Occultation

This one is... closer to home.

--

I sipped my beer and stared out of the window, listening with half an ear as Tom and Pete bitched at one another about a fantasy game series they were both over-invested in. Outside, a small mixed group of friends and friends-of-friends sat by the pool, dangling their feet in the water and basking in the sunshine.

Kate's parents had gone away for the week so she'd organised a get-together - a relaxed, afternoon drop-in-drop-out drink and snack fuelled meet-up for all of her spindrift friends - in the lovely surrounds of her parents' enormous house, or Château McKenzie as the rest of us always wistfully called it.

I grinned at Kate as she flitted through with another bottle of pilfered wine, and raised my beer in smiling benediction as she laughed at the three of us - the "Three Kitcheneers" as we had long ago been named. No matter the venue, the three of us would somehow find the kitchen and turn it into our fiefdom.

Mainly, of course, because it was usually quieter, so Pete's duff hearing wouldn't exclude him from our chats.

That and we could hide from the girls we were all too shy and introverted to talk to.

Kate breezed through again.

"Boys, you're being antisocial," she lectured us in passing and we all waved sarcastically. She made for the front door and collected three women that I didn't recognise.

The first two seemed nice enough, but it was last of them - a tall, athletic brunette with a lovely face and a wonderful tomboy haircut - who caught my eye as they walked past; she noticed my glance and gave me an amused wink in passing.

Her brief flash of humour captured my attention right away. Then I snorted at myself for misreading her reaction as interest; she was almost certainly simply another card-carrying member of Kate's Lesbian Army. Fun but unobtainable, for obvious reasons.

But all the same I watched her when I could, admiring (and, I'll admit it, somewhat intimidated by) the way she so easily insinuated herself into conversations with people she didn't know, befriended them, and then moved on.

She had a light, easy laugh that rang out often; and an infectious grin that was almost never absent. She mingled happily, sharing her time in small parcels that she offered to everyone.

Later on she came over to me, and introduced herself as Flick (short for Felicity), and I, awkward and tongue-tied, let her know that she could call me Jamie instead of James.

And for the next two hours we just talked about nothing, and I was mesmerised her - by the particular blue of her glorious eyes, the copper highlights in her hair, and the way she'd reach out to touch my arm when she wanted to emphasise a point.

She gave me a warm, extended hug when she left to make 'another engagement', and I was genuinely sad to see her go.

Kate, however, had been taking notes. From then onwards, whenever she had a hand in organisation she'd make sure that Felicity was included.

And that I was there as well.

.:.

Spring rolled over into summer.

Felicity became a regular feature at parties, barbecues and any outdoor activities such as park runs, beach days or climbs up the mountain. We worked out that she was a family friend of Kate's, and that she'd come back to Cape Town after finishing her degree because she'd chosen the slow life down south rather than the money and career prospects of Johannesburg.

She was a riot at our parties - she had a large collection of terrible or risqué teeshirts and delighted in wearing the most questionable of these for laughs. She could pun like nobody I'd ever met. Quick witted and always sunny, she became a natural party locus - always surrounded by friends, never alone in the corner. Everyone came away happier from spending time near her, she radiated joy and was almost never down.

And she always had a smile and time for me. She'd corner me in the kitchen, quiz me about my day or week depending on when last we'd seen one another, and I'd repay the compliment, using what little bit of conversational ability I had to winkle little things out of her like her surname (Smith), the date of her birthday (August 10), her favourite movie (Ghostbusters) and her favourite colour (Daffodil yellow).

We became good friends and from there evolved to close friends; she'd call me if she was going anywhere interesting with the kind of people she knew I'd get on well with, and I'd call her if I was going bouldering or beach-walking and wanted simple, friendly, low-maintenance company where I didn't have to pretend to be deep or interesting, where we could walk or climb or run or swim in relaxed and comfortable silence without the artificial need to speak unnecessary words to one another.

Felicity was game for anything - as she put it she'd try everything once.

Our friends began to refer to us as Mr and Mrs Smith, and she'd laugh at them. I'd call them all sorts of rude names, upbraid them at volume, and question their ancestry with all the care and attention to detail that they all expected and demanded from me.

Of course, everyone listened to me, nodded sagely in agreement, and went right on calling me Mr Smith.

And Felicity would laugh, and laugh, and laugh.

And, eventually, so would I.

Late summer rolled around, and our group set up a weekly evening sundowners gathering on the prettier Atlantic-side beaches of the city; Clifton and Llandudno became our favourite haunts, and Felicity would nearly always be there, and when she was she would always take up position next to me. It didn't matter if she arrived late, a spot would be left free for her beside me by whoever else was there - an act of near-religious faith that she would be along 'soon'.

I have many memories of her, laughing in the dusk, watching me and, sometimes, others as we talked shit into the early evening and watched the southern stars come out over the cold Atlantic waves.

Felicity and I began discussing more private things with one another. I'd bitch to her about work and she'd bitch to me about the career that she hadn't yet managed to launch. We'd gripe at one another about boys, about girls, about the various shoot-downs we both suffered in our abortive quests to find 'the one'.

I knew I could always rely on her to listen to me, and I took liberties with that generosity that would sometimes make me cringe later in remembered horror. But Felicity would just smile at me with those cerulean eyes of hers, and give me the advice I needed even if it was not the advice I wanted at the time.

In hindsight, I can't remember a time she was wrong.

Sometimes, though, I'd catch her watching me. And while she'd mostly be smiling, sometimes I thought I saw the flickers of shadows - hints of some deep-held darkness that she would not voice to me.

And to be fair, I spent a lot of time watching her too.

Watching. Wondering.

Wishing.

.:.

Autumn came, and the days grew shorter. I'd meet her and a group of her friends for morning walks through the forests above Newlands, the sole guy in a gaggle of young, fit women. I'd get amused looks from other trail runners or walkers, but the girls would be too busy joking or dramatically reenacting Significant Events Of Male Stupidity for one another, and I would be too busy laughing at them to care or even really notice.

I became friendly, then flirty, with one of them - a blonde strumpet named Amanda.

I was starting to wonder if she perhaps liked me, if I should ask her out - when suddenly, without ever finding out why, the invites to the walks with my 'harem' flickered out overnight.

I was upset by that, and spent many hours wondering what the fuck I had done or said (or not done or not said) to offend five different women at once.

But Felicity still met up with me - between us nothing seemed to have changed, and I was unbelievably grateful for that.

I mentioned it to her once in passing, and she simply responded with a quiet, somewhat abrupt "It's awkward with friends."

The penny dropped and I learned my lesson. I'd tested our friendship. I wouldn't do it again.

From that day on I steered well clear of our common ground, and did nothing with anyone who was even remotely part of our social circle. I began to frequent online dating sites, and went on the occasional dinner or coffee with the more interesting or eloquent women who would occasionally contact me.

Not many did; I was fit and tall, but neither trendy nor interesting enough to warrant much attention beyond a brief first glance.

When Felicity asked I'd tell her what I was up to, but I stopped volunteering anything out of fear of upsetting her again. And I noticed that she stopped sharing the more personal bits of her own life with me.

It took me a long time to work out why she'd done it.

All I felt at first was a vague sense of betrayal; of something lost that I'd come to regard as mine.

But then, I've never claimed to be an intelligent man.

.:.

She found a new job, and her career took off. She kept her haircut, but the style of clothes she wore morphed from the linens and teeshirt she'd always loved to smart business attire, and I had to admit that she looked fantastic in a suit. She flushed bright pink, pleased as punch the one time I mentioned this, and her farewell hug that evening seemed to linger far more than normal. But by the next time I saw her things were back to normal again.

People had drifted away over the months and years, but the core of our social group would still meet regularly - at restaurants, at wine farms, and sometimes on the beach when it had been too long and we all just wanted to be around one another and remember our 'golden years' as Kate once laughingly called it.

Felicity would sit beside me, long legs crossed neatly, sipping her wine with an amused smile as she listened to the conversation around us.

She was quieter these days - not as boisterous, not as likely to drink too much and drag me out of the kitchen to dance to bad disco with her as she once had.

The hugs she gave me became less frequent, but longer. The looks she gave me were sometimes hard to interpret.

Our phone calls became less frequent, then intermittent, with strange silences in them that left me confused and sad after I'd said goodbye.

I bitterly wondered if she was growing bored with me.

Then a job came up in Johannesburg, and Felicity left Cape Town like a ship slipping her moorings in the night. She left me a short but emotional voicemail to say goodbye, telling me to take care of myself, and that she'd see me around... sometime.

And I spent many hours of that evening perched on a rock, high up on the flanks of the mountain, staring woefully out at the city as the darkness drew in and the lights came on, feeling lost and strangely alone.

The next time I saw Kate, she looked at me like I'd grown a third arm, and wouldn't answer any question that even touched on Felicity and her wellbeing.

"Why don't you ask her?" she'd said, acidly, before turning her back on me.

And I'd stared after her, no wiser.

.:.

Months passed in their usual way, and I focussed my energy on work to distract myself from her absence. Somewhere along the line I fell in with some sailors from the Royal Cape Yacht club.

I discovered that sailing (and post-sailing socialising) kept me amused, suntanned, fit and, strangely enough, completely out of trouble of any sort. I was surrounded by bluff, honest men and women who had nothing to prove to anyone but themselves, and their influence weathered a lot of the rougher, more childish parts of me away. I no longer chased other people's leavings in the hope of filling the gaps in me.

I could look at myself in the mirror now without even an echo of self-consciousness. I knew who and what I was, and I needed nobody's validation. I'd made peace with the gaps in my life. Time would smooth the edges of them away as it had with me.

But I wasn't happy. I was not content.

I missed Felicity like the sun on my face.

I finally worked up the courage to phone her, and caught her in a restaurant with her new social circle; she was offish (and waspish and many other -ishes), but pleased to hear from me nonetheless, especially when I grovelled for not calling her sooner. She told me she'd think about forgiving me for being such a shit friend, and I smiled as I heard the familiar bubbling laughter in her voice. She stole a precious five minutes of her evening to give me a quick summary of what she was up to and to get the same from me.

"Call me sometime," she said softly, before she said goodbye.

And I promised myself I would be a man and do so.

But as the days dragged out into weeks, somehow that sometime never came.

.:.

It was a midwinter Saturday morning; cold and wet as only the Cape could be, with a brutal storm pummelling the coast and cascades of brown muddy water streaming down off Table Mountain.

I was sitting in my local coffee shop, nursing a morning flat white and my Kindle, surrounding myself with the soft sound of humanity as opposed to the echoing solitude of my cold and empty flat. My friends had all found girlfriends or boyfriends; I was the odd one out, the last man standing, and it was a lonely place if I left myself time to think about it.

I'd just settled in for the duration when my phone lit up; I glanced at it, then scrabbled for it, raising it to my ear.

"Flick?"

"Hey, James. I thought I'd phone you since you're so hard to track down and so shit at phoning me."

"I'm sorry. I'm a truly awful friend."

"Yeah, you are," she said softly. "But I'll forgive you one more time. Where are you?"

"Um. Cape Town?"

"No shit. Really? Where in Cape Town, you twit."

"At a small coffeeshop in Vredehoek. Why?"

"Feel like going ice skating with me at Grand West? At the indoor rink?"

"Wait... you're here? For reals?"

"Yep. Drove down yesterday because I was not going to risk a flight in this weather. It was mum's sixty-fifth so I wanted to see her. But they're all off visiting friends today and I'm at a loose end... and I've missed you, you soulless bastard. So... I'm heading out there now. I'll wait at the entrance, and if you're not there by... fuck, what's the time... eleven thirty, I'm going to stop speaking to you for good."

"I'm leaving now. See you there," I said, as I scrambled to my feet.

"Don't be late," she said, with a laugh. "See you just now."

I downed my coffee, cursing as it scalded my throat. Then I grabbed my jacket, struggled into it, and made for the car park.

I had lots of time to practice my apology as I drove the half an hour northwards.

.:.

She was standing off to one side of the skating rink's entrance, wearing a tight, form-hugging grey wool dress and a bright yellow scarf, somehow glamorous and exotic despite the grubby blue sneakers.

She smiled like sunrise as she caught sight of me, and came skipping over like she always had before. I laughed, caught her in my arms, and swung her up into the crushing bear hug I'd always given her when we'd been apart.

She clung to me, and wouldn't let go at first, but eventually she stepped back and smiled up at me with those blue eyes that had always made it difficult for me to form complete sentences.

"I'm sorry," I said, first to speak and desperate to get my apology in. "I'm sorry for being so terrible, for being so wrapped up in my own life that I never picked up the phone and reached out to you."

She grinned. "You're an absolutely tremendous dick, James. By all rights I should give you a spanking."

"Promises, promises," I said, in my old playful way, and she laughed at me.

"Come on," she said, "the session is about to start."

"You do remember how bad I am at this, right?"

She grinned. "It's hard to forget. Don't worry, I'll catch you if you fall."

"My hero," I said, sarcastically.

We swapped our shoes for skates, and I followed her nervously out onto the ice, struggling as always to find my balance, flailing about like a three-legged giraffe while she simply undulated out over the surface as comfortably as a river flowing downhill to the sea.

She left me far behind as she swept out on her first circuit, weaving gracefully in and out of the slower-moving clods like me. She turned as she passed me, gliding away backwards, grinning and waving as she left me in her wake again. I watched her lean into the corner, enjoying with a pang of bittersweetness the freedom and grace that she carried along with her.

Then, as always, I stumbled and nearly fell, and lost sight of her as I worked on getting moving again.

She completed her circuit, slowed beside me, and smiled at me as she took my hand so that she could tow me with her.

"I'd forgotten how good you were," I told her.

"I'm better than I used to be. There's a rink near where I live, and I spend a lot of time there. It's a good place to unwind, to think. To... well. You know."

"You're amazing to watch."

"Uh huh," she said, lips curling into a smile. "Do you say that to all the young women you go skating with?"

"Um..."

She laughed the light, easy laugh that I remembered so well. "You're so much fun to tease," she told me. "Always a reaction. I miss that."

"I miss you," I said. "I'm sorry I've been so rubbish."

"I forgive you," she said. She spun again, eased slightly in front of me, and took up an easy, languid glide. "Copy me. Move your legs like this. Bend your knees a bit. A bit more. Straighten your chest. Now... do what I do. Yes. Like that."

And for the next fifty minutes I ignored my screaming leg muscles, my nerves, and the people who whizzed past us on either side. I had eyes and ears only for her.

.:.

"Can I buy you lunch?" I asked her. "If I can limp somewhere to eat, that is. Fuck me, I'm hurting."

She laughed. "It uses different muscles, doesn't it?"

"You're telling me. I'm going to be broken by tomorrow."

"Hot shower and some stretches," she said. "That will sort you out. What do you feel like eating?"

"I was going to ask you that."

"I'm easy. Salad perhaps, or something small. I can't stay too long because I do need to get back to my mum's at some point."

"How about a coffee and some cake then?"

"That sounds nice."

We found a small cafe off one of the main thoroughfares, and I pulled out her chair for her, grinning at the amused eyebrow she raised at me. We ordered coffee, and a couple of slices of the various cakes to share between us. She busied herself with the carrot cake, and I sat, watching her for a moment.

"What?" she laughed, when she realised that I was staring.

"You just look... well."

"I am."

"Flick... I really am sorry I was so useless at calling you."

"Mm. You made me very sad, but I got over it," she said, eyes twinkling.

"Well... Kate seemed to have the knives out for me over something."

"Oh. Yeah. That... might have been my fault. Sorry."

"What was it?"

"Unimportant," she said softly. "Water long under the bridge. So. What are you doing these days?"

"Same old, same old. Apart from taking up keelboat sailing, I doubt I've changed much."

"Oh, nice. That sounds like a fun hobby. Meet any nice girls?"

"All married to the nice guys I crew with," I said, grinning.

"And your... dating?"

"I'm not."

"Oh?" she said, intrigued. "You were quite into that when I left."

"I found other more profitable things to do with my time. Chasing disinterested women turned out to be a fool's game."

"Oh, you're preaching to the choir."

"And you? Anyone in your life?"

"What life?" she said, softly. "I work fourteen hour days most of the time, and catch up on sleep over the weekends."

"What?! That's hectic!"

"City life," she said, with a wry grin. "I'm not sure it was worth the trade. My career's going brilliantly... but I miss being down here."