Story Saturday

I don’t know why I took my work clothes.

No, that’s not true, of course I know why I took them. I can’t remember if we spoke about it for what it was, or if it was hinted at, or if it was just blind hope on my part. But I rolled up a pair of leggings and a blouse that wouldn’t crease if it were left in the boot of my car and I drove to pick him up.

It was raining and I was wearing fake Ugg boots. He had borrowed his dad’s umbrella and he was sheltering under it outside his house when I arrived. We drove to Rye, I told him that I was nervous and I needed to drive, it was easier to talk if I wasn’t looking at him, that I had to concentrate on the road.

We had coffee in a tiny cafe, I went to the toilet and grinned at my reflection in the mirror. This guy was nice, really genuinely nice, he asked me question after question and listened as I answered, I was fascinated by his life, he had recently returned from linving in China and there was an eloquence to the way that he spoke about it. He was educated, he was articulate and there was a way that he looked at me that made every hair on the back of my neck stand up.

We went back to his house, he ushered me into his bedroom while he chatted to his parents in the living room. I saw the buddhas on the sideboard, the books that I’d never seen before, books at all, I wasn’t used to the men in my life reading, let alone books on religion, there was a yoga mat tucked under the bed, it was purple and there were patterned socks in neat bundles on the ottoman.

We slept together, quietly, giggling then deadly serious. We then grinned soppily at each other over the top of the duvet, naked underneath, learning his body and he learning mine. We then talked most of the night, about everything, about nothing, about tiny insignificant things and then about how many children we each wanted. At one point, we walked to the shop and bought food, it was cold and very dark, the suburbs of Bexhill surrounding us.

I went to work the next day, told my friends, told everyone. In a creased blouse from a carrier bag in the boot of my car.

Those buddhas sit on my shelves right now, except now they are ours. The yoga mat is still under our bed, though it is probably covered in dust. There are socks in the drawer, just as patterned, though these days those patterns are mostly Daddy Pig related. There are less books but then there is significantly less time to read.

There are three sleeping children in their beds. The children we talked about ended up being our children. Imagine that. Really imagine.

That was our second date. I don’t remember in any detail the third or fourth because it was fast then, within moments we were together, within weeks we were never spending a night apart.

But that second date, just as the first, it will be etched on my memory forever.