Effie had not slept well. She woke on Friday morning at 5.17 and could not go back to sleep. She wondered if it was excitement about seeing Kenneth that evening. The date had been confirmed: he would pick her up from her house, they would go for a drink at Kenneth’s favourite local pub and they would then have dinner at his house with Kenneth acting as chef. All Effie’s offers to bring something and help with preparation were turned down and she was politely forbidden from bringing or doing anything. She had to admit she rather liked this assertive side to his personality which suggested confidence, a feeling that surprised her when she remembered how irritated she had felt when Jack tried to exercise his authority over her. In post-divorce mode she considered him just a bully. But somehow Kenneth was different.
She found herself pondering this at 5.17 that morning, trying to understand what it was that felt so different. Such ruminations, however, encouraged not sleep but dark circles under her eyes, with which realisation Effie hauled herself out of bed and staggered to the kitchen. She rummaged in the fridge salad drawer for the cucumber she knew was there and sliced off two pieces which she placed over her tired eyes as she laid her head back on the pillow, praying for sleep and a more youthful skin. The feeling of damp cucumber on her eyelids was mildly distracting from the racing thoughts. The next thing she was conscious of was waking in a bit of a sweat to find her ear pressed to the now warmly damp piece of limp vegetable matter which she shook off with a ‘yuck!’. Sitting straight up in bed she waited while the fragments of a dream came to mind in which the cucumber transformed into first blue then purple, growing larger and larger as she ran from it, her mouth open as though to scream but with no sound coming out. It was scary but also exciting. She could see the children in the distance but they seemed quite unconcerned, far off and insubstantial.
The digital clock by her bed showed 6.30; she might as well get up. She made herself a cup of tea which she took back to bed, feeling faintly disturbed but not unhappy. She sipped the hot tea and considered the dream, unsure if the picture of her children in the distance was reassuring. They’re not involved and shouldn’t be, or was it concerning that they were not taking more notice? The upset with Cathy needed thinking about, but where to go with it? She switched on the radio for the 7 o’clock news, an essential part of her morning routine, tutted at the usual saga of frightful events taking place throughout the world and in relief turned her attention to the more superficial question of what she was going to wear that evening.
She mentally counted out the possible combinations of skirts, tops and shoes, having decided that a dress was too dressy and trousers were too casual. Having honed it down to a red pencil skirt with a black top and black heels - not too high – she was five foot five as it was - and a fitted gray jacket she swallowed the last of her tea and made for the bathroom to survey the damage from a restless night. What she also saw as she slipped off her nightdress to step into the shower, emphasised by the harsh bathroom strip lights, was a deal of sagging flesh which, of course was nothing new, but which this morning greeted her like a wet cod. Clearly two days of missing lunch had done nothing to improve matters.
The fact was that whereas when she had gone out with Quentin or Oliver the emphasis had been on giving herself a smart covering, this evening she suspected was going to be different. She dared to hope it would be, and with this thought came the realisation that she would have to think not just about the covering of her not so young body but about the underneath too. There, hanging uninvitingly on the towel, rail were a pair of once white grey pants and a drab cotton bra. It was definitely time to dig out the Halter and Gusset undies.
And so 8 o’clock that evening found Effie in the black skirt with the red top, her hair freshly washed and blow-dried by Toni, a touch of make –up to cover her undoubtedly dark-circled eyes, a brush of mascara and a dash of soft pink lipstick to complete the picture and she was ready.
Kenneth’s mini drew up outside her house with impressive punctuality at 8.01. Effie had been waiting expectantly like a green teenager for a good half hour already and so she was grateful that he had not extended her agony by being late. She watched him come up the short path in front of her house. He looked good, a slim, distinguished figure, with his gray hair swept back, sporting a casual but smart navy jacket over a pale blue shirt which showed off his mildly tanned complexion. Effie clenched her stomach muscles as she opened the door in a desperate attempt to disguise that unbudging roll round her midriff. But Kenneth was all smiles when he saw her and gave her a friendly kiss on the cheek.
‘You look nice.’
With relief, Effie stopped the clenching and smiled too.
‘Right’ he said with pleasing firmness ‘now, first stop the pub and then dinner to be served at the family residence.’
He ushered her into the front seat of the car and tucked himself in beside her. The word ‘coincé’ came to Effie’s mind. Definitely cosy. She noticed her neighbour’s face pull back from the window of the house next door and allowed herself a brief moment of pleasure at having succeeded in whetting her curiosity after the long arid period of the last few years.
Kenneth was in good humour and chatted easily. ‘We’re going to a pub near my house, kind of traditional in that you can still get decent beer but they also cater for sophisticated tastes in wine which I think is more your thing? It’s called the Coach and Pumpkin.’
Effie laughed out loud as the image of another giant vegetable loomed into mind. ‘Sounds lovely, and makes a change from horses - pumpkins, I mean.’
Kenneth laughed too and swore under his breath at a passing cyclist.
‘I think the owner was rather taken with the Cinderella story, so we have to watch it around midnight. Need to make sure we’re safely elsewhere by then.’
Effie’s imagination fast forwarded to midnight.
‘You know, I’ve always had a sneaking sympathy with the ugly sisters, I mean, not much fun having a gorgeous young half sister if you know you look like the backend of a bus. And the father didn’t help did he?’
‘I must admit I hadn’t thought of it like that. Though, I suppose I’m glad my two girls are both good-lookers. Less room for jealousy, is that what you’re implying? How about your two?’
‘Oh, they’re very different and I’d say they’re attractive rather than pretty or beautiful, and I don’t think they’re particularly rivalrous, at least not about looks. As far as character is concerned I think they’re sufficiently different not to clash too much. Or does that make sense?’
This contemplation of respective daughters was cut short as the Coach and Pumpkin loomed into view:
‘Here we are. Let’s see what they’ve got to offer this evening.’
The pub was jam packed with Friday night revellers who spilled out noisily on to the pavement. Kenneth propelled a mildly anxious Effie through the melee to the bar as a shift in the throng opened up a small space and an empty barstool which he grabbed.
‘Right, what’ll it be? Have whatever you’d like, please. I’m sticking to beer because I know in a minute I’m going to be hot and I need a long drink, and it’s got the brand I like.’
‘Well....’ Effie had to lean close to his ear to make herself heard... ‘I think I’ll stick to wine. Sauvignon please.’
‘I hope you’re all right with it being so busy; I thought we’d start noisy. I promise you it’ll be peaceful at my house. Here we are’ he raised his glass and gave Effie a warm smile. ‘You know, I’ve been looking forward to tonight.’
‘Me too’ she shouted in his ear.
‘Shall we try and find somewhere a bit quieter – maybe outside?’
They eased themselves through the obstacle course of the throng towards the garden door passing a row of fruit machines on the way. A couple of youngsters were busy pulling handles and giggling.
‘Want to have a go?’ Kenneth called over the racket.
‘Oh no thanks. I’ve a horror of gambling.’
‘Yeh?’
They pushed through the door and breathed more freely in the fresh air.
‘Perhaps pubs aren’t your scene?’
‘No, I like them. Just don’t go very often I suppose. So tell me a bit more about it. You say it’s your local.’
‘Well, it’s Victorian, I know that and did used to be called something different - maybe it was the coach and horses. The road used to be quite a major thoroughfare. Still quite busy as you can see. I like it, as I said, because it caters for all tastes and seems to attract lots of different people. There are still a few old- timers, like Bill over there –’ he indicated an elderly man with straggly gray hair sitting on a bench by the open door – ‘he’s been coming ever since we moved to the area.’
‘When was that then?’
‘Oh about seventeen years ago. My oldest daughter was just starting secondary and my wife liked this area which is near a good school.’ Effie was struck by the formality of ‘wife’ and ‘daughter’. ‘So we settled here and the girls spent all their teenage years here. We used to come to this pub now and then, though probably more my thing than my wife’s.’
‘Your wife?’ Effie had almost to shout.
He looked pensive for a moment. ‘Sorry, yes, my wife was called Ann and my eldest daughter is Janet - you met Julie - two ‘Js’ I’m afraid’.
Effie sipped her wine which was beginning to ease any remaining nervousness. The noise level in the pub was rising even outside but it was lively and she realised she was enjoying the proximity to Kenneth which was required if she wished to hear what he was saying.
‘I can see why you like it. I mean this pub is like a country pub although it’s in the city. ‘afraid I’m more of a cafe person than a pub person, or maybe a wine bar’ she grimaced. ‘Does that reveal my solid middle class origins, or just getting a bit old?’
‘Nothing wrong with the first and not much sign of the second’ was Kenneth’s gallant response. ‘But come on, drink up. Aren’t you starving? I want to impress you yet with my culinary skills.’
Which he did.
The kitchen was modern and looked as though it had recently been decorated. There was plenty of stainless steel, shiny work surfaces and an array of modern equipment. There was a breakfast bar which served as a drinks bar and this was the first port of call for Kenneth as he ushered her in. He produced a bottle of champagne from a discretely hidden fridge and filled two beautiful cut-glass champagne flutes before toasting Effie and suggesting a quick tour of the house while the oven warmed up.
It was basically a Victorian end-of-terrace house that had been extensively modernised inside They started with the living room which was spacious, if a little sparse. Perhaps not used a great deal, was Effie’s thought. There were one or two wedding photos of Kenneth with a pretty young woman with fair hair, both smiling happily. ‘Ann?’ she queeried.
‘Yes, and there’re the girls as babies. God, they were angelic then,’ he laughed: ‘have no control over them now, particularly since their mother died, but I guess they’re grown up anyway.’
Effie peered at a picture of a group picking out Kenneth, sporting shorts and a broad grin and an Ann looking older but still attractive in a yellow sundress against a background of what looked like Nice or Monte Carlo. There were further pictures of the girls at varying stages of development but Kenneth did not seem keen to linger on the photos and was already in the next room, a small ‘study’ which had a more homely feel. This was clearly his office with computer, filing cabinets and shelves of books and papers but there was also a large and extremely slim television plus a couple of comfy chairs so that Effie could imagine this was the room where he spent most of his time. She curiously inspected the shelves, plenty of books on travel, France, Spain, the USA, the Far East, and business tomes:‘How to succeed in business without losing sleep’, and another one that grabbed her attention:’The risks of risk-taking’.
‘That’s all rather boring business stuff’ said Kenneth from the doorway, ‘but I like this room and you’ve probably guessed I don’t only work here. It’s a good spot to become a couch potato from time to time. I do like the sport at weekends. Sometimes saves my life.’
Effie had been going to ask something about the books and his last comment but did neither as Kenneth sped on with his tour. The bathroom attached to the main bedroom was ultra modern with lots of glistening tiles and shiny chrome with a shallow trough of a basin running the whole length of the bathroom while the loo was surrounded by an array of buttons and levers.
‘That’s the latest Japanese way of cleaning yourself up which if you don’t mind I won’t go into but the girls think it’s fabulous and funny. Personally, I prefer the old-fashioned methods but this is what the designer gave us.’
Effie wasn’t quite sure if she followed this but had a feeling some humorous comment was called for and in fact she felt mildly hilarious as the champagne began to lighten her mood to find herself standing in this futuristic bathroom discussing the facilities with an attractive man she didn’t know that well. Inevitably there was a flash-back to her incarceration in Oliver’s awful bathroom. `You know, I never realised dating could be so exciting on the bathroom front’ she quipped and was pleased that Kenneth laughed so that they were both in fairly jolly spirits as they entered his bedroom which emanated a very faint odour of what she recognised now was Kenneth’s smell – not unpleasant. The room was filled by an enormous double bed, a couple of arm chairs and a chest of drawers on which were the only real signs of male mess, a pile of brushes, boxes, aerosol cans, papers and bibs and bobs. Kenneth apologised in a cheerful fashion:
‘Sorry about the mess. House stuff not exactly my thing. But come and look at the view ‘. He placed his hand on her arm to usher her towards the bay window and Effie’s heart picked up a pace. `See, being at the end of the terrace we get all the neighbours gardens and it’s quite an open feel.’
‘Yes, a marvellous view.’
He stood beside her still holding her arm while leaning forward to point. ‘Look, you can just see the spire of St Peter’s.’
‘So you can’ said Effie whose heart by now was racing so fast that she would have found a view of the local refuse dump entrancing. `Splendid view.’
It was at this point that the phone rang and Effie suffered another flash back to the dreadful dinner with Quentin and his telephone. Kenneth, however, was not put out and merely tutted as he went to pick up the receiver. Not a daughter, was Effie’s thought; they would never ring on the landline. It sounded like a work arrangement which was quickly dealt with.
‘Well, Effie, I think that’s our cue to go downstairs and have something to eat. I’d be most upset if it got overcooked.’
So they returned to the shiny kitchen where Kenneth topped up their glasses, put on an apron and transformed himself into a chef. Effie was directed to sit on an elegant looking stool by the breakfast bar where she perched a little precariously, acutely aware of her weight and everything feeling tight or bulgy but was soon caught up in Kenneth’s obvious enjoyment in what he was doing as he spun the handle of the egg whisk with considerable flair. Within minutes he had whipped up an impressive mound of thick white froth which he carefully folded into a pale green mixture which he had already prepared. The mixture was poured into small ramekins, sprinkled lightly with grated cheese and placed in the hot oven with a satisfied ‘voila!’ from the master chef.
It was quite a performance and Effie burst into applause and laughter.
‘Now all we have to do is wait precisely 21 minutes, just long enough for us to have another glass and me to put the final touches to the sea bass which is going to go in when the soufflés are done. Baby new potatoes – I hope you’re not on a diet - and a little wilted spinach and that’s the main course.’
‘Terrific!’
‘Yes, but that’s not all. There will be dessert to follow which..’ he added momentarily serious.. ‘which I haven’t yet decided, but, do not fear, there will be sweet to follow in some form.’
And sweet there was after the delicious courgette soufflés that rose like a dream and melted in the mouth and the succulent sea bass browned to perfection on the griddle with just a butter and dill sauce accompanied by tiny new potatoes and tender strands of spinach. It was all so easy, so heady, that Effie’s resistance to the ‘sweet’, had it been there at all, simply faded away and she could have been any age - eighteen, forty two, seventy – she experienced a deep longing that she hadn’t felt in years that simply surged over her so that as Kenneth moved closer and closer to her as he presented each lovely dish they moved seamlessly together into an embrace that moved inevitably to touching, grasping and kissing, to fumbling and tottering upstairs amidst much laughter and groping, Effie finding herself in some way or other on the divan with a half-clad Kenneth passionately kissing her and caressing her and loving her, tugging on buttons and pulling on zips, throwing off garments, kicking off shoes until the two of them were able to grasp each other in a sort of frantic embrace. Effie opened herself up to him, encircling her man with arms and legs, gasping in pain as he penetrated her but the hurt quickly merging into the marvellous sensuality of it all and she grasped fiercely at his thigh, pulling him round the way she wanted it, working him, determined to achieve a climax which she did with an expulsion of breath and a gale of laughter, holding him tight as he, too, strained and gasped, whispering in her ear ‘take my seed, take my seed’ and fell back exhausted onto the pillow.
‘My god’ said Effie.
`Phew!’ said Kenneth.
They lay there for a while like a couple of star-struck lovers, each with their own thoughts. Effie felt good. She’d almost forgotten what it was like. She liked Kenneth. He liked her. She couldn’t have asked for anything more of the evening and dared to hope she had found herself a relationship that would work. There was just one little niggle in her euphoria. A fantasy had appeared in her mind’s eye as the two of them had writhed together: it was an image of a strong shapely leg and a pair of soft blue eyes, and she knew they were not Kenneth’s.