All the Way Home and All the Night Through by Ted Lewis Page B

like burning houses.
    â€œI’m glad you could come,” I said.
    â€œGood,” she said. It could have meant anything.
    I almost jumped out of my skin when she took my hand.
    â€œI didn’t think you would, really,” I said.
    â€œOh, why not?”
    â€œOh, I don’t know. Just didn’t think you would, that’s all.”
    â€œI said I would, so here I am.”
    â€œI’m very glad.”
    We got very wet at the fair. I tried to draw her into intimacy by asking her what things in life she liked: music, films, books, all that old jazz. She refused to be drawn. I couldn’t tell whether she enjoyed it or not, but we held hands all the time. The time came for us to leave the fair. On the way back, Janet had her fortune told in a gypsy caravan.
    â€œWhat was foreseen?” I asked when she came out.
    â€œOh nothing.”
    â€œWhat did she say?”
    â€œI’m not telling you.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œBecause.”
    â€œCome on, tell me,” I asked, but she wouldn’t budge.
    We took the girls to the bus stop. Alex and Jenny were engrossed in kissing each other.
    â€œLook,” I said to Janet, “I hope you don’t believe everything that people say about me at college. I mean, I wouldn’t want you to think I’d asked you out with me because, you know, I thought you were just another girl. Because I don’t at all. I’ve been meaning to ask you out since about the end of the first week at college.”
    She looked at me with her expression of disbelief, apprehension, detachment, vulnerability and quietness.
    â€œI haven’t enjoyed going out with anyone as much as I have tonight for years,” I said. “I don’t expect you to believe that, but I really mean it. I really do. I know we got soaking wet but I thought it was really nice tonight. I felt different.”
    â€œIt’s nice of you to say so,” she said, half smiling, but not with the eyes.
    â€œI mean it, and there’s something else, too. I’d like to see you again, I mean, if you want to see me, that is.”
    â€œI’ll have to think about it.”
    â€œSure you will. But believe me, I don’t want you to take any notice of what people say. Look, it’s not as though I’m asking you to go out seriously with me,” I lied, “or anything; it’s just that I’d like to see you again because I really enjoyed tonight and, well, I don’t usually say this kind of thing,” I lied, “but I think you’re really very nice indeed.”
    She considered what I said.
    â€œWell, I quite enjoyed tonight, too. Thank you for asking me,” she said.
    I put my hands on her shoulders and gently pulled her toward me. She looked into my eyes with a question. I pulled her closer. I kissed her. I felt those strands of hair on my forehead. She didn’t kiss back hard, but what kiss there was seemed worth all the others I’d known put together.
    The next week I persuaded her to have a coffee with me one lunchtime. Like a clown I launched a frontal attack.
    â€œYou know,” I said, “Saturday was different. The fair I mean.”
    â€œWhy different?”
    â€œWell, it just was. I mean, I enjoyed talking to you for one thing. With others, you know, I find that there’s nothing left to say after five minutes. But with you I found it easy. I didn’t have to force anything.”
    â€œI don’t see why it should be any different with me.”
    â€œIt’s hard to say why, I suppose. It just was. And is.”
    She said nothing.
    â€œAnyway,” I said, “there you are.”
    â€œI—I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about me, you know,” she said.
    â€œSuch as?”
    â€œI don’t want you to think well, that I’m like the others, that I’m likely to fall over at the crook of a finger.”
    â€œI don’t expect you to do that