Page 43 of Is She Really Going Out with Him?
Your skirt.
I shake my head at him. I’m not getting any more naked, but I can see him smiling from across the street, and something about the distance between us makes me feel brave and also incredibly hot. Again, before I can overthink it, I unzip my skirt and let it drop to the floor. Standing there in my underwear by the window, I have no idea where this confidence has come from. My eyes dart right and left, checking the empty street. Will places a palm against the window.
Will Havers
That’s much better.
Anna Appleby
I think I probably need to go to bed now.
Will Havers
Don’t you dare.
I shake my head, then give him a little wave as though this interaction has been a normal, everyday occurrence. I start to close the curtain but then whip it back open. He starts to close his, then does the same, like some adult version of peekaboo. I see him laugh. Pulling the curtain around me like a toga, I slip off my bra, hold it briefly up to the window before dropping it to the floor. Where has this brazenness come from? My phone pings again.
Will Havers
Come over here, you minx.
I step briefly into view, one arm covering my chest, and blow him a kiss, then I jump back onto the bed, my heart pounding, body buzzing, laughing at the thrill of it. This delicious feeling envelops me, like a witch picking up a long-lost wand. I am still capable of this—of flirting, of wanting someone, of being wanted, of being someone other than an ex-wife and a mother.
Anna Appleby
Show’s over. Sorry.
Will Havers
Any hope of an encore?
Anna Appleby
Night, Will.
Will Havers
You’re killing me, Appleby.
Lying back on the bed, my body hums with this new feeling. A long-forgotten part of me is waking up, and it feels wonderful, like emerging from hibernation into a spring full of possibilities.
Google searches:
Are there CCTV cameras on streets in Hay?
Specifically, CCTV outside the Rose Hill B&B?
Is it illegal to strip by a window or just frowned upon?
Chapter 13
The next morning, the eventsof last night don’t feel real. I roll over in bed and kick my feet up and down as I check my phone to prove to myself that the messages between Will and me exist. They do. We had a surreal, moon-themed seminude flirtation. My gut is a heady mix of remorse and residual excitement. Flipping over onto my back, I rapidly pound my fists up and down on the mattress and let out a small squeal. What will happen now? Will he mention it? Will it be weird when I see him? Is this going to escalate into something? Maybe tonight…Surely it can’t.I can’t think about it now, it’s too distracting. I feel like a teenager with a crush on someone inappropriate, like their friend’s dad or the school gardener. It’s too shameful to shine a light on.
To distract myself, I indulge in some long-neglected self-care. I shower, shave, and pluck my body hair back into some semblance of order. Then I moisturize from top to toe and take the time to blow-dry my hair. I know I shouldn’t need to do this to feel sexy, and that by conforming to gendered expectations about body hair I am no doubt supporting the patriarchy, but as I slip smooth legs into skinny black jeans and my feet into the sparkling gold heels I just happened to pack, I feel more myselfthan I have in years. When I look in the mirror, I swish my long dark hair back and forth, pleased with what I see.
Heading out of my B and B and toward the festival hub, I pass a boutique that sells lingerie.I don’t need lingerie, don’t be ridiculous. You don’t play one round of crazy golf, then go buy a whole new set of clubs.But now I’m in the shop picking out three sets of lacy knickers and bras. In the changing room mirror I’m embarrassed by how gray my current bra is, how frumpy my knickers.I’m not doing this for anyone else, I tell myself.This is just for me. I need new underwear anyway.This has absolutely nothing to do with Will.
His lack of communication is torture, but as I’m standing at the till about to pay, I get a message.
