Beware the Roasburies! Pt. 02

"He practically moved in with me. He always went back to his place when we all met for Bridge, but otherwise he stayed at my place. Hell, he had more of his stuff at my flat than his own. You know, I never noticed that he had been taking his stuff back to his own place. He planned it in advance. How nasty is that? No warning.

"To take me to that high class Restaurant, then he says he had something special to say. I was so excited, Graham, what else could he be going to say? Then he said that this was his way of saying thank you for all the months together. He was building up to it."

Here she began to weep.

"He thought it was too early for him to be settling down, and we ought to 'call it a day'. Call it a day, Graham!" She broke down into sobbing.

I did not know what to do. Should I sit by her? Put an arm round her? Hold her? She had always been so stand-offish, There was a good chance she would resent it. I sat tight, and waited until she calmed.

"A dreadful shock," I said. "Totally out of the blue."

"Yes," she said, calmer now. "He was so perfect, handsome, kind, gentle, passionate. He would say we were perfect for each other. Over and over, Graham, he'd say things like that. The night before he had made love so sweetly, said how beautiful I was, how perfect I was. I know I'm skinny, but he said he liked that. Then to tell me he was dumping me! In public Graham! I didn't know what to say or do. I just sat there. What could I say?"

"So?" I encouraged.

"I just got up and made for the door, without my wrap. I could hear him calling after me, 'Wait Harriet!' he was shouting. The other diners were staring at him. I think they wondered what he'd done or said. I could have damn well told them. Anyway, by the time I got to the street door the waiter had my wrap and handed it to me. There was a taxi outside so I was away before he made it to the door."

She sagged back into the sofa, and a silence fell. What could I say that would not be banal, superficial and trivial compared with the way she felt? I said nothing but remained sitting forward.

She looked up after a while.

"Graham?" she said.

"Yes?"

"Hug?" her eyes imploring me.

I moved to the sofa and putting an arm round her shoulders pulled her into a hug, so her head rested on my neck. I was careful not to touch her anywhere that could be construed as sexual, but stroked her back and shoulders. I could feel her bones. Not much padding there, I thought.

She sighed and relaxed.

Eventually, "Thanks," she said, but did not move.

Another silence.

"Thanks for not saying anything," she explained. "It shows you know exactly how I feel."

"Well," I said placidly, "it's not long since I got the same treatment. It takes a lot longer than you think to get over it."

"Gee thanks!" she said, but with a smile. Then, "Thanks Graham. I feel much better now."

"Look," I said, "You need to get out and enjoy yourself. If you want a companion, a friend to go with you, you know you can ask me. No strings. Friends only."

"Like Zena?"

"Like Zena."

She called a taxi, and I got her coat. When it arrived, she hugged me, and for the first time I remembered, she kissed me gently on the lips.

"Thanks again," she said, "I'll take you up on your offer. Colette and Zena go out of an evening man hunting. I don't want that, the way I feel."

I nodded and she left. The rain had stopped and everything was wet through and smelled fresh.

Life became hectic.

Work remained demanding, both in time and brain power. I went bell ringing twice a week, as well as ringing for Sunday Services. There was Bridge on Thursdays, Ian on some Tuesdays or Fridays, folk music on others. Ian was once more intrigued when I turned up with yet another woman. That usually left Friday, Saturday and Sunday free.

Harriet was a revelation. It should be said that I am not normally attracted to ultra slim, model-type women, so it was Harriet's qualities as a person that ensnared me. She began our outings by inviting me to a concert, and we went from there, since it was then my turn to invite her. She was fascinating.

She was intelligent; we went out to dinner and conversed, argued and discussed anything and everything. We spent one evening talking in French the whole time. She was humorous, by which I do not mean she was always cracking jokes, but she saw wryly funny aspects in everyday life.

We went to plays, and she showed her grasp of literature, and music - she knew classical as well as R & B to Folk. She was compassionate. When we watched the news she would react emotionally to disasters and tragedies. She wept when she heard about Hendrix dying so young and so stupidly. Energetic: we went on one ten mile hike and she was still fresh at the end of it. I was collapsing!

Her keenness to try new things led her to join me in my bell ringing. She learned quickly, and so we were then together twice a week in addition to whatever else we enjoyed in a week. She turned out to know a wealth of folk songs and we spent happy hours singing and playing together. She played the violin - well! The girl was a revelation.

In all this and because of it, we preserved and deepened our affectionate friendship, which never strayed into a more intimate relationship. Certainly there was no move towards the sexual: she was not ready for that, and I was getting enough no-strings sex from another woman in my life, and I do mean Colette.

This aspect intrigued us, and we discussed it with some humour. It certainly gave us a friendship we would never lose. We were like brother and sister and the bond became deep. It healed both of us.

"It's like you and Zena, you and me, isn't it?" she said randomly as we relaxed on my sofa.

"Hmm?"

"I asked her why she didn't go with you like Colette does."

"And?"

"She said sex would spoil what you had: what you both had was better."

"Like you and me." I said with a smile. "As you say."

"Yes, if we were going towards a lasting relationship, it might help things, but Zena thinks casual sex can get in the way."

"I think I agree." I said.

As far as the three women were concerned, the one I was 'taking out' was Harriet, and occasionally Zena, while Colette spent time with me either in my home or hers, and for 'home' read 'bed'. It meant the ones with whom I was seen, out and about a few times a week, were completely platonic. It had an effect I knew nothing about, at least at first.

The first inkling was in mid October. Harriet was just laying into the main course in Orchards, my favourite restaurant (have I mentioned that before?), one Friday, when she stopped eating and looked surprised and intrigued. I had my back to the entrance door, while she was facing it.

"What?" I asked her. She relaxed and took another mouthful which she dispatched before answering. The woman could eat for England, and never put on a pound!

"Wow, that was weird!" she said with a smile. She took another bite.

"Come on, Harriet," I chided, "What?"

Again she finished her mouthful, making 'hang on let me finish this' noises and gestures as she chewed frantically.

"Two women came in," she said, gesturing with her fork, "I heard them tell the greeter they had a reservation. I didn't catch the name. He looked down the list, and they glanced round our restaurant room. Then one of them said, 'I can't stay here,' and turned round and left. The other woman was totally confused, apologised and left as well. They're outside on the porch, arguing at the moment."

I turned, but the two women were already outside the door. It was dark outside and they had overcoats on. I shrugged and we continued with the meal.

Next afternoon I was walking along the main street of our suburban town with Zena when I felt someone was watching us. You must have had that feeling that someone was following you. You look behind but there is no one there. That was the feeling. This time there were too many people on the street and I could see no one looking suspicious or staring at us, and no one I knew.

The following Thursday Harriet was taken ill at work with some stomach bug, and since it was her turn to host the bridge night, I suggested to the other two that we go out for a meal. Zena was tired, but Colette was up for it. My favourite restaurant was booked up, so we went to an Italian nearby. After the meal she suggested going to a club, which we did.

Now I don't know if it has ever struck you, but women have a sort of radar which tells them when a nearby male is interested in them. So It was amusing when she said through clenched teeth, "Don't look now but there's a guy giving me the once over."

"What's he like?" I asked, wondering why that should be noteworthy, after all, I would have thought every male in the place would be ogling her.

"Nondescript. He's been looking around the club as if searching for someone, but he keeps coming back to us. Perhaps he's from a newspaper. Shall I go and 'interview' him?"

"Nah!" I said, "Let him have his fun."

"He's seen me talking about him, he's going," she said, sounding disappointed.

Up to that point I'd not turned to see, but now I was interested and caught a glimpse of him as he made his way to the exit. He seemed vaguely familiar, but I couldn't place him.

"I think I've seen him before," I said, cudgelling my brains, "Damn! I can't remember." It annoyed me more because of my photographic memory which extends to people I have met.

Now and again thereafter, I got that feeling of being watched but could never see anyone. Eventually I dismissed the feeling and forgot about it.

--

Tommy Duck's Pub really existed - I actually patronised it in the sixties and seventies. Greenall Whitley Beer. Yes, it did have knickers on the ceiling, but none of the girls I took there would contribute. It was demolished in the 80s. If you use a search engine: 'Tommy Ducks Manchester'. There's quite a bit about it and some photo's.

There are pictures of the Iron Bridge if you search on line for 'The Iron Bridge'