Fonding and Permission Finale

Theresa chuckled. "I don't think it's stupid," she said mildly. "I mean," she said, holding him close. "Let's face it. We will lose each other sooner or later. Later, I hope." She paused. "I'm a little scared too," she went on calmly. "I think it's normal. I worry that we might not make it all the way through life, or something."

"Because one of us might quit?"

"Well ... yes."

"Well," said Felix. "If I ever do that ... just hold onto who I was before I turned into a dumb dick."

She laughed. "You'll have to work pretty hard," she remarked.

"I don't expect to," he said. "I'm trying to perfect the art of having a dick without being one."

"Please do that," she said fervently. "I very much want you to keep having one."

Felix had always feared that spending a night in any kind of embrace would be a sweaty, uncomfortable affair, that if you ever managed to fall asleep rather than apart, you were likely to wake up with a numb arm each. But he found that lying on his back with a dear head resting on his chest and a protective arm across his front was another matter. He stroked both, peacefully now, and heard her speak. The words were familiar, though he had last heard them very long ago.

"Good night, darling."

And Theresa Liegestütz slept with her boyfriend Felix Dwight.

***

Felix was finding it hard to concentrate. His mind was abuzz with all that hat happened in the last twenty-four hours. Tessy, sweet Theresa, had taken his boyhood, just like that, had singled him out. So this was having a girlfriend. He felt he was overflowing ... Sitting in the same classroom as her now felt like both duty and dereliction of the same. It cost him an effort to be close to her without walking over to hug and kiss her. He supposed this was all part of freedom: letting her get on with her work in between the afternoons and nights they would be spending together now, revising, talking, dreaming, planning, loving ...

Theresa had given today's maths class a miss to revise art history and he regretted not joining her. For compensation, Anthony had chosen to sit next to him. He was following the lecturer anxiously, fountain pen in hand. Felix felt he was seated next to a small, unexploded bomb. Listening to an explanation of vector spaces didn't seem like the go-to move, even less when he had revised them less than a year ago for his school finals and the basics were still fresh.

He sneaked a look at Anthony's pencil case. It was half open but he couldn't see much more without leaning well into Anthony's personal space.

"Now," Dr. Stoatshill was saying, wielding the chalk as he spoke. "The coordinates are treated separately in both vector addition and the dot product, and you will observe that I have done so here. So--" He broke off at a swell of urgent mutters and stared motionlessly at the blackboard for several seconds. "That is," he said, picking up the sponge. "You will observe as much, once I have corrected this drivel." He proceeded to wipe away both the formulae he had just derived.

Tired laughs and groans mixed as people made to correct their lecture notes. Anthony turned to rummage for his ink eraser, opening the pencil case wide. Felix seized his chance and looked. He saw the little piece of paper at once, reread the words 'at fonding-and-permission.com'. It was stuck to a ruler, bold as brass. Stuck? So it was part of a sticker? Where was the rest of it? ... He took in its detail: the wavy, green and orange line printed along the edge, the slightly rounded corners. Familiar, somehow ...

He fell back heavily into his chair, gaping as a sudden recollection emerged from the depths of his mind's scrapheap. Light unhoped for was at long last rising beyond his memory's horizon and he watched the innocent blue turn ruddy ... a hard, grainy kind of ruddy, in fact, too smooth and light for redbrick.

"I'm off to the loo," he said curtly.

He rose and walked from the classroom, then accelerated, running up stairs and corridors and, out of love for truth, briefly in and out of a toilet. Laughing in spite and because of it all, he arrived at the library, slowed to a brisk walk and entered the last aisle.

Yes, there was his favourite table at the end, the table with the little fig tree in a pot on it. Someone else was sitting there, revising. The woman didn't look up as he approached. He hesitated, not wanting to disturb her.

"Excuse me," he said, struggling to keep his face straight. "Could I just take a closer look at that flower pot?"

She gave him a long, exceedingly sensible look. "Feel free," she said slowly, taking care to load both words with moderate concern for his sanity and stepping well out of his way.

He thanked her, then bent to look at the clay pot the fig tree stood in, trying not to let awkwardness distract him. Its surface was hard, grainy and ruddy. It was also devoid of stickers. He took the pot and spun it on its wheels. Nothing. And he had been almost sure ...

He was about to turn away when he saw the shape: a faded, dusty patch on the clay, still a little sticky to the touch, and in it a few minute strips of white, such as might be left behind where a sticker has been hastily removed. But removed whereto? The paper bin ...

He knelt down swiftly and pulled it out from under the table. It had been emptied and for a moment he lost all hope. Then, with a leap of the heart, he saw a little white rectangle still stuck to the bottom. He bent forward, half burying his head in the bin to read, acutely aware that his behaviour was likely to exacerbate his onlooker's view of his mental health. The sticker's edges were frayed, as though it had suffered several attempts to tear it off in one piece, and the bottom was missing, but the rest was still perfectly legible. Felix took in the words, completing the second sentence with those he had seen on the sliver in Anthony's pencil case.

I would fain give you my

permission to witness me

disrobe. You may find me ...

... at fonding-and-permission.com

He reread them to be sure, then pulled out his head and sighed. So this was the answer to his great puzzle. He must have seen these words weeks or months ago while revising, forgotten about them, later recalled the most meaningful fragments, thought them his own creation and found her site by searching for them. Anthony or someone must have removed the sticker soon after he had seen it, allowing him to forget he had. If only he had taken it himself ...

"Are you done?"

"Yes," Felix said, startled out of his reverie. "Sorry." He picked up the empty bin and strode away with it. He heard her mutter something derisive as he exited the aisle, but he was too zoned in to care. He felt like a detective cracking a famous murder mystery. Carefully, he removed what was left of the sticker, put it in a safe pocket and left the library.

***

Theresa knelt among the spanners, her upturned bicycle on her left, a plate of salted potato wedges in the grass on her right. She had got to work on the front garden's tiny lawn. The wedges were a staple of Tanja's cooking and her cousin had brought her a helping, then sat down on the low garden wall with her own. Theresa was eating hers at intervals between fixing her puncture.

Something always got broken in the fun, she thought. Penumbra had gone, with a little help from Felix and tennis, only for her bike to give out. One carefree ride through town had been enough. November meant there were no suicidal snails or frogs to be dodged, so she had let her mood lift her eyes from the tarmac to the sky and promptly hit a patch of glass. Well, what a surprise ... You couldn't trust a drunkard to use a bottle bank any more than you could trust squirrels to drop their nutshells in the bin. It was high time biodegradable bottles took over.

"Well?"

"Hm?" Theresa looked up from the nut she was tightening. The wedges had turned out well today and Theresa felt a little guilty for eating them so absent-mindedly. "They're good!" she said. "I like the rosemary."

"Thanks." Tanja chuckled. "I didn't mean that ... Just wondering, did you clear up Fonding with Felix the other day?"

"Oh," said Theresa softly, just about skirting a blush. "Yes, we sorted it out." She didn't feel like discussing that night in detail. She wanted to keep most of it hidden in the warm little sanctum between him and herself, safe from the cold judgement of others. Tanja could be remarkably tone-deaf when curiosity took her, so she gave her cousin an apologetic but final look of silence, reaching for another wedge as she did so.

"You might want your fork," said Tanja, sniggering.

Theresa looked down at the piece of cutlery she was applying to her plate. It was a spanner. She fought down her grin, pursed her lips obstinately, carefully adjusted it to fit the wedge and raised it to her mouth, giving her cousin a superior look. The wedge fell apart at her lips. She laughed, picked up her fork and plate and sat down on the wall beside Tanja, who was laughing rather more.

"Anyway," said Tanja, recovering. "I don't understand the sticker."

"Well, you know," said Theresa, deciding to enjoy herself. "It's a sort of piece of paper with glue on the back, where you can --"

"No!" Tanja shouted, battling laughter. "Come on, why did you go for it?"

"Shhh!" Theresa looked about furtively. "Sorry ... Well, do you remember what I said when I called you at Valentino's on Saturday?"

"Not ..." Tanja stalled. "Not all of it," she said. "I was trying to find the spare ice cream scoop ... You said you'd put it in the library because he likes sitting there."

Theresa nodded. "I wanted him to find Fonding and Alice came up with leaving him a note."

"But then ... why not just plonk it in his bag, so no-one else gets to see it?"

Theresa blushed. She wondered whether to tell her cousin the whole truth. "I think," she began, wondering how to go on. "Well, part of the reason was I wanted to keep a low profile."

"So you put it where anyone could find it?" said Tanja incredulously.

"The point is, they wouldn't know it's me."

"So ... you think he'd have guessed it was you ..."

"... if I'd put it in his bag, yes."

"Huh. Why?"

"Well, you don't accidentally put stuff in strangers' bags," said Theresa. "So he'd have suspected it's intentional and someone who knows him. A sticker on a flower pot could be anyone's doing and for no particular reason."

"Okay ... but why the low profile?"

Theresa thought. "Well ... it was partly to keep my options open ... you know, a chance to backtrack anonymously if our online meeting went pearshaped ... And I wanted to know if he liked my body before making a move towards him in real life." She paused, blushing again. "And I didn't much mind the idea of others in uni finding me."

"Hmm! But you were happy to let Felix guess straight away that it's someone from uni?"

"Yes ... I mean, there are hundreds of people in college and everyone uses the library."

"But most of them don't have your hair, I'm guessing."

"Nor do I at uni," said Theresa, smiling.

"Huh?"

"I always wear it in a bun there."

"Always?"

"Pretty much."

"Because of Fonding?"

"Partly. I also quite like the style. And it's more practical when you're painting."

"It sounds like a hell of a restriction."

Theresa sensed a question that she wasn't sure she wanted to hear. But it was no use ...

"Well, at least you can undo it from now on."

"Yeah, maybe."

"Or do you think anyone else at uni has found Fonding? Except Felix?"

"I don't know," said Theresa slowly. The question intrigued her and she blushed again, remembering the fear and pleasure of speculating about it.

"I mean," Tanja continued. "You said you had like a few dozen followers on Fonding."

"I do. But I don't know who most of them are ... Except that they're clearly men. Or boys."

"Does that bother you? Not knowing, I mean."

"No." Theresa smiled, still feeling her face prickle.

"And ... d'you think anyone would find Fonding without the sticker?"

"Well, there isn't the sticker anyway. Fernando and David advertised Fonding in Spain a bit."

"Did you ask them to?"

"Yes," Theresa confessed. "No-one else had found me. I wanted to speed things up a bit."

Tanja wasn't done. "But your pseudonym," she said. "Suppose someone works out what 'Harvest Mai--'"

"Shhh!" Theresa hissed, lowering her voice and checking again they weren't being overheard. "I don't think anyone will work out the meaning," she muttered.

"Why not?"

"It's a trapdoor function," she whispered. "It's only likely to work one way round. Imagine you read 'harvest' somewhere, would you realise it means 'Theresa'?"

"Well, no."

"Not unless you're a freak philologist who knows all about that word, right?"

"Okay ..."

"Or 'Pushup'? Would you think of translating it into German for no good reason?"

"No, I guess."

"But," Theresa said. "Imagine you really care about me and love words. What would you do?"

Tanja looked at her. "You thought Felix would look up what your name means?"

Theresa nodded. "I thought he would, eventually," she said. "I was scared of it, but I wanted him to ... When I made the site with Fernando and David, it wasn't meant to be a puzzle. I was just 'Resa Inglesa'. But when I changed it for Felix, I needed to create one that only he was likely to solve ... And I just know he loves puzzles."

Chapter five: Hide and seek

They were alone on the courts, even though the sky was clear and the rising May sun seemed to call for early summer outings. The hot air was abuzz with bees and dragonflies and the greening bushes were playing the closing number of the morning chorus.

Felix held the racquet, feeling clumsy. "Are you sure this is a topspin backhand grip?"

Theresa took his racquet hand. "Yep, looks sound. Maybe raise your wrist a bit, though."

He did, feeling doubtful. "This feels all warped. I don't understand how it's supposed to work."

"I felt the same to start with," said Theresa. "Just think backwards. What do you want to do with the ball? ... Same as with the forehand."

He tried to recall what she had taught him last time. He found it hard not to be distracted by how pretty she looked in her tennis gear, by the warm jolt or tingle he still felt whenever she touched him, laughed or smiled at him. It was all he could do not to keep telling her so. On the other hand, he felt full of energy and committed to make his best effort to reward hers.

"There were two things, remember?" she coaxed. "Other than placement, but we'll deal with that later."

"Pace and spin?" he ventured.

"Right." She looked at him expectantly. "So ..."

"I ... take the ball out in front for pace and come upward and forward for spin."

"Nice. One important piece missing."

"Er ... keep the racquet face half-closed, you said?"

"Bingo." She beamed at him. "So, how would you grip the racquet for that sort of swing path while keeping your wrist stable?" She held her own at arm's length in front of his shoulder. "Here's mine. Just reach out, take hold of it comfortably and see how your palm ends up on the grip."

He did as she told him. "Aah ..." He breathed a sigh of satisfaction.

"Better?"

He nodded, took back the racquet and swung it slowly, experimentally. "It feels way less stupid at contact and as part of the swing ... Like a talking face. The frames look wrong, but the sequence makes sense."

She laughed. "Yes, it's often like that." She stepped back to the ball bucket. "Well, lets see what you've got!" She picked three balls from the bucket to feed them.

"Ten straight good shots for a kiss?" he asked, making sure their standard ruleset was sill in place.

"Deal." She winked. "Twenty and I show you the woods on the way back."

He felt a twinge of excitement. The woods ... some of the lushest memories of his life had happened there with her in the past few weeks, once the spring air had been warm enough to dare the great outdoors. He thought he would never forget looking up at her with nothing but sky and branches overhead. Twenty good backhnds in a row couldn't be that hard, could they? He tried a few air shots. "Okay," he said. "Ready when you are." His arm was quivering.

The first two balls found the net. He tried a full-blooded swing on the third and it hit the back fence.

"It takes a bit of practice," she encouraged him. "You've got the power. Don't forget the spin."

"Thanks. I'll get there sooner or later." He closed the racquet face. The fourth ball rocketed off the frame like a baseball off a bat. Felix dropped his racquet and watched aghast as it made straight for her face.

"Whoa!" She caught it with her empty hand. "You can leave my head on."

"Sorry!" he said, making towards her. "Didn't mean to ..."

"I'm fine," she said, allowing him to hug her in apology. "Still got my reflexes ... Just don't close the racquet too far ... You'll get a feel for it," she added, her voice softening as he kissed her on the cheek (not a kiss by the rules). "Oh, hi Jules."

"Hi Tess."

Felix turned at the sound of the voice. A woman roughly their age had entered the court. Perhaps her trim shape and close-fitting clothes delayed his attention to her face, or perhaps the unaccustomed baseball cap threw him off. Whatever the reason, it was only when she stood in front of them that he saw her features properly, saw them freeze in unison with his own.

"Felix, this is Jules from our club," said Theresa cheerfully. "Jules, this is my boyfriend, Felix."

"No shit," said Julia Pewcheer.

***

"Sorry about that," said Felix. They were bicycling back from the courts. The decision to call it a day in terms of tennis lessons had come easily and the woods had, for now, been left unexplored.

"It's not like you've done anything wrong," said Theresa. "It was clearly on me to know my clubmate's proper name."

Felix waited for her to add something, but she didn't. She merely gave him a half-smile, which he did bis best to return. He felt a need to say more. The silence felt dangerous. On the other hand, what to say without inflating the matter? He didn't quite trust himself to joke about it, because he wasn't sure enough she would laugh. And talking about something completely different wasn't going to cut it either.

"At the risk of asking a silly question," he ventured. "How do you feel?"

She let out a tense chuckle. "Don't worry," she said. "I'm just ... surprised."

"Me too", he said, deciding not to badger her further. "Want to sit down for a breather?"

She thought for a moment. "Yes," she said. "Let's do that." She braked and dismounted at once.

They had arrived nowhere in particular, but he joined her in the nondescript grass verge of the country road they had been riding along. He sat down next to her, reached out to hug her with one arm and found, to his relief, that she put her own round his waist in return.

"The hilarious thing is," she began after a moment. "I think Julia told me about you two the other day."

"Oh," he said, taken aback. "Ha!"

"But I obviously didn't realise it was you," she went on. "And she clearly didn't realise your girl was me."

For a moment he wanted to ask what Julia had said, but decided that guardedness was a coward's move. "Should I just give you my own account?"

She gave a tremulous smile and nodded. "That would be great."

***

"Good morning!" said Dr. Mason, entering the near-empty classroom. "Wherever have the rest of you got to?"

There were a couple of awkward mumbles. Most of the year had taken to skiving off art history lectures sooner or later and explaining the reasons would have taken heavy diplomacy.

"Perhaps the others do not care to pass their exam?"