event; it was hard to be close to a person when there was something you
couldn’t talk about, especially something as important as the man she was going
to marry.
I opened the door. Martin stood on the doorstep,
smiling.
“Oh, hello,” I said. “Are you looking for
Catherine? She’s here.”
“I’ve brought some more boxes,” said Martin,
nodding towards the car. “They’re flat packed but I can soon put a few
together.”
“Thank you,” I stood aside to let him in. “I don’t
think I need any more, though. I haven’t got much more packing to do.”
“She’s hardly taking anything,” said Catherine.
“Don’t blame her,” said Martin, standing in my
living room and looking around him. “Clean slate. Best thing.”
I followed Martin’s gaze round the room at the
apple-white walls and the half empty bookshelves, down to the magnolia and fawn
flecked carpet and across to the red corduroy Habitat sofa that Larsen’s mother
had given us when we first moved in. At the black leather wingback armchair
Larsen had found in an antiques shop on Mill Road one afternoon and had dragged
all the way home, with Doug. And at the oak coffee table that we had splashed
out on at Clement Jocelyn when I had first got my job at GCFM. I had removed
Jude’s painting that had hung over the gas fire and had slid it down behind the
sofa. That was one thing that was definitely not coming with me. “I don’t have
that much that’s just mine,” I muttered.
Martin slid an arm round Catherine’s waist, pulled
her to him and kissed her full on the lips. “Hello baby,” he said. “Pleased to
see me?”
Catherine looked up at him adoringly. “Yes,” she
said. “But what happened to your shift? I thought you were working till four?”
“They didn’t need me today, after all. Closed the
pool. Some kind of problem with the heaters. Had to get the engineers in.”
Martin kissed her again. Catherine put her arms round his neck and kissed him
back.
I averted my eyes and picked up a roll of
sellotape that was sitting on the coffee table and began picking away at it to
find the end. I hated sellotape. It didn’t matter how many times you found the end,
all it took was one snip of the scissors and it was lost again, your
fingernails ruined. I lowered myself to the ground in front of the box of books
and kneeled on the carpet.
“So, I thought I could help.” Martin said. “Where
do you girls want me? Kitchen? Bathroom? Bedroom?”
“All of those,” said Catherine in a sexy, but
loud, whisper.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Martin slap
Catherine on the bottom. She let out a squeal. I located the end of the roll,
and pulled a strip of tape with a loud screech. Both Catherine and Martin
stopped grabbing at each other and watched as I taped up the box of books.
“It’s all done. Really. Like I said, I don’t have
much.” I wrote “BOOKS” on the box with a marker pen, which was a bit pointless
really since I didn’t have any other box to mistake it for.
“When are you leaving?” asked Martin. “You want me
to start loading up?”
“Tomorrow. First thing. I suppose you could put
these in the boot if you don’t mind. The rest can wait till the morning.”
“No problem. Here.” Martin bent down beside me and
picked up the box. He followed me out to the car. I opened the boot and took
out my map and my swimming bag to make room for the books. As I turned, my
goggles fell out of my bag onto the pavement. Martin and I both bent down at
the same time to pick them up. Our heads collided and we both crouched on the
pavement for a brief moment, looking at each other awkwardly. I rubbed my head.
Martin grinned. “You okay ?”
“Fine.” I reached out and retrieved my goggles.
“Look…” said Martin. I waited. Behind him, Catherine
appeared in the doorway of my house, a few feet away. She leaned against the
door frame, watching us. I stood up and Martin, glancing over his shoulder, did
the same.
“I
couldn’t talk about, especially something as important as the man she was going
to marry.
I opened the door. Martin stood on the doorstep,
smiling.
“Oh, hello,” I said. “Are you looking for
Catherine? She’s here.”
“I’ve brought some more boxes,” said Martin,
nodding towards the car. “They’re flat packed but I can soon put a few
together.”
“Thank you,” I stood aside to let him in. “I don’t
think I need any more, though. I haven’t got much more packing to do.”
“She’s hardly taking anything,” said Catherine.
“Don’t blame her,” said Martin, standing in my
living room and looking around him. “Clean slate. Best thing.”
I followed Martin’s gaze round the room at the
apple-white walls and the half empty bookshelves, down to the magnolia and fawn
flecked carpet and across to the red corduroy Habitat sofa that Larsen’s mother
had given us when we first moved in. At the black leather wingback armchair
Larsen had found in an antiques shop on Mill Road one afternoon and had dragged
all the way home, with Doug. And at the oak coffee table that we had splashed
out on at Clement Jocelyn when I had first got my job at GCFM. I had removed
Jude’s painting that had hung over the gas fire and had slid it down behind the
sofa. That was one thing that was definitely not coming with me. “I don’t have
that much that’s just mine,” I muttered.
Martin slid an arm round Catherine’s waist, pulled
her to him and kissed her full on the lips. “Hello baby,” he said. “Pleased to
see me?”
Catherine looked up at him adoringly. “Yes,” she
said. “But what happened to your shift? I thought you were working till four?”
“They didn’t need me today, after all. Closed the
pool. Some kind of problem with the heaters. Had to get the engineers in.”
Martin kissed her again. Catherine put her arms round his neck and kissed him
back.
I averted my eyes and picked up a roll of
sellotape that was sitting on the coffee table and began picking away at it to
find the end. I hated sellotape. It didn’t matter how many times you found the end,
all it took was one snip of the scissors and it was lost again, your
fingernails ruined. I lowered myself to the ground in front of the box of books
and kneeled on the carpet.
“So, I thought I could help.” Martin said. “Where
do you girls want me? Kitchen? Bathroom? Bedroom?”
“All of those,” said Catherine in a sexy, but
loud, whisper.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Martin slap
Catherine on the bottom. She let out a squeal. I located the end of the roll,
and pulled a strip of tape with a loud screech. Both Catherine and Martin
stopped grabbing at each other and watched as I taped up the box of books.
“It’s all done. Really. Like I said, I don’t have
much.” I wrote “BOOKS” on the box with a marker pen, which was a bit pointless
really since I didn’t have any other box to mistake it for.
“When are you leaving?” asked Martin. “You want me
to start loading up?”
“Tomorrow. First thing. I suppose you could put
these in the boot if you don’t mind. The rest can wait till the morning.”
“No problem. Here.” Martin bent down beside me and
picked up the box. He followed me out to the car. I opened the boot and took
out my map and my swimming bag to make room for the books. As I turned, my
goggles fell out of my bag onto the pavement. Martin and I both bent down at
the same time to pick them up. Our heads collided and we both crouched on the
pavement for a brief moment, looking at each other awkwardly. I rubbed my head.
Martin grinned. “You okay ?”
“Fine.” I reached out and retrieved my goggles.
“Look…” said Martin. I waited. Behind him, Catherine
appeared in the doorway of my house, a few feet away. She leaned against the
door frame, watching us. I stood up and Martin, glancing over his shoulder, did
the same.
“I
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