I was intrigued going into her flat for the first time, wondering what her tastes were: was she tidy, what colours did she like, were there pictures, what furniture? The short hall is pale cream with a varnished wood floor that continued throughout the flat. I could identify each room of course as her flat has exactly the same layout as this one. Her bedroom door was ajar: the surprisingly feminine pale lilac of the walls was echoed in the slightly darker duvet cover that I could see covering the corner of the bed that was just visible.
She led me into the tidy and clean main room --the estate agents' descriptions called it a 'lounge-diner' -- which, perhaps unsurprisingly, wouldn't have looked the least bit out of place in the Ikea catalogue and that thought made me smile. Mattie noticed and smiled back, evidently reading my thoughts. "It's not all from Ikea!" she protests. "There's stuff from Habitat too." I assured her it was lovely, which it is. My eye was drawn to a single large poster on the long wall opposite the window: it was a collage of dozens and dozens of movie posters, each about the size of a playing card. There were many I recognised but many more I didn't and it was an eclectic mix covering an impressive range in terms of dates and genres. "My hundred favourite films, as of a couple of years ago," she told me as she saw what I was looking at.
"It's brilliant," I replied, "it's the sort of think you could spend ages studying. So what's your favourite film?"
"Oh, that question's too difficult; I found it hard to get it down to just my favourite hundred," she laughed.
I looked around the room and suggested that for the massage she sat backwards on one of her dining chairs. I put towels on the wooden back of the chair to support and cushion her head whilst she got ready.
She was disturbingly happy to get undressed. I did wonder if she was being deliberately flirtatious but I stayed professional, reminding myself to treat her as any other client. When she did strip I have to confess that I struggled not to stare. I've seen my fair share of women undressed, in changing rooms and as a physiotherapist but there is something about Mattie physically that I find... not actually attractive, obviously but... intriguing? Captivating? Her boobs looked good, I mean they suited her. Why did I write that?
I added lavender to the massage oil on the basis it would help her physically and emotionally and then I massaged her. Perhaps it was the affection I feel for Mattie, for what she's done for me, for the bad things she too has gone through but I really loved massaging her. Why am I being so bashful in my private diary? I should be able to admit how much I enjoyed massaging Mattie, how much I liked the feel of her skin under my hands: as soft as any woman's but with a muscular firmness beneath that reminds me of sportswomen. I watched my dark fingers glide across her pale skin and the dark ink of her Celtic tattoo. I couldn't help prolonging the massage, not that Mattie minded, not one bit. It was no surprise that she said her muscles were mush after almost forty minutes of being worked on -- but mush in a good way!
She invited me to stay and eat, and of course I accepted. Mattie makes very nice Spaghetti Carbonara and we chatted and drank. I think she gets lonely too in the evenings. The view from her window is even better than mine as she is well above the trees and bushes. I pointed to the hills on the horizon, the North Downs, and told her that was where I grew up. As we sat and ate and talked the sky darkened and lights came on outside, until we were looking out across a glittering sea of lights: the motionless glowing of offices, houses and street lights and the moving twinkles of vehicles. It was magical; the view and the meal and Mattie.
While we talked what I wanted to ask her was what it's like being a lesbian, what does she think and feel when she looks at a woman? And how did she know she was gay and not, say, bisexual? I'm not sure why I want to know all this -- no, I do know why: it's because it's been sort of playing on my mind, like when I looked at her topless. I didn't ask her, of course: I wouldn't want her to feel I was prying and, well, I don't want her to think I fancy her or anything.
Tuesday 29 April
I found a book sitting outside my door when I left for work this morning with a slip of paper tucked into it:
"Sorry, I meant to give this to you yesterday evening. I hope you enjoy it. Love, Mattie x"
P.S. It's amazing: my shoulders feel wonderful! Thank you.
Mattie had obviously left it on her way out to work so I took it with me and began reading it at lunchtime. It's called 'Afterworlds' and it's an interesting premise: a story and the story of the writing of that story.
Bum note: I've been asked to work Saturday as Clive's got some domestic crisis he needs to deal with at the weekend.
Wednesday 30 April
I got home in good time for the Ikea delivery this afternoon and boy was I glad that Mattie and I hadn't been able to bring the things home ourselves: the bedframe and bookcase were big and heavy enough but getting the mattress up the stairs would have been impossible!
As the afternoon wore on I was increasingly excited waiting for her to arrive. Part of it was that I still don't like being on my own in the evenings and she's good company, part was getting the furniture assembled (though I assumed she was going to expect me to do most of it once again) and part of it was I wanted to have a word with her about the book she lent me, the sneaky, mischievous woman.
It was nearly seven o'clock when she knocked on my door and I have to confess I was like a child before her birthday party: my tummy was full of nervous butterflies. It was ridiculous and not a little disconcerting at my age. I suppose it's a sign that I need to get out, as Mattie is doing, and try to find a new relationship.
When I opened the door to Mattie's knock the first thing I saw was not Mattie but my two odious neighbours entering their flat opposite. They are a middle-aged white couple (he's balding and overweight, she's small and bird-like) and were apparently just returning from a shopping trip, carrier bags in hand and on the floor as they opened their front door. They gave me their customary filthy glares before turning away and entering their home. However, even their habitual racism couldn't dampen my mood when I saw Mattie.
I welcomed her in trying not to grin like a maniac. To my surprise Mattie immediately apologised, "I'm sorry Veena, I think I may have put you in your neighbours' bad books by visiting you; what a pair of miserable, homophobic gits they are."
"It's not you Mattie, it me: they object to the colour of my skin. It's ridiculous I'm as British as they are. Dad's family are British going back generations and, okay, Mum came to this country with her parents from India but she was only thirteen at the time!"
"Ah, so they're homophobes and racists. I've heard them call me 'deviant' and 'pervert' as they've walked by me in the past. It's a pity I'm not black: their moral outrage might be enough to choke them to death."
"Or if I were lesbian," I added laughing, wanting to show solidarity with her. Mattie gave me a searching look and then smiled. "Can I get you a drink? Tea, coffee, beer?" I asked.
After a brief hesitation, she opted for tea saying that the beer could wait until we're finished building. "I don't want you drunk when in charge of an Allen key!" she teased. With tea in hand she asked what item I want to start with and I told her the bed because I really didn't want another night on the blow-up mattress.
It ended up a team effort, not because the bed was complicated but due to its sheer size; holding a six foot long side rail steady so it could be screwed to the six-foot wide bed head was challenging and would have been impossible on my own. Mattie's refusal of the beer was probably wise. An hour or so later Mattie and I lifted the mattress into place on the bed. I flopped onto the bed from one side and Mattie did the same from the other. Our arms and shoulders bumped together as we met in the middle and we looked at each other. I smiled at her, grateful for her help and that I have her as a friend. "I want to talk to you about what you did the other day," I told her and a look of concern, almost guilt, crossed her face and she moved to stand up, apologising. "Mattie, come back," I told her and she looked confused. "I want to talk to you about lending me 'Afterworlds'" I explained and she looked a little relieved and then grinned.
"Chapter Fifteen?" she suggested.
"I can't remember the exact chapter number but, yes, the meeting on the roof: you deliberately gave me a book with a lesbian love interest!" she drops back onto the bed, lying on her side to face me.
"Are you upset with me?" she asked.
"Of course not; actually I really liked the surprise and..." I hesitated. What I wanted to say was that I found the idea of the women starting their relationship, discovering each other, sharing their lives intriguing and enthralling but I didn't feel I could say that to Mattie, that she might think I was trying to suggest something. Instead I said "...and I'm really enjoying it. I didn't expect gay love in a young adult book but you're right: there should be gay heroes and heroines. How do you like the book I gave you?"
"I've only read the first few chapters but it's very good so far: kinda sweet and creepy at the same time. I can't work out what Melanie's secret is, not yet. I know what the name Pandora means now though!"
"I won't say anything that will spoil the story for you, but I thought it was very good," I tell her. It occurred to me that I was lying next to her in bed again but I didn't feel uncomfortable; on the contrary, I felt happy being there with her. "Are there other books with, um, lesbian characters?" I asked hesitating half way through asking.
"I've found one other," she answers. "I don't know of any with gay male characters but, to be honest, I haven't been looking." I nod.
"I just wondered," I said, trying to suggest idle curiosity and no more. "Right, shall we move on to building the bookcase and then how about pizza, my treat as a thank you?" I suggested.
"Sounds like a great plan," she replied and we set to work. The bookcase didn't take long at all but Mattie insisted on me at least trying to use the hammer (one that she had to pop up to her flat to get since I don't have any tools at all) to nail the back onto the bookcase. I was terrified of hammering my fingers and tapped the nail too lightly to actually drive it into the wood. I could see she was getting a little exasperated with me and I thought she'd step in and take over. Instead, she came up behind me and reached forward to take both my hands in hers. "Just relax and let me move your hands, don't fight me."
There was something very nice, very comforting I suppose, about the sensation of Mattie's toned body wrapped around me. However, my mouth had gone dry and I was aware of enjoying, far more than I should, the feeling of what she was doing and so the last thing I was going to do was to fight her! Her idea worked though: Mattie moved my hand to swing the hammer to strike the nail cleanly and, though I flinched, the point of the nail penetrated the wood. Before I could react she swung the hammer again and again so the nail was almost all the way in. "Okay, now you finish it," she ordered me, releasing my hands. I did, though the first swing missed the nail; two more swings and the nail was fully home.
She did the same for the next half dozen or so nails and then, as my confidence and skill increased, she helped me with the first hit to get the nail started and then let me do it all. We lifted the finished bookcase into position and she drilled the wall and fixed the bookcase in place, probably figuring that I'd learned enough craft skills for one day. Of course it may have been terror at the damage I might do with an electric drill in my incompetent hands!
We shared a pizza that I ordered for delivery and it was very nice just being with her chatting. For future reference: Mattie says she's happy with any pizza toppings apart from tuna, mushrooms or chillies.
Thursday 1 May
I had a night in last night, reading and surfing the Internet but still on my own and less fun than last night. The film version of Divergent is on at the cinema at the moment. I liked the book series a lot but I cannot remember if Mattie said she'd read it. I wonder if she'd come to see it with me over the weekend?
Chapter 4: Trying for a new start
Mattie
Over the last few weeks I've avoided going out with Kayleigh and Emma. I hated seeing Lisa and I hated even more what I did to Charlotte. That's not to say I've not been out at all; I've been to the cinema with Veena, out to the pub a few times (twice with Veena and three Fridays after work with workmates) and one to a restaurant with Veena when I was emailed a discount voucher. Of course, Veena and I don't just go out but meet up quite often in the evenings after work too.
As you can tell, Veena and I have become good friends, often cooking for each other of an evening. We both agree it's nice not to be alone every evening so after eating we talk, perhaps about the books we share or watch TV or a DVD (since Veena seems to want to work her way through the one hundred films on my poster). I've been tempted to feign injury and try to scrounge another of her incredible massages. I've not done so, partly because I don't want to take advantage of her good nature and partly because she'd probably be able to tell I was faking as soon as she touched me -- my muscles would give me away!
We've kept up our book exchange, of course. It's been good, both in trying new books and not having to pay for them and we seem to share tastes. I've not given her the other book with a lesbian protagonist -- yet! I have plans, though... Yesterday evening, Friday, I decided to pop into Veena's as I came in from work to return her book 'We Were Liars'; I really liked the book but guessed the ending, although Veena seemed to doubt this when I told her. I met her friend Katie as I left and I don't like her much as I suspect she's homophobic from the comment I overheard. It was so sweet hearing Veena's angry reply; if I didn't already know then it would have told me just how much she cares for me as a friend.
I still love Kayleigh and Emma, of course. However, going out with them would be easier and more relaxing for me if they'd just go to the pub or even a film but it seems that, for the two of them, a night out must include dancing. Nonetheless, they are very persistent so, eventually and having made them promise that there'll be no matchmaking, I agree to accompany them this Saturday evening to The Full Moon, that's always been our usual club. It's not exactly a nightclub but really a pub with a bar and a dance floor and pseudo-nightclub upstairs. Neither is it an exclusively gay venue, though a large percentage of the clientele are gay, making it a comfortable place to be.
The evening starts easily with drinks downstairs but Kay and Em are desperate to head upstairs. It's not the dancing that I object to, though I'm not as keen on it as they are, it's that I mistrust them, despite their promise. "You two could go up and dance and leave me down here you know," I point out.
"Oh no, you can't sit here drinking alone," protests Emma.
"Em, if you two are off dancing then I'd be sat on my own upstairs," I point out but they don't want to leave me. "Okay, let me have one more drink down here and then I'll come up and find you and I might even dance," I tell them. It takes another few minutes of persuading but eventually they head off, though Emma keeps looking back guiltily as they head up the stairs. I order another beer and an Irish whiskey; I've said I'd dance so I'll need this. Kay and Em seem to have forgotten that Lisa loved dancing, forever dragging me out onto the dance floor or pleading to stay on for just one more song. They also seem to have forgotten what happened after I danced with Charlotte.
"Hey, cool, another Jameson's drinker!" I turn at the sound of the woman's voice close by and see her looking at me. She is older than I, maybe in her early thirties, and going by her eyebrows the mass of red-orange curls are her natural colour. This, with her pale skin and green-blue eyes suggest a Celtic heritage.
"I'm sorry?"
"You drink Jameson's whiskey: it's one of my favourite tipples," she explains, smiling. "I'm Roz; are you here on your own?"
"Er, no... my friends are upstairs; they wanted to dance."
"But you didn't, er..." she pauses and I sit there until I realize she's waiting for me to tell her my name.
"Oh, my name's Mattie. And no, I don't want to dance, not at the moment."
"Good, that means we can talk." Roz leans on the bar to signal one of the bar staff and orders, of course, an Irish whiskey. "So, what brings a girl like you here this evening?" she asks after taping her glass against mine in a sort of unspoken toast. She runs her tongue nervously across her lips.
"My friends, mainly," I answer neutrally.
"Hmm, and yet they have abandoned you," she observes.
"Well, they both wanted to dance together but I wanted another drink," I explain, feeling the need to defend them against the implication that they didn't care about me.
"Ah, so they're a couple and you're playing gooseberry," Roz says in the same knowing tone that's beginning to annoy me.
"Look, you know nothing about me or my friends, so what's your point?" I look at her, "Are you trying to hit on me?" To my surprise a look of panic crosses her face.
"I'm sorry," she replies hastily and begins to stand, her face red, "I shouldn't have done this..." She is on her feet and starts to turn away, sadness in her face and her shoulders slumped dejectedly.
I don't understand what just happened or exactly what's going on here. However, that doesn't stop the surge of guilt I feel as it seems that, somehow, I've done something wrong. After what I did to Charlotte, I really don't want to distress or hurt any more women. "What's the matter? Roz? I didn't mean to upset you."
"Sorry, Mattie, I thought you were, you know... gay." She ducks her head nervously, as if fearing I'd be angry, and then it strikes me: the superficial veneer of confidence over her underlying awkwardness and uncertainty. As she starts to turn and leave I put my hand on her arm and she looks back at me.
"Roz, would I be right thinking you've not tried to chat up a woman before?" She bites her lip and nods. "Please, sit down; I didn't come here looking to meet anyone but we can at least finish our drink together." She hesitates and then sits.
"Thanks. Sorry, I didn't mean to insult your friends or you."
"No, I realize that. You were just a bit, I don't know... Like you were talking as if you knew it all but without really understanding, sort of... Anyway, I'm actually quite impressed: I'd never have had the guts to come somewhere like here on my own and try to chat up a woman I didn't know."
"I didn't do a very good job, did I?" she replies but I can see she enjoyed the compliment.
"I've heard worse approaches, though, uh, usually from guys. So: you picked me because I'm on my own and because I'm dressed like this, I assume."
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