Walking with Sam

"That's... great. It's good to have a goal. And to be working towards it. And definitely don't be a marrying-a-man type. At least, not yet. That was my downfall."

She blew on the tea, took a sip, made a face but was clearly far too polite to complain.

"Tell me how you like it and I'll bring you your own thermos next time," I said, smiling gently to show I didn't mean anything by it.

"Oh! Oh, sorry, I didn't..."

She flushed, shook her head. "It's really nice. Thank you. It's just... not how I usually drink it. Or what I usually drink."

"Oh, you're a coffee lover?"

"One of my many sins, alas."

I snorted.

"You don't strike me as the sinful type," I said. "That's very much my line of work. You're very much more the good conscience side of things, I reckon. The halo-and-harp are nice, I hear."

Her lips curled up slightly but she didn't answer. She sipped her tea and glanced at me once, then away again.

"So what do you do when your daughter is at school and your husband's at work?"

She stared out into the distance.

"Laundry. Cleaning. Reading if I've got the energy. Visiting the horse. Some gym. Walks. I... find ways to fill the time. But I prefer this - being outside. Away from... other people."

"So you're not working?"

"Not for years now, no," she replied. "As I said... I was young. Too young. I changed courses after Beth was born and I finished a degree... but I never really went back. I tried, of course, but..."

She shrugged.

"Children are hard," I said. "I've seen the struggle. It... sometimes I'm not sure it's worth it, when I see how my mates have to scrape and scamper to make things work for them."

"You're young. You should enjoy being young. Plenty of time to change your mind later."

"You're still young," I said. I grinned at her. "You don't look like the mum to a twelve-year-old. If it weren't for you telling me I'd never have guessed."

"That's... kind of you."

"It's true though. Go on, then. How old are you, Sam?"

"Thirty one," she said softly, after a brief hesitation.

"See? Still young. I'm twenty six," I said, to keep things even.

"You look... younger. "

"I know. It's my superpower - I look like I just took off my training wheels. The hair helps."

"It's certainly... striking."

"That's charitable," I laughed. "I used to be blonde and boring, so one day I just decided to go as loud as possible. This was the easiest colour to reach on the shelf."

"It takes a lot of self-confidence to be that bold," she said. She risked another small smile for me. "It... it really flatters your eyes and your cheeks. I... envy you."

"Thanks," I said, happily. "Truthfully, though, I stopped caring what most other people think about me a long time ago. I had to. Can't be who I am if I'm constantly scared of upsetting anyone - lots of people love to be upset about everything. So, Sam, I have thirty minutes, give or take," I said. "Until I have to put some legs on it and get to work. How do you feel about... walking?"

"Walking would be nice," she said softly. "It's... been a while since I had anybody to do it with."

"Well, now you've got someone again."

She looked up at me, then flushed as she realised I meant it.

"Thank you," she breathed. "You're such a sweet woman."

"Nah, that's just the facade," I smirked. "I'm a holy terror when I'm shmangled."

And she laughed too, brief and muted but there nonetheless. Then she stood, and offered me her long, lovely, slender hand to pull me to my feet.

But what was very strange was, how after I'd packed and shouldered my bag once more, she took my hand again.

And tangled her fingers with mine.

And didn't seem at all inclined to... let go.

I have no real memories of that first walk with her. Just brief impressions - the way she'd watch me while I was talking; the occasional smiles that broke through like sunlight through sea mist.

I couldn't quite make peace with how good her hand felt in mine.

I remember feeling like Queen of the World; walking along with her by my side; our gaits nearly perfectly matched and her only the slightest bit taller than me.

I didn't fix her sadness, obviously. I couldn't.

But I like to think I gave her a moment of peace in between the pain.

And so we slowly looped around a segment of paths, and as my time drew to an end I walked with her back to her car.

And once again she hugged me, and I marvelled at her scent and the way I could feel all of her against me.

"Take care, you," I mumbled, as I let her go at last.

"See you soon, I hope," she said as she stared back at me.

"I'll be here. I'm always here."

"Okay," she said. She gave me one last brief glance, then turned and climbed into her Range Rover.

And I thoroughly enjoyed the moment I got to spend watching her sublime bum.

I stood waving until she'd driven away.

.:.

Mornings became our time.

She began to come to the park more often - I'd now find her three or four times a week.

She'd see me, and immediately stand up from our chosen rendezvous bench so she could walk to me. She'd step in close and hug me - brief but so, so welcome - and then take my hand.

And I'd get to spend three quarters of an hour in heaven.

Occasional crises at home would intervene and call her away and abridge our time together, but mostly I had her to myself.

Soon enough we'd exchanged numbers, and we began a slow friendship-by-intervals.

Or at least she did.

I, on the other hand, developed the most savage crush on her.

I worked really hard to suppress any sign of it while I was around her, but late at night in my single bed in my small and stuffy room, I'd lie there - hot and bothered, thinking about little but her.

As time papered over the loss of Flora she slowly blossomed into a more expressive creature.

And she seemed to love my hugs - something I was very happy about, because she always managed to leave me ever so slightly breathless when she finally let me go.

And she'd be flushing a pretty shade of pink, and smiling.

(There was nothing quite so perfect as being hugged by someone who was exactly the right height to tuck their face in against me, cheek to my cheek, with the ever-so-enticing pressure of boob and tummy and firm thighs pushing so wonderfully against mine)

But every single night I had to remind myself that she was normal and I was so far from baseline they'd probably had to invent entirely new categories for me.

It didn't help, though.

I was infatuated.

I bought a second thermos, and gently coaxed her favourite manner of coffee making out of her. I found the necessaries (a second hand French press from a charity shop was the largest) and I began to arrive prepared.

And she would too - a small purple backpack made an appearance; always slung over her left shoulder and always filled with various treasures for me.

She'd sit and watch me eat them, with a tiny, wistful smile on her face. But she'd never tell me what she was thinking, no, not Sam. She'd just watch, inscrutable as the Madonna, and deftly change the subject.

But then she hit a rough patch at home.

Beth wasn't coping at school - some sort of focus problem that Sam wouldn't expand on had become more apparent or urgent. Sam was terrified that Beth would have to move schools again with all the attendant drama - I watched, growing more and more concerned as she lost what little weight she had to spare from the stress. She never said much about Mr Sam to me; he seemed to be this distant unavailable nebulous entity who was always at work or travelling for business or at this or that executives retreat.

So Sam was effectively a single mum, and there were days when I would look into her dark-ringed, haunted eyes and fear for her.

Little hints in her behaviour made me realise how loveless her life was beyond her difficult but obviously close relationship with her daughter. She had few friends - or at least few she'd talk to me about. She rode her horse when she was in the mood, which wasn't often, and would mention in passing books she'd completed that she'd liked. But she never mentioned parties, or social events, or going out - even when I began to do so to see if I could draw her out a bit.

Instead she'd just tell me little bits from her childhood or the minutiae of her day or her favourite memories of Flora.

And I'd sit there and listen to her and try not to watch her too much, because I was scared that my fervour for her would show in my eyes.

So I'd laugh and tease her and enjoy the small little gentle taunts she began to throw back at me once she was certain that I wasn't simply another flake who'd drift into her life for an hour, or a day, or a season... and then leave.

When we were together she'd seldom let go of my hand.

Sometimes she'd go quiet for a minute or two and just watch me.

It was cute - in a weirdly pleasing but still unsettling way.

The mornings grew lighter, the park more populous; Daffodils burst forth as Spring unfurled her glory.

Sam was clearly exhausted, though; dark shadows clung to her. She wouldn't tell me much, just that her and Mr Sam were fighting more than normal.

And that she was sleeping in another room and finding it hard to adjust to being alone.

I hugged her extra-hard one Friday morning at our parting, with one arm low around her waist and the other clasped across her shoulders as if we were slow dancing. And she let out a quiet little "No, don't," and clung tenaciously to me when I first made to let go.

For a few mad seconds I thought of calling in sick and just staying with her.

But money was tight, and I needed the work.

So I pressed my lips to her cheek and held her tight and almost, almost suppressed the desperate little sound of longing that I let out.

She locked her arms around me and buried her face in my hair and almost seemed to hold her breath for a heartbeat or two.

And I wished to heaven that I didn't need to say goodbye.

.:.

My phone started to ring at about quarter to six.

I snorted, jerking up from the couch I was sharing with Marius - the elegant and artistic half of the gay couple that I'd somehow become the unlikely third wheel for. I'd been dozing; it was Saturday night and I'd earned my nap.

"Willa Jane, your phone's ringing," Marius said helpfully from his nest.

"Thanks, Captain Obvious," I yawned. I stretched, glanced down at my lock screen and saw her portrait smiling up at me.

I snatched up the handset and scuttled off to the kitchen.

"Hey Sam," I said, a little bit breathless. I perched up on the counter as I usually did.

"Hey Willa," she said. "Sorry for intruding like this..."

"Of course you're not intruding! But Sam... not that it's not lovely to get a call from you... but... is everything okay?"

"Oh. Oh, that's right, we usually just text don't we? Sorry. Getting forgetful in my old age."

I laughed. "What's up?"

"I'm... kind of at a loose end tonight and I... well, I wondered if you wanted to maybe grab a bite to eat. With me. I mean... obviously with me...God I'm a twit sometimes..."

I blinked.

"Um..."

"My treat," she added quickly. "In case that tips the scales any..."

"I am nowhere even remotely dressed and there are unanswered questions about whether I'm mentally ring-fenced enough to go out without causing an Incident..."

"Oh. How sad. Not even if we restrict ourselves to one of my locals?"

"You mean... a pub?"

"Yes. There's... well, there's a nice one that I like a lot and that generally isn't too busy. It's nice and small and cosy and... and private. I go there often. By myself, I mean. God, that sounds pathetic as I say it. Um... it would be nice to do something different. We could have something to drink? Maybe... talk a bit. I mean... if you're up for it... I know it's late notice..."

"I am so totally up for it. What time and where do I need to be?" I said, frantically wondering how the hell I'd manage to scrounge a lift this late in the evening...

"Oh, no, don't be silly. I'll come and pick you up."

"What?"

"I'll drive to wherever you are. I mean, we're both pretty local, right? It's not like you live on the moon, right? Er... you don't live on the moon, do you?"

I laughed loudly.

"No such luck I'm afraid. I'm in Ginger's Close down Cranleigh way."

"Ginger's Close, is it," she said. "Of course you'd be, just to taunt me with that epithet. Ginger's Close. God. I'll bet that a man named that road. Right. Well, I'm... about three miles away if my car's not lying to me. What number in the Close?"

"We're number seven."

"I'll be about fifteen minutes or so I think. I've just got to put some fuel in first, Bertha's running on fumes."

"So long as you're okay with me basically coming as I am, because fifteen minutes is in no way long enough for me to make myself pretty."

"You don't need to do anything special for me, Willa. You're gorgeous and perfect just as you are."

My brain skipped a track or two.

"So I'll see you outside at about... ten past or so?"

"Can't wait," I said on autopilot.

"See you now, Willa. "

"Likewise," I said, still freewheeling.

She broke the connection and I stared down at my phone.

Then I let out a strangled little high-pitched scream and scampered to my room and frantically began to dig out and assemble the nicest outfit I could manage at such short notice.

Tartan featured heavily in the form of a mainly-red knee-length wraparound skirt, and I opted for my slim-cut black blazer and a white blouse to go with them.

I stripped like a maniac, struggled into clean and presentable lace knickers and bra, and finished dressing at a similarly breakneck pace.

I dug in a corner for my nicer black kitten heels, and then took stock.

I looked okay. A bit too much lost Scottish public schoolgirl but it would do in a pinch; I wouldn't shame her.

A quick bit of subtle lipstick and there, almost normal if you ignored my garish fairground-attraction hair.

I quickly ran my comb through my rats-nest, and dug out my nice silver and walnut hairpins to contain everything into a sensible bun that left my ears and neck open.

I grabbed my phone and slipped it into my jacket's inner pocket.

Then I closed the door of my room.

Marius whistled.

"Now that's a solid makeover. You look bloody nice, Willa," he said from where he'd claimed all the couch. "Got a date you didn't tell Pete and me about, you tart?"

"Hah, no, if only. Meeting a friend for dinner."

"A he friend or a she friend?"

"A she friend," I said, "but straight as a rail, alas. I sure know how to pick 'em."

"What a shame. Well, have fun, toots!"

"Enjoy the movie. Give Pete a kiss from me too when he gets back, will you?"

"I'll be sure to slip him a bit of extra tongue on your behalf," he said, grinning.

"Ooh, kinky. I approve. Enjoy!"

He laughed and waved.

.:.

Here pinged my phone.

I swallowed and stepped out into the evening, closing and locking our front door behind me.

She'd parked almost directly in front of the house; the Range Rover's engine was clattering away merrily as she waited for me.

I walked slowly down the steps, feeling not at all in control of myself as I opened the door and peered in.

She smiled at me from the enfolding leather of the driver's seat.

"Gosh, Willa, you look nice," she breathed. "I feel underdressed now. Get in, it's nippy."

I climbed in and settled tentatively down into the luxurious leather, pulling the door closed behind me. I fumbled with the seat belt and sighed as it clicked into place.

"So," she said.

"So," I echoed her, nerves jangling.

"Are you all set?"

"Yeah."

She eased us out into the road and off we went.

"I really do love your outfit, by the way," she said. "If that's what you can do in fifteen minutes God help us if you have time to prepare."

"Thanks. You... you look really nice too," I added, as I tried not to drool over the pale blue denim jeans she'd selected, the tight white tee shirt with its little pink sequin heart and the way she'd decided to let her magical hair fall loose down over her shoulders.

It made her look even younger. Younger than me, almost.

I felt a strange little fizz in my tummy at that thought.

"Thanks," she said, smiling. "It's nice to... to dress how I feel, sometimes."

"How you feel looks great. Really great. God, those are nice jeans..."

And then I flushed and looked away.

"Where are we going?" I asked, to try to hide the blush.. "Or should I rather say, where are you taking me?"

"The Fox."

"Which Fox?" I demanded.

"The Fox."

"So that's how it's going to be, is it?"

She grinned, and I suddenly felt better. Whatever awkwardness had been brewing had now passed, we were back to our usual selves.

"So how are you at a loose end?" I said. "And why am I the lucky victim?"

"Because of all my friends, you're the only one I'd actually want to spend tonight with."

"Oh. Okay."

"Willa... are you blushing?"

"Yes," I admitted, sourly.

She was delighted by the discovery.

"That's delicious."

The way she said the word was also delicious.

I swallowed.

Hard.

Christ, was I ever besotted with her.

I hunted around for a safer topic...

"So... why are you at a loose end then? You didn't answer the first bit of that question."

"Mark's at another company retreat. In St Andrews this time," she said, matter-of-fact. "I'm never invited along to those; it stopped hurting long ago."

"St Andrews... in Scotland?"

"Yes."

"Wow. Talk about a long way away. And... Beth?"

"School trip to Dover and surrounds. So the house is... echoing. I needed company. I needed some you and me time."

"I am totally and utterly okay with being your designated me-time provider."

She smiled at me.

"I knew you would be. Right. Willa, don't freak out, this bit of the road's a bit... wonky... "

"Oh... oh fuck!"

"... but don't worry, I know it well and the car's more than capable..."

"Jesus Christ..." I screamed as we traversed a section of winter-wrecked road at speed.

I cowered back into the seat, panting, then started to laugh hysterically.

"You cow. You did that just to make me scream, didn't you?" I accused her, still laughing.

She shot me a wicked grin.

"Guilty as charged. It looks worse than it is."

"Next time warn me. You're lucky I had a wee before I came outside."

She cackled.

"Sorry... yeah, that section's been there for a few months now. Sorry. Should have given you more warning; I like hitting it at that speed. It makes me grin. So, Willa..."

"Uh huh..."

"I feel kind of guilty because I didn't even ask if you had other plans tonight. So I'm sorry if..."

"No!" I exclaimed. I reached out, grasped her leg, desperate that she not doubt my pleasure that I was there with her. "I didn't. I was just going to be... decomposing on the couch. This. This is awesome. I love getting to spend time with you. No matter when or what or where."

She hesitantly reached down with her left hand and clasped mine for a moment.

Her thigh was lovely and warm and firm under my fingers...

"Okay, then," she said. "Consider yourself officially abducted."

She made no move to remove my hand; and in fact she just seemed to sigh softly and settle slightly more into her seat.

So I did the same, rested my elbow on the large padded centre console, and left my hand right where it was.

Well...

Mostly.

.:.

She leaned back into the corner, watching me over the lip of her wineglass, once more as obscure as the Sybil. The sequin heart - placed as it was directly and very unfairly over her lovely little breasts - was monstrously distracting; I had to constantly remind myself to stop looking at it.

I picked self-consciously at my main, an absolutely divine piece of fillet that I was far too keyed-up to really enjoy like I should.