Page 6 of The First Time I Saw You
‘What did you want to be when you grew up?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. I was just always good at maths, so . . . accounting.’
‘That was your childhood dream job? An accountant?’
‘You don’t have to say it like a dirty word,’ she answers, but I can hear the smile in her voice. ‘Anyway, I’m not an accountant any more . . .’
It’s past two in the morning before I pluck up the courage to do what I need to. I take her hands and pull her up and then sink down on one knee. She twists her blond hair around her finger as I produce a small box; from the amusement on her face I know she’s not expecting me to propose marriage.
‘You know my flight home is tomorrow, Samuel?’ she says, scooping her hair into a ponytail before letting it drop back down over her shoulder.
‘I know, that’s why I need to ask you. Sophie Williams, will you do me the honour of being my house guest for a week instead?’ I open the box and inside gleams my front door key. It’s my only key, actually, as I haven’t had time to get another one cut just yet.
‘I never take time off work, Samuel. I have to go back.’
‘Never?’ She shakes her head and begins chewing the inside of her thumbnail. I can tell she is considering it. ‘You analyse data, right?’ She nods. ‘Will that data have dramatically changed in a week’s time?’ She gives a little shake of her head. ‘So what you’re saying is . . .’ I begin ticking things off on my fingers, ‘you never take time off, which means your job isn’t at risk because you’re not taking the piss and having extra holidays.’ I tick off another finger. ‘Your work will still be there when you get back; the world isn’t going to end if you don’t analyse that oh-so-important data.’ Another finger is counted. ‘And you have a handsome, fun Irishman giving you free accommodation for a week in one of the most exciting cities in the world. Now would you just say yes already because my knee is killing me?’ I can see what I’m asking her is more than she is used to giving. She seems to be battling silent warnings against the idea and I hold my breath, hoping I’ve done enough to convince her that I am a good man.
‘No.’ The word erupts from her, seeming to take her by surprise. She covers her mouth, responding to the look of desolation that I can feel falling across my face. ‘But—’ I raise my eyebrows hopefully, ‘I will stay here, in DC, for a week. You can be my . . . tour guide.’ Her smile lights up her face and she begins to laugh. ‘I’ll ring them in the morning and tell them . . . I’m taking a holiday.’
As the taxi takes us back to her hotel, she falls asleep on my shoulder. The weight of her head against me feels familiar, feels right. Her hair smells of something expensive, something citrusy, and I let my fingers twirl the ends of it as I listen to the little noises she makes, the silent breath in and the slight gasp of sound as she breathes out.
The brakes squeal as we pull up, and her eyes open with a confused, almost alarmed look, but it’s ironed away as she sees me. Her eyebrows relax and her lips tilt into a shy smile as she straightens herself, opens the door and puts a foot on to the pavement before turning her head over her shoulder towards me.
‘Thank you, Samuel . . . today has been perfect.’
Chapter Five
Sophie
I stretch and shift myself up the bed, rearranging my new pyjamas, pulling my feet up and rolling over to face him. Last night, I’d fallen asleep watchingDie Hard. He doesn’t have a DVD player downstairs so we’d brought popcorn and drinks up here. I don’t remember Samuel turning the TV off, but I do remember not wanting to move from his bed.
Inside my shopping bags are the clothes I bought yesterday, the types of clothes that I haven’t worn for a long time. Flat boots instead of heels, jeans instead of trouser suits, jumpers and blouses that hang loosely around my frame, letting me breathe, letting me relax.
Yesterday, he took me out on paddle boats. From the people who watched us it would seem like a nice thing to do for someone.Look at that couple having a romantic trip across the water, look at how they are laughing, look at how they are so involved with each other that they barely even notice the beautiful scenery.They can’t see that the handsome man is afraid of the water, that that man with the broad shoulders and loud voice suffers from seasickness even on a paddle boat, that he is suffering this, bearing his own fear, for her.
With each day that passes, he gives something of himself to me, and I allow myself to accept these gifts, these parts of him that are filling the spaces inside me. I’ve been living my adult life filling my hunger with a career, snacking on snippets of success, not aware that I was starving, until I allowed myself a taste of this . . . fairy tale. I know that it won’t last, that this is just a fragile dream that I’m not strong enough to hold on to. My career is what is real and my life in London is what will keep me alive, but that didn’t stop me from agreeing to stay the night.
I study his face, his eyelids hiding the dreams beneath. Samuel sighs gently and reaches his arm around my waist. His skin is always warm, my skin always cold against his.
He hasn’t kissed me yet. It’s like our intimacies have started from the end of a relationship and are moving backwards against time. We started at the retirement end of the spectrum: holding hands and finishing each other’s sentences. Yesterday we moved into our middle ages: he has kissed my cheek, the top of my head; quick, snatched moments where his movement seemed to burst from him, the action controlling him rather than the other way around.
Tentatively, I reach for his hair which is resting on his eyebrow. It’s coarse and soft all at the same time and flicks back to the exact same position as it was before I touched it. I lean forward, stepping into adolescence. I ignore the voice inside that is telling me this will hurt even more when I leave, and let my lips brush his. His eyes flick open and we stare at each other. We don’t smile, we just stare. I kiss him again, his hand reaching for the back of my neck, our bodies seeking each other’s: there you are, how have I lived this long without you?
Our lovemaking is gentle, exquisite: love made.
Chapter Six
Samuel
We haven’t left the house since the paddle boats. I don’t think that we’ve spent more than a few minutes not touching each other. I ran her a bath and sprinkled rose petals in; we laughed as we tried to get down to it in the bath, but the petals kept getting in the way.
She made us cheese toasties in the middle of the night, wearing just her underwear, and I watched every muscle in her body flex, listened to the way she hummed while she moved around the kitchen. I had planned to take her to watch the sunset, but we were too wrapped up in each other to leave the house. We took it in turns readingAnna Kareninato each other (she was so pleased when she found it in my bathroom that I didn’t have the heart to tell her it was Sarah’s).
‘Tolstoy?’ she asked, as she came back downstairs holding it in her hands. We lay naked and wrapped up in each other’s limbs until she fell asleep with the book in her hands; I don’t think she ever looked more beautiful than she did right then.
Today, we are venturing out into the world. Her hair smells like my shampoo; my clothes smell of her perfume. I’m taking her to an old renovated cinema that still has intervals and ushers and shows the old classics likeGone with the Wind. It is a two-hour journey and I have borrowed Bret’s convertible.
‘What is that?’ she asks, her eyebrows arched, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip.
