Friday Night Alchemy

We watched the tape, we worked our way through our fourth bottle of wine, my hand slipped down a bit and took a few liberties and, just as Ingrid Bergman was offering to stay with Humphrey Bogart if he'd give Paul Henreid the letters of transit so he could escape from Conrad Veidt, Shana fell asleep.

I watched the rest of the film alone, Shana warm but basically lifeless against my shoulder. When the tape finished I had to disentangle myself from her before the TV started screaming at us. I was careful and she didn't wake, ending up lying almost foetal on the settee with her head pillowed on the arm rest. After turning everything off and battening down the hatches for the night I dug out a spare duvet and covered my sleeping house guest.

"Goodnight sweet princess, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest." Ok, so I misquoted. Give a guy a break.

As she didn't stir when I kissed her, I guess I'm not Prince Charming. I went to bed.

What a long, strange day it had been.

SUNDAY 07:00 HOURS

Woken at this ungodly hour by my sadistically persistent body clock, I added a heart attack to my catalogue of ailments. The reason? Shana was cuddled up beside me. I'd left her on the settee, hadn't I? Yes. I definitely remembered that much. Don't panic, prioritise. Alka Seltzer first, answers second.

I got up doubly carefully (I was sore. She was asleep.) and stumbled as far as the bathroom cupboard. Plink, plink, fizz, swallow and try to keep it down. The morning after ritual was duly completed. Now then, coffee and cogitation.

Over a cup of strong, black coffee I thought things through. I didn't carry her into my bedroom and I'm bloody positive I didn't undress her. The thought had crossed my mind briefly, very briefly, but I hadn't acted upon it. Yet the fact remained, Shana was in my bed wearing my tee-shirt. It was possible she'd got up in the night to answer the call and just gone into my room by mistake on her way back from the bathroom, but what about the tee-shirt? Nobody accidentally gets out of a dress, a bra and a pair of tights. Ergo, she got herself there deliberately. So was it just that the settee was uncomfortable or was it unfinished business? The latter, I hoped. There's that masculine optimism again.

I'd finished my coffee while working all this out and it wasn't that warm in the kitchen in just a pair of boxers so I went into the bedroom to get some clothes. While I was rummaging for a matching pair in my sock drawer, Shana woke.

."Morning. What time is it?"

"Half seven. Sleep well?"

"Mmm, 's too early. Come back to bed."

I lay down next to her, on top of the duvet, figuring discretion to be the better part of valour.

"No. In the bed. I want a cuddle."

So much for discretion. I got into bed and did my best to keep my mind on cold showers as Shana flowed up against me like a cat. Virtual cold showers were no defence against real skin so I tried changing the subject.

"Don't take this the wrong way Shana, but what are you doing here?"

"I came over to cook you dinner. Remember? Oh you mean what am I doing here? Aren't I welcome? Shall I go back to the sofa?"

"You can stay a little longer, since you're such a good cook." That was a mistake: she elbowed my ribs. "Bloody cheek!"

I didn't answer. I was too busy doubled up in pain.

"Oh God! I'm sorry. I forgot you were hurt. Sorry!" Turning over so she was facing me, she pulled the duvet back enough to be able to see my hand clutching the middle of about a square foot of bruises. She looked so concerned I thought she was going to cry but the flashing lights behind my eyes had faded and I could breathe again so I let her know I was ok.

"At least now you're facing the right way to kiss me." Not exactly subtle but it did the trick. Shana gingerly leaned closer and kissed me. I took control, this time it was my turn to drive. The kiss became significantly less gentle and a whole lot more interesting.

More twinges as we separated confirmed that while the spirit was willing, the body was weak. I was most definitely hors d'combat and, sacrilege though it is to utter such things, I really didn't want to take this further. Steve would probably disown me if, or rather when he found out I'd passed up the opportunity for a shag (if you'll forgive the vernacular) but I'm sure Shana wasn't feeling a hundred percent either. She looked very tired still, and more than a little hung over. No, I was resolved. As and when Shana and I did get around to sex, I wanted the occasion to be remembered for my performance rather than lack of it: I wanted the recollection of it to be raising blushes and blood pressure for decades to come. One injured participant and one hung-over had no chance of making that sort of impression, let alone making the earth move, the angels weep and the stars tremble in their courses.

Shana seemed to have a similar grasp of the situation. At least, she lay her head on my shoulder, closed her eyes and mumbled something about wanting to go back to sleep. A wish apparently granted before she'd finished the sentence. It seemed like a good idea, so I closed my eyes too and shortly joined her in the Land of Nod.

I woke again at half past nine. Shana was still there: I hadn't been dreaming. I could feel her breath on my shoulder and, as my eyes adjusted to the light level in the room, I watched the rhythmic rise and fall of the duvet and the faint throbbing of a pulse on her neck. Watching her like that, I was struck by just how attractive she was. I know men tend to exaggerate the aesthetic appeal of their conquests but Shana wasn't a conquest yet. She was never likely to make the cover of Cosmo, but I'd like to bet she'd turn heads in any of my favourite haunts. I was happily contemplating my good fortune when she woke up.

"Is it time to get up yet?" She didn't sound too enthusiastic about the idea.

"Only if you've got somewhere you've got to be. Its nearly ten."

"Its too late to go to Mass then. I'll have to go this evening instead."

"Mass?" It hadn't occurred to me that she was religious.

"Yes. I go every week, St. Mary Magdalene's in New Cross. So?" She seemed a little defensive. Time to tread softly.

"Nothing. It just took me by surprise that you're Catholic. You never mentioned it." I wasn't placating enough.

"Just like you never mentioned your books."

"Touché!"

"People hear a girl's Catholic and they think of convent educated, shy girls with spectacles. I didn't go to a convent, I'm not shy and I don't wear glasses. If you really want to know, my brother's the parish priest. My whole family goes to Mass. Aunts, Uncles, everyone. Afterwards Mum, or one of my aunts, cooks dinner for us all. It's kind of a family tradition. The church is a social club as much as anything else."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry. People in glass houses and all that. Pax?"

"Only if we can kiss and make up." She pouted slightly. We only got about halfway through what had promised to be a magnificent thirty second snog when I burst out laughing, I just couldn't help it.

"What?" Shana's expression was one of bemused puzzlement. As an expression, it was very becoming. Cute.

"It just dawned on me. You go to confession, yes?"

"Yes" Shana was still puzzled. I elaborated.

"I've just never been part of somebody's confession before. I'll have to see if I can't lead you astray some more, so you'll have something really sleazy to confess."

"Is that what you were doing when I woke up? Planning my ruin?" She was taunting me.

"Not your ruin, just your conquest. You know, typical male fantasies: flaunting you in front of my friends to make them jealous, tearing your little black lace panties off with my teeth. Nothing very ruinous."

"And how did you know I was wearing black knickers? Have you been peeking while I was asleep?" I knew she wasn't cross but her tone of voice was such, if she'd been standing up, she'd have had her fists on her hips.

"No, I haven't been peeking." Did I sound too defensive? "I picked your clothes up off the floor earlier. Nobody wears a black lace bra like that without matching panties. Elementary, as Holmes would say to Watson."

"I see. Are you sure you didn't peek? Just to check your deductions, Sherlock?" She was persistent.

"I'm sure. I didn't peek. I promise."

"I did. When I got into bed." She looked triumphant.

"I'm shocked. I feel violated now." I tried to look offended. It didn't work.

"A girl likes to know what she's letting herself in for."

That was it, I couldn't keep a straight face any longer. Laughing hurt and I ended up gasping for breath.

"So? Did I measure up to your expectations?"

She didn't answer; she just kissed me again. This time I didn't laugh.

"I'll take that as a yes, shall I?" I was smug.

"Yes. Yes, my vain man, you measure up. OK?"

"Good. I'd hate to disappoint you before I've had my wicked way with you. Breakfast?"

"What's on the menu?"

"Croissants, coffee, orange juice, or we can go down to Sal's café for bacon and eggs."

"Croissants sound good. Got any marmalade?"

"I think so. Croissants'll be about twenty minutes. There's plenty of hot water if you want a shower while they're cooking." As I got out of bed I couldn't help but notice that the tee-shirt she was wearing had ridden up a bit. I had been right: black lace.

From the kitchen, I could hear Shana moving around until the white noise of the shower drowned out other background sounds. While she was in there, I found a blue silk kimono I'd bought for Rosy, my ex, and that she'd left behind when we split up. I left it out for Shana, noting in passing that she'd made the bed. Very domesticated.

Back in the kitchen I got on with making coffee, real coffee this time, not instant battery acid. The shower went silent,

"Allen?" Her voice was muffled somewhat by the intervening door.

"Yeah?"

"Have you got a big towel anywhere?"

"Just a second. They're in the linen cupboard."

I fetched two towels, an enormous bath towel you could wrap a sumo wrestler in and a small hand towel. The bathroom door opened a few inches in response to my knock and a wet arm reached out, groping for the proffered towel. I handed her the smaller of the two.

"Very funny. This isn't even big enough to dry my hair with." She reached out again. This time her hand found the proper towel.

"That's more like it. Thanks." The door closed again.

"No problem. Breakfast in five."

"Ok" Her voice was even more muffled. I surmised she was drying her hair.

A blur of white and pink passed the kitchen door as Shana disappeared into the bedroom. As I took the croissants out of the oven, she appeared in the kitchen doorway in the kimono. I paused to admire the vision in blue before me. She struck a classic pose, one arm stretched languidly up the door frame, weight on one leg, the other leg angled slightly. I just stared in silence.

"Well? I'm waiting for a compliment."

"It suits you. Orange juice?" Never flatter a woman whose fishing for compliments.

"You silver tongued devil. Yes please. Just half a glass."

I half filled the second glass and gave her a quick tour of the worktop. "Croissants - careful, they're hot - coffee, UHT cream, skimmed milk in the fridge, butter, marmalade, half a jar of Nutella, Dutch toast, sorry I've got no cereals. Help yourself."

Perched on barstools, at the stretch of worktop that passed for my breakfast bar, we munched our way through half a dozen croissants, spreading crumbs liberally everywhere and gossiping between mouthfuls. It was the first real conversation we'd had sober.

"Whose kimono is this anyway?" her tone was casual but any fool would recognise it was a loaded question. She waited for the answer. I opted for plan B: Tell the truth.

"I bought it for Rosy, for her birthday. She deliberately left it behind when she moved out. It covered rather more of her though, she was about six inches shorter than you" I was referring to the amount of leg Shana was not hiding, and not just to change the subject: Shana had lovely legs and I suspected she was vain about them. I was right.

"It is a bit short isn't it? Its very lovely though. You have good taste."

"I know. Why d'you think I chatted you up?" Too clichéd?

"Why, thank you kindly, Sir. Such flattery could fair turn a simple country girl's head."

"Shana, can I ask you a question?"

"Shoot."

"I know you probably told me this on Friday, but I can't remember the answer. What do you do for a living?"

"I work at La Perla in Bond Street."

"La Perla?" I drew a blank on that one.

"Its an lingerie shop. Pretty exclusive stuff."

"In Bond Street, I wouldn't have expected Ann Summers. So are you one of those girls they get to model g-strings so rich executives can see what they'll look like on there wives and mistresses?" Please God, let her be a model.

"No way! Actually, I'm an assistant manager, nothing glamorous. You've got a one track mind this morning. I think you must be feeling better." She was right, I was.

"What about you? What do you do? I did ask on Friday but I just got some bull shit about you being the managing director of a consultancy firm. What do you really do?"

"It wasn't bull shit. I really am the M.D. I also own the company. OK The truth. I'm a freelance computer consultant. I own a limited company that I'm the only employee of. I'm the managing director because I'm the only director and the only share holder. Steve's my company secretary which means he gets paid about £50 a year for a couple of signatures, and attending board meetings at the Apples and Pears. Simple really."

"So what do people consult you about?"

"Well if a company needs a few extra people for a short term project, they hire people like me to make up the numbers. Its sort of like getting a temp in when a secretary's on holiday, ‘cept I usually get offered work three to six months at a time."

"So you don't have a full time job then?"

"In the last three years I've had four different contracts, two of six months and two of twelve months. I take about two weeks a year off as holiday. I'd say it's a full time job." I was more abrupt with her than I'd intended. I regretted it immediately.

"Hey, calm down. I only asked a question. I wasn't putting you down or anything." She sounded quite hurt. Damage control was called for.

"I'm sorry, I'm not normally so sensitive about it but I've had so much stick off my mother about not having any job security, nor promotion prospects. Well, I guess you just pushed the wrong buttons. Forgive me?"

"Silly boy! Of course I'll forgive you. But have we just had our first row?"

"Not really a row, just me being touchy."

"Lets see. We've met, I've cooked you dinner, you've got me drunk, we've slept together and now we've had our first row, well sort of. Isn't this the point where we're supposed to kiss and make up again?"

"So if we just had a row, I get kissed, but if it was just me being touchy, I don't? In that case it was definitely a row. Now come here."

I've had quite a few different tasting kisses over the years but this was a first. Marmalade and Nutella flavoured. If the opportunity presents itself, I can recommend it. Delicious.

"I really should be going, Allen. My family will be expecting me for lunch."

"Alun."

"Pardon?"

"Its Alun, not Allen. Its spelt A L U N but the U's pronounced as an ‘I'. Its Welsh."

"Alun?" She tried it out.

"Spot on. Now what were you saying about going?"

"I've got to. I'll be expected. I've just got time to do the dishes then go home and change."

"Don't bother with the dishes, I'll do them. You go and get dressed and I'll call you a cab." I reluctantly let go of her.

"I don't need a taxi. I've got a travel card. The fifty three bus will take me all the way home. But thanks for the offer." She gave me a quick peck and went to get her clothes on. I busied myself with the washing up.

I'd finished washing up and was just starting in on the drying when she came back into the kitchen, dressed and ready to go. An idea struck me.

"Ready then? Give me one minute to throw some clothes on and I'll walk you to the bus stop." I figured if I couldn't call her a cab, it was the least I could do.

"Ok then, but you really don't have to. I know the way and you still need to rest and let those bruises heal."

"But I'd like to. The fresh air will do me good and I can pop over to Steve's after I've seen you off. He'll be wondering how I'm doing."

"Wondering how you're doing, or wondering how you did last night? Oh all right then, come on. You can walk me to my bus then go and tell your friend all about last night."

"What makes you think I'd be that indiscreet?" I tried to look innocent and wounded but Shana had seen enough of the world to know what blokes are like.

"Of course you'll tell him, he's your best friend. Its OK. I don't mind. He'll probably assume I stayed the night anyway."

"he won't assume it, he'll know it. After delivering the wine he'll know you weren't driving so if you'd left last night, I'd have called him for a car for you. He didn't get a call so you must have stayed over."

"So my reputation's already ruined? C'est la vie."

I threw on my jeans, my trainers, the tee-shirt Shana had recently vacated and my duvet jacket and we were set to go.

On the way to the bus stop, Shana reached for my hand, holding it gently as we strolled along the Old Kent Road. We had to wait a few minutes for her bus but there was no one else at the stop so we occupied ourselves by cuddling on those bloody stupid flip up benches that pass for seats, no mean feat.

"Can we have dinner together one night this week? My treat." I was wondering when (not whether) I'd see her again.

"I can't. Its going to be a very hectic week and I've got a couple of evening functions to attend for work."

"Oh." I must have looked as crest-fallen as I felt.

"Alun, its not a brush off, I really am going to be hugely busy. I'll see you next week-end though. Friday night. We'll have dinner, a few drinks, go dancing. Who knows you may even get lucky, if you're a very good boy."

Just then her bus arrived. We had one final kiss and she got on the bus.

"I'll ring you this evening. To make sure you're all right. Give my love to Steve."

And she was gone.

When the diesel fumes had cleared, I could still smell her fragrance. It was the tee-shirt Well there are worse things to smell on the streets of South East London. I walked to Steve's via McDonalds for another cup of coffee. I needed the caffeine.

As I walked, I thought over recent events, especially those involving Shana. She had presence, even when she wasn't around. Thoughts of her expanded to fill any idle moments when I wasn't concentrating on something specific. From experience I knew this daydreaming would wear off in due course. Still, for now I fully intended to revel in it.

There was no doubt we were compatible. The amount of time we'd spent manufacturing opportunities to kiss and cuddle, or just to be close enough to touch each other, proved that and although we hadn't slept together in the biblical sense, it seemed likely we would just as soon as I was fit enough. She was a tease, certainly, but she had a way about her that said she kept her promises. Well that was something to look forward to at least.

Shana's job did present a bit of a problem. Lingerie was a traditional gift between lovers, generally on occasions when we want to give something that'll last. Lingerie neatly fills the gap between flowers and jewellery. Cuddly toys are sometimes appropriate as a substitute but Shana didn't strike me as a cuddly toy sort of girl. So what was my problem with buying her lingerie? Coals to Newcastle. It would be like sending flowers to a florist. No, I had to come up with something original.