, but you're not doing it because I crack my whip. You're doing it because you can't bear to think of me working my pretty little fingers to the bone into the small hours of the night, while you put your feet up in your kitchen and yell at your minions.”

“Oho, put my feet up is it? I'll have you know that I shall be working just as hard as you if not harder this evening, and all for the pleasure of some people I've never met.”

“And the wads of cash they're going to pay you for that pleasure.”

He chased me out of the kitchen and across the hallway, both of us laughing and giggling all the way until eventually I turned and fell into his arms. It wasn't like the first time; it could never be. It was still wonderful though.

The afternoon flew by on a cloud of laughter and kisses. We probably didn't get as much work done as I had first hoped, but we had a lot more fun. On several occasions we were interrupted by the arrival of my flat-pack furniture. It all went into Sharon's lounge, filling it up to an increasing amount. I was glad I'd let Sharon persuade me not to have the bed or suite delivered until the Wednesday. At the time I'd thought she was just trying to diddle me into staying with her a couple more days, but now I saw there was no way it would have fitted while we were still working on the decorating.

Five-thirty came round too quickly. I broke off work fifteen minutes before so I could give Mike a proper goodbye-and-thanks-for-all-the-help without making him late.

“Same time tomorrow?”

“I was wondering if maybe you'd like some company while you're doing your grocery shopping.”

I walked fingers up his shirt and studied his buttons studiously, not wishing to influence his decision by looking at him.

“Oh you are a temptress, but not tomorrow. I think your bones are going to be aching when you wake up and I wouldn't want to inflict a couple of hours’ worth of argy-bargy in the local market onto someone as delicate as yourself. Maybe Wednesday after we've had a gentler day tomorrow. I'll treat you to breakfast at this little bistro I know.”

“Ooh be still me beating heart. Such romance, such elegance, such élan.”

“Be quiet you or I shall feed you on dry crusts and water for the rest of the week.”

What an opening; like a barn door.

“Speaking of the rest of this week, I don't suppose there is any chance of your taking Friday evening off?”

“Not a chance. Friday is the busiest day of the week. No-one gets Friday off, especially not the boss. Why do you ask?”

“Oh it's just that I have this work thing, you know launch of the new Elle-gance line. I'm supposed to bring a plus one, and if it's not going to be you it will have to be some rent-a-hunk.”

“Should I be jealous?”

“Not if you take Friday off.”

I leaned forward to breath that last in his ear, playing with him. He was giving me uncomfortable vibes. I was pushing this too far. I eased back and looked deep into his eyes.

“And not if you can't either. There's no-one I'd rather have on my arm than you, but not if it means you giving up your life. The monkey in the suit will only be eye-candy for the cameras and I'll probably be kept too busy to spend much time with you in any case. Tell me you'll give me some of your Saturday though.”

“From the dawn chorus to the gathering gloom of evening I shall be yours, and if you and our friends will deign to eat as my guests, as much of the evening as I can spare as well. There will be less champagne this time though.”

“Do you have a thing about fat women?”

“What d'you mean?”

“I mean if I end up eating in your restaurant every week I shall soon be positively Raphaelite, and unemployable in my chosen profession.”

“Then I shall feed you on celery sticks while Phil and Sharon feast to their heart's content. And I think maybe you mean Rubenesque.”

“Not celery, yuk, but ok as long as we can limit the calorie intake this time I'll ask them, and are you sure? Anyway It's time you went, not that I want you to go.”

We kissed long and languorously, then I turned to walk back inside. I couldn't help it. Just as I reached the door I turned to look and he was standing there, as though waiting for just that moment. He gave me one of his heart melting smiles and climbed into his car.

-oOo-
“Wow, nice headgear.”

I turned find Sharon standing in the doorway wearing a cotton blouse tied at the midriff and a pair scruffy jeans I'm sure I had consigned to the bin all those weeks ago. I reached up to my until then forgotten tea towel and felt evidence of paint splatters all over it.

“I'll buy you another one.”

“Oh don't worry, that was going into the ragbag next time round anyway.”

She offered me one of the two glasses of wine she had brought with her and I accepted gratefully.

“This place looks amazing. You don't fancy doing mine afterwards do you?”

“If you like.”

“I was joking. You can hardly see the walls in my place for all the clutter anyway.”

“Ok, well I wasn't. Any time you change your mind just say.”

Her mind had already moved on though.

“So tell me...”

She arched her eyebrows and settled down on the ratty old carpet in the middle of my newly painted bedroom. I couldn't hide the smile and sat beside her, everything she really needed to know already present in my body language and the expression on my face. We didn't get any work done in the next half hour as we oohed and aahed and squealed and I-knowed through the day's events.

“He's invited the three of us over to the restaurant again on Saturday evening. He promises less wine and fewer calories.”

“Mmm, how can a promise like that still sound so good?”

Time for more work. Sharon picked up the glasses and headed for the kitchen, I turned back to stencilling some autumn leaves onto my newly painted, rich green bedroom walls.

Phil turned up a short while later, whistling in appreciation and wondering out loud just how much there was left to do. I was glad to give him a list and he threw his arms up in surrender by the time I'd reached item twenty or thereabouts. I asked him if he would mind taking up the carpets in the lounge and bedroom and offered to give him a hand. It was heavy work and for all the effort I put into it, I really didn't do much to help. Eventually we had the second one rolled up and in the middle of the room. He sat down on it and I joined him, exhausted.

“Doesn't it bother you? Not being so strong now I mean.”

“Yes a bit. There have been times out on the streets when I felt helpless and scared, and others when I've been frustrated, but you know there's give and take here and if the only way I can have what I've been given is to give up what's been taken, then I'd do it again in a heartbeat.”

He smiled, but a pensive smile. He was trying to understand and failing badly. In the end he shook his head.

“Well I'm glad for you that you are so much happier, and I do see that, I really do. I just wish I could understand.”

“And I wish I could explain it. Phil, all I know is that I feel right now. Even if I were cold and starving out on the streets I'd still feel right. Like who I am on the inside now matches who I am on the outside.”

“But couldn't you have been someone else on the inside?”

“To an extent yes. Put it this way, if Sharon were to say that a condition of your staying together was that you should give up football. No more watching it, no more playing it, no more talking about it.”

“You know I'd do it for her.”

“I know you would, it probably wouldn't even be difficult, but imagine yourself weeks, months, even years from now. You catch sight of a game being played on television in a shop window, you walk past a football ground and hear the cheers going on inside, you hear some mates talking about last week’s game down the pub. Are you telling me you wouldn't be tempted, that you wouldn't miss it?”

He nodded his head.

“Now imagine that feeling magnified a thousand times. Imagine a girl walking into the bar in a pretty dress. All you guys are leaning across to get a better look at her legs or her boobs, me I'm wishing I could be her, wishing I could look so good. I can't do it, I can’t even talk to anyone about it. I just have to pretend that I'm doing the same as you guys. It isn't something I asked for any more than you asked for your love of football.”

“Sh!t.”

The door opened and Sharon stuck her head in.

“If I'd known you guys were sitting around doing nothing I'd have called you over to help. C'mon, teas ready.”

-oOo-
The next morning I ached just as Mike had predicted, but I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that. I managed to get myself out of bed, into my work clothes and over in my flat with a cup of coffee and a slice of toast in hand by eight-thirty, and it's just as well that I did because Mike's carpet laying friend turned up half an hour later.

He was a big bloke who quite amazingly managed to lift even the largest of the old carpets onto his shoulder and walk it out of the flat. I hadn't thought to buy underlay and at least one of the carpets needed it. He just shrugged his shoulders and brought enough in to do both rooms, explaining that the bedroom carpet would last longer with it. There wasn't much I could do to help other than feed him cups of coffee — three sugars, ugh — and watch in wonder as he made the whole job look easy. I went to find my newly delivered chequebook as he was clearing up his tools.

“How much do I owe you?”

he drained the last of his coffee and offered me the mug.

“You'll 'ave to take that up wiv Mike, as far as I'm concerned it's all sorted.”

“But, I mean the underlay and everything.”

“Like I said luv.”

He was adamant.

“Well thank-you, I really don't know what to say.”

“Just glad I could help.”

He smiled and ambled out, by chance meeting Mike at the front door. Their short conversation drifted up to my dazed mind as I stared in wonder at my perfect, if empty, living room.

“Hello Geoff, you alright?”

“Doing good mate, all done and dusted. You got a real keeper there, you 'ang onto 'er.”

“Don't worry, I fully intend to.”

He found me still looking in at my gorgeous flat and stopped, uncertain of himself.

“You heard that didn't you?”

I made some sweeping motion of my hand to brush it off, like an annoying fly.

“Mike, why didn't he take payment? I mean he put down underlay and everything. How can he run a business when he gives things away like that?”

He shrugged and fiddled with his fingernails.

“He sort of thinks he owes me. Every so often I call him and ask to do something like this. It makes him happy.”

“You're not telling me everything.”

“No I'm not, I wouldn't want to embarrass him.”

He wouldn't say more and we got to work. As he'd suggested the previous day, it was lighter work. We only had the bathroom and kitchen to do, and they were largely tiled. We'd prepped both rooms the previous day and now just had to work carefully with old sheets on the floor to keep the new bathroom carpet clean.

There were few damaged tiles in both rooms with none from the original batch available to replace them. With Mr Bryant's approval, I had bought contrasting tiles of the same size for each room and now came the fiddly job of replacing some without damaging the others. In the end it wasn't that hard. Clear out the grouting around the one you wanted to get rid of, hit it with a hammer to break it up into small shards and pick out the debris. Tidy up the wall behind, glue in the new tile using matchsticks as spacers and move on to the next one.

I marked out the tiles I wanted removed, most cracked but some still good so I had an even random dotting of new tiles, and we took a room each. It was fiddly but not so grubby or exhausting as the previous day's work, and we'd finished by lunchtime.

Keeping to his promise to help me keep my figure, Mike served us soup and granary rolls for lunch. We talked around a number of topics, which of my flat-packs we would build first that afternoon, what we planned to do on Saturday, where we would meet tomorrow for his grocery run. All little nothings, but all the more special for sharing them with each other.

And this is where everything settled into a routine of sorts. Afternoons spent decorating and filling my flat, mornings spent shopping for the restaurant, and believe me I learnt a lot about buying food that week. Such mundane things to do, but transformed magically by the presence of this very ordinary looking man who made my heart race every time I was with him. If ever I had a doubt that there was any of the old Ken left inside me, it disappeared that week as I abandoned myself to my feelings for Mike.

I waited 'til Wednesday evening before calling Karen to tell her she'd need to provide the escort for Friday. I'd hoped that Mike might change his mind, but had accepted it when he didn't. By the time Friday came, the flat was finished and so much more to my taste than the comfortably cluttered way Sharon preferred to live. I'd even started buying books from stalls around the market while Mike haggled for his cabbages and had half-filled one of my bookcases with titles I'd always wanted to own.

We enjoyed our first meal together in my new kitchen-diner on Friday, surrounded by all the sparkly new gadgets and gizmos. There was a coffee maker, big brother to the one in Sharon's flat, a gift from Sharon and Phil, and a rack of pots and pans hanging from the ceiling, part of the house warming present Mike had given me, the knives and associated cooking implements that filled one of the new cabinet drawers making up the rest. All of it as yet unused as Mike had once more provided the meal, this time a curried prawn salad.

After we'd eaten I reluctantly said goodbye and pushed him out the flat. I needed to look my best this evening and after the week's messy work had fallen out of the habit of making myself look beautiful. The dress for the evening had been delivered that morning; a great big meringue of a thing except for the colour. The very full skirts were black and lightly sequinned, falling all the way to the floor. I'd need three inch heels to stop myself from dragging the hem and tripping over at every turn. The bodice was low backed and strapless, requiring what looked like half a bra and some sticky tape to keep things in their place, and there was a tiara of all things.

I should have been looking forward to this evening, but without the promise of Mike's presence on my arm, all the joy and anticipation seemed to have been sucked from the event.

I did the usual thing with the long bath filled with scented oils and bubbles, washed my hair and spent the usual chunk of forever drying it and brushing it into some sort of order. I was so out of practice with the makeup that it took me three attempts before it started to look good and a couple more before I was satisfied.

The bra felt odd and uncomfortable until I got used to it. The black stockings seemed unnecessary, but I supposed there was always the possibility that I might show a little leg at some stage so I put them on anyway. The dress felt strange, and I remembered the same feeling when I'd been modelling it. For all its fullness, the skirt was light and airy, meaning that it didn't pull on the bodice, so at least my constant fear of being exposed to the world was lessened.

With the tiara in place and my angel wings necklace around my neck, I dabbed some perfume on my wrists and neck before stepping into my shoes — stilts more like — and standing before the full length mirror door on my closet. I was ready to make an impression and that at least made me feel good. I imagined Mike standing next to me in a smart dinner jacket and smiled. Whoever I was going with tonight, I would imagine he was Mike and everything would be alright.

I had twenty minutes before the car was due to pick me up so practised walking in all my paraphernalia. My legs kept getting tangled in the many layers of the skirt until I remembered Elizabeth's advice to take small steps. That helped with the shoes as well and in no time I had mastered the elegance I'd somehow managed during the photo-shoot.

Sitting proved to be more awkward with the skirt insisting on spreading everywhere. I would need a lot of space either side of me if I ever had to sit and resigned myself to a long evening on my feet, or rather toes as three inches was high for someone with such small feet as mine.

The doorbell rang and I grabbed my faux-fur stole and a small black sequinned handbag and made my way carefully downstairs to where Karen was waiting. We air kissed, conscious of each other's makeup, and made our way to the waiting limos blocking a fair length of street.

“You look fabulous tonight Liz, just the sort of thing we were hoping for. Remember just be yourself and enjoy the limelight when you get there, you deserve it. Let me know how you get on with Tarquin.”

Tarquin! Who calls their child Tarquin these days? Filed with trepidation I thanked the driver who was holding my door, scooped up my immense skirts and slid inside.

Trying my hardest to mask my mixed feelings I turned to my companion smiled in greeting.