After an almost-kiss of that intensity, things can never go back to the way they were. Both parties’ intentions are out in the open with no doubt or booze to lay the blame on for the sudden outburst. An event like this is the make or break for two people; they either power full steam ahead and never look back or things get . . . awkward.
The worst thing about the situation is that Edith probably couldn’t have broken the kettle unless she smashed it on the floor. Making a cup of tea is such a generic act; the water and electricity in the house had probably been cut years ago, there hadn’t even been a drop of fresh milk in the warm, dark fridge for God knows how long. But to us the light always came on and the fridge was always cold as . . . well, that’s what fridges do.
Upon hearing Edith’s home-appliance-horror, Nick opened his eyes and ebbed away from me “I better go check she’s not had another heart attack.” exhaustion in his voice and defeat across his face, he got up and plodded into the kitchen to gallantly aid the aged damsel.
If the kettle hadn’t killed the old bat, I would be willing to give it another go. We were so close! It almost happened! I didn’t want to admit it to myself but surely it was a sign that yet another interruption had stopped anything from happening. I was trying to push this admission to the back of my mind and out of the way, but it was throwing buckets of ice cold truth onto the flicker of hope that I was desperately trying to fan into flames. I knew the reality of him and I was unrealistic, impractical, impossible and unbelievable but all of those words are just two letters away from what I wanted. Two letters is far easier on paper than in practice though.
We had grown so close so quickly and I was useless at keeping the promises I kept making myself to stay away from him! Even when I did keep to my word, it was never for my benefit; never for the conservation or protection of my soul, always for his. Basically, I am an idiot.
Edith swanned back into the room like nothing happened and looked slightly perplexed at the fleeting glower I shot her way. “How are you feeling dear?” she asked, completely oblivious to the tension shrouding the room.
“Better” my voice was spiked with displeasure.
Edith looked even more confused when Nick returned with the tea and sat in his own chair instead of with me, keeping his gaze to the ground “NAH UH young man, sit your behind back next to her,” she ordered, waving her arm in my direction like I was an inanimate object that needed guarding.
“It’s fine,” I interrupted before he could get up, “I feel much better now, you can stay there if you want” the true meaning of ‘come back if you want me’ hung in the space between us, offering him a choice without committing to an obvious answer. Nick caught my eyes but looked away, fumbling with his tea cup; unsure whether to follow Edith’s instructions or mine. Looks like things were going to take the awkward route.
However Edith had other plans “I don’t care how ‘fine’ you feel young lady. Until your clothes are dry I want you two stuck together like glue,” she honestly thought she was helping and had no idea that she had just wrecked everything. “Now push your chairs together and get cosy”
I swung an apprehensive glance Nick’s way, not wanting to make things worse but he nodded and began shifting his chair towards me. Once the armchairs were positioned with Nick and me sitting inside like an upholstered canoe, Edith gave us a nod of approval and announced she was going to sleep upstairs and give us some space. The likely hood of us needing and using that space was probably on par with my resurrection at that precise moment. To add to her unquenchable thirst for humiliation a sly wink fluttered our way as she climbed the stairs. We finally had the solitude we had previously craved but the dynamic of the room had changed; like a romantic hit and run, Edith had left us alone to wallow in the excruciation of pure, triple filtered awkwardness.
He’s probably swimming with regret over what just happened and thanking his lucky stars it was stopped. A quick fling (for him at least) shouldn’t be this fraught with interruptions from day one, he’ll most likely lose interest in the chase and things will cool off. It’ll make holding back a hell of a lot easier if the opportunity isn’t presented in the first place. I should feel grateful. ‘Should’ being the operative word as I felt miserable that logic had won and I couldn’t blame a single, mutual event for our downfall and throw caution to the wind.
“I suppose we better get some sleep now you’re looking better, it’s three am!” Nick said, arching his back to get comfy and settled.
“Oh . . . yeah . . . it’s pretty late. Do you want me to move?”
“It’s okay . . . like Edith said, we need to keep warm,” he said sleepily. Pure business. Very far from the ‘never let me go’ I really wanted to hear. “You comfy?”
Apart from the little crack that just formed across my heart I’m great “. . . yeah . . . thanks” Nick’s arms enclosed around me once more, but this time it felt like it was born of duty rather than desire. Although I was no longer chattering with cold, the warmth of his embrace leached into me and folding my arms across my chest, my vision wandered into the darkness. However as the night advanced my familiar unfeeling body was returned to me under a jacket of shadows, stealing sensation from me while I slept.
Over the next few days, things didn’t get any better between Nick and me. Edith kept pushing us together, blissfully unaware as to the rift which had formed. If our eyes met, Nick would blush and look away, if we accidentally touched he would withdraw and if left together he would find something else to do. It was a complete turnaround, like I had suddenly been recalibrated to repel him; had I misinterpreted the signs that wrongly? He made a move on me, it’s not like I’d forced myself on him.
The next few days ticked by and consisted of idle small talk and pottering round the house, one such lazy evening I was helping Edith re-ball some wool, fingers wrapped in twine whilst the old woman’s scaly hands wound in orbit around mine. Nick spent most of his time staring out of the window, watching forensics pass by in the paper suits like pale Chinese lanterns wandering on the breeze and that night was no exception. They coasted in and out of the house with various articles of Nick’s possession bagged for evidence and eventually some news reporters showed up to snap a few images and get in the police’s way.
Eventually something caught Nick’s attention and he straightened from his windowsill slouch, “They’re leaving! They’re packing up!”
“Already?” Edith replied, moving to get a better look and dragging me with her, my hands still bound with wool.
Nick had both his hands against the window, straining for a better view through the glass “Yeah, they’re packing up! I’ll sneak round to see what’s going on; back in a sec” he leapt off of the windowsill and flew through the back door, disappearing into the darkness of the garden.
“C’mon Edith!” I begged, jogging on the spot in enthusiasm, desperate to join in the spying, but Edith was still balling up the wool and kept me in place “Please, I want to go and have a look too!”
She flicked her eyes up to me, hands continuing to revolve around mine “Not until you tell me what happened the night you went to the park”
“What with feeling and stuff? I don’t know, it started with electric shocks and has been happening more and more . . .”
“Actually,” Edith replied “I meant why you two have been acting so strangely. But that was my second question. I thought you two were on the cusp of getting together?” She had her priorities straight; gossip first, defying the laws of nature later.
“Nothing happened! Your little stunt with the kettle stopped me getting on any cusps, thank you very much!” the accusation sounded much wittier in my head.
Edith brought a hand to her mouth, dropping the ball off wool in dismay “Oh buggar! Did it?! I am SO sorry dear!”
Taking her shift in interest as permission, my hands were finally freed from their woolen cuffs “I thought you were helping me out here, you’re supposed to be my wingman!”
She looked confused “. . . wingman? What’s a wingman?”
“It’s . . . someone that . . .” I forgot I was talking to an old woman, I struggled to soften the crude, slang based explanations coming to mind “. . . well . . . never mind, but you are supposed to help with the Nick-and-Jasmine-togetherness!”
“. . . oooh . . . so THAT’S what it means! I’d seen it on the television and did wonder . . . wouldn’t I be a wing-woman?”
“You’re missing the point Edith!”
She picked up the ball of wool and raised a hand to me “Okay, okay, but I was helping! He was all naked and worried!”
“The nakedness isn’t the point,” I leant against the wall defeated “I’m just taking it as a sign it’s not meant to be, I give up”
Edith stood in front of me hands on hips “let me get this straight . . . you miraculously regain physical sensation, you have a half-naked, beautiful man at your disposal and nakedness isn’t the point?! . . . You wasted it young lady!”
“Wasted what?” Nick swung through the back door catching the end of our conversation.
“I . . . wasted . . . my cup of tea . . . didn’t finish it, terrible waste” improvisation was never my strong point.
“Yes and she’s a bloody idiot,” Edith pitched in “wasting all that lovely, hot . . . athletic tea” My widened eyes warned her to leave it there. Going to sit in her chair a trail of tut-tuts echoed out of the ancient lady.
“What’s she on about?” Nick whispered into my ear, words interlacing with my chocolate curls and creating a shiver across my flesh. Oh God, she was right.
“Nothing, causing trouble, old age, you know . . . so what’s happening next door?”
“Oh yeah, so they got a match on the prints, reeling the guy in now apparently. Once they have him finding my body should be a done deal”
That was quick! I was relieved all of this was drawing to a close but wondered how our cohabitation would be without that buffer of the investigation constantly between us. Still, I longed to go home, Edith’s was familiar and comfortable but my dream of falling and the latest interruption had tainted the space “Does that mean we can go home?”
After all the awkwardness between Nick and me, the coy smile on his face was a welcome reprieve “Yeah . . . we can go home”
The police had released to the press that Nick was actually dead and a colony of reporters had assembled outside of our cottage. After thanks, goodbye’s and promises to keep Edith well informed of any developments (although I think she meant more with us than the murder investigation) we silently hopped over the fence into our back garden. Or at least I did, Nick still hadn’t quite got the hang of it.
Standing behind the shed, planning our root past Steve; the officer who had brought Nick’s mom round and was now guarding against reporters, I was focussed on the task in hand “Okay, he’ll have to leave at some point . . . maybe we could climb through the upstairs window? . . . Nick?” my break in brain storm had distracted me to his absence.
“OOOHHHH WHO’S A GOOD BOY?!” rang out behind me and turning I saw Nick down on his hands a knees with a slightly fatter Hamish, belly up, beneath his hands.
“Hamish!” joining the pair on the floor I buried my hands into the forest of pale fur on his abdomen “ooh, I missed you!”
The chubby feline was beside himself with ecstasy from his welcome home and purred like a steam train, rolling around on his back. Still a little tart.
“You took your time getting home!” Nick crooned massaging the cat’s velvet ears.
“Look at his belly, he’s grown! Did Mrs Cox over feed you boy?”
Our carnival of affection was paused when a new voice joined in “Hello Handsome! Who’sha guuuhd boy? Who’sha guuuhd boy?!” it was Steve; the usually stern and professional officer was ruffling Hamish’s stomach and baby-talking with alarming ease.
“Well that’s just wrong,” Nick remarked, standing and brushing grass from his knees “grown man fussing over a cat like that”
Was he kidding? Nick was just a sickeningly besotted a few moments ago and my questioning frown highlighted his blunder.
“What?” he enquired in defence “I’m a young man weakened to the charms of defenceless animals, he’s a crime fighting bad-ass!”
“You’re almost thirty, that’s not so young”
“I will remain youthful, virile and very much less than thirty forever thank you very much!”
Glancing to the back door, I realised that this seemed to be the distraction we were searching for to gain entry to the house and signalling Nick to keep quiet and not draw Hamish’s attention, we tip-toed back to the house.
Inside the flashes of reporters cameras emanated through the opening in the curtains and polluted the darkness of the living room. “Looks like I’ve caused quite a stir!” Nick warily remarked as we peered through the floodlit peep hole into the outside world.
“Nicholas Cox was an advertising mogul who dedicated his spare time to charity work and funding his community. Everyone is devastated at the news of his death and we implore anyone with any information to step forward” The inspector giving this speech was bombarded with cameras and questions before remarking that justice must be served and climbing into a police car to be whisked away from the riotous reporters.
I turned my attention to Nick, he was mesmerised by the light show pulsing outside our front window “You’re quite the hero-philanthropist aren’t you?”
Concentration broken he stepped away from the window “I don’t want to talk about my life . . . how about a glass of wine to celebrate being home?”
“A mug of wine for me,” I joked trying to lift the mood “. . . that would be nice”
Nick raised a hand as an idea came to his mind “oooohhh . . . wait here, I’ll be right back”
He sprinted upstairs as I called after him “Where are you going?”
“Surprise! Wait there!”
