“No wonder he didn’t grope your titties. What a passion killer…” she giggled, but it wasn’t funny. “But what’s all that got to do with your little thing? Was it an excuse? That’s the ultimate get out of jail card… ultimate heartbreak, I’m just not ready…”
“It wasn’t anything like that. It was real, and sad, and beautiful, and I touched his hand and he called me his friend…”
“But no titty touching? Not even a bit?”
I rolled my eyes, even though she couldn’t see me. “No.”
“You want titty touching you have to put them in their best light, that’s all I’m saying…”
“I’ll take the risk.”
“Fine, Hels, just don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She covered the handset while she yelled at someone, then came back on the line. “It’s like a pissing war zone in here tonight.”
“Sorry, I feel bad you’re not here.”
“I’ll survive,” she sighed. “Anyway, I’m all ears. I think it’s about time you told me all about the deceased Mrs Roberts, Helen Palmer. Don’t hold back on the detail, I want everything.”
I felt so much better the next day. Boring flat pumps sat so much more comfortably on my feet, and I’d opted for my art shirt; loose, soft, faded pink cotton with hippy-style thread work. I wore it with my faded jeans and a crocheted cream cardigan, and I looked like me. Weird, geeky Helen and her slightly eccentric clothes. I didn’t bother with makeup, and what would have been the point, anyway?
Mr Roberts wanted to talk to me, not grope me. We shared art, not sex. And although it pained to think there was a chance he would never touch me again, I’d have given anything just to sit with him some more and talk the hours away. Maybe that would be enough.
I was kidding myself and I knew it the moment I set foot in the hall.
He took my breath away.
His smile was warm, and his eyes were bright, and we painted and we talked and we laughed, and the kids laughed, too. And it was fun. It was loads of fun. I fluttered, and prickled, and had butterflies whenever he’d walk close to me. My face would burn, all the time, whenever I caught his eyes, and that would be often since I’d catch him looking all the time. Even more than me. Maybe even more than good friends looked at each other, but I didn’t want to hope too much.
It was good, and happy, and fun. So much fun my stomach fell through the floor when it was time to leave.
“Do you have somewhere to be?” he asked, and today it sounded like the most natural thing in the world.
“Unfortunately, yes.” I shrugged my shoulders. “Dad thinks I need to study. I’ve exceeded my fun quota already for this holiday.”
He smiled a little. “Already? That’s a real shame.”
I gathered up my bag. “Got exams, he says, got to get my head out of the clouds, he says.”
“I’m sure he just cares.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not a baby.”
“You’re his baby.” His tone was deep and calm and so mature. “He wants to see you do well, that’s only natural, Helen. It’s a big year for you.”
“It doesn’t mean he has to put me on an evening curfew just so I‘m allowed to paint some scenery in the holidays.”
He led the way out and got the lights as we passed. I waited while he locked up and tried the doors behind us.
“If you can’t paint, I understand. Don’t put yourself under pressure.”
“I’m not,” I said. “I want to be here…” I wrapped my scarf around my neck for the walk home, and suddenly he was right beside me, he pulled a tangle of hair free from my collar, and smoothed it flat with his fingertips. And I couldn’t breathe. He stole my air. Breathed me in until I was just a wisp on the wind. “…with you. I want to help…” I’d checked out the canvases before we’d left, and for all our best intentions we were way behind schedule. This was the job of ten people, not a handful of kids.
“I appreciate that.” He was standing so close to me, blocking my view of the way home, like a barricade, as though every part of his body wanted me to stay, even if his mind didn’t know it. He looked through me, like he could see the boring white bra through my clothes, and I felt self-conscious, like a little kid again.
“I… um… I have to go.”
He smiled and sidestepped. “Sorry, Helen, I was a million miles away. Of course.”
“Goodnight, Mr Roberts.”
“Yes, Helen, I hope so. Enjoy your studying.” He reached for my arm as I passed by, and it startled me enough that I gasped. “I enjoyed yesterday. I haven’t talked, not for a long time. It felt good.”