The One (2 page)

‘You’re going out. I should have called first.’

‘No, no. That’s OK,’ Paton countered quickly. ‘Do you want to come too? It’s just dinner at the pub. Nothing flash.’

He gestured at his clothes, and smiled sheepishly. ‘I’m not really dressed for it.’

‘Don’t worry, it’s just the pub,’ she said, ‘Come on. It’ll be fun. They’re really nice people, my friends… I think you’ll like them.’

And she reached out and grabbed his hand and pulled him down the steps onto the street.

- 7 -

The pub was crowded and smoky. The music was loud and melodic, hands and feet tapped in time to the beat, and lyrics mouthed. Tom, Paton and her friends all sat around a large melamine table, the coloured bottles of wine and beer acting as a jewelled centrepiece, half-full glasses and overflowing ashtrays competed for space with large plates of food. Tom was quiet, letting the conversations wash over him, camouflaged by the smoky air. Paton’s friends by-passed him to chat to her. She sensed he was uncomfortable, despite his assurances otherwise. As much as she tried to join in the conversations flowing around her, she was quieter tonight, matching Tom’s introverted nature. When the food had been cleared from the table and the last of the wine drunk, Paton and Tom left, oblivious to the quizzical glances exchanged by well-meaning friends.

The hush of the street was a relief after the noisy acoustics of the pub. The street was dark, spotlit by lamps annoyed by suicidal moths, the air heavy and fragrant with jasmine that was regulation uniform for the fences dividing properties. They walked slowly, and when their swinging hands accidentally touched, Paton felt little shocks of pleasure.

‘You were bored,’ she laughed up at him.

‘No.’

‘You were—admit it!’

‘Ok. Maybe a bit.’

‘They are nice people,’ Paton said, ‘Just a little bit tunnel-visioned in their view of the world, sometimes. Still it was fun though, wasn’t it? Please say it was!’

She glanced up at him and saw he was smiling down at her, his dark eyes flashing with something she didn’t recognise. And they walked down the street, not saying another word until they reached her front door. She turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open, the inside light she had left on in the kitchen like a safety beacon guiding the way. Impulsively, she reached out to him, grabbed his arm and pulled him to her, their bellies touching, and kissed him on his cool cheek.

‘Are you in a hurry to go?’ she asked.

‘No. I’m in no hurry.’

‘You’ll stay then for a while?’

‘Yeah. I’ll stay. For a while.’

- 8 -

In the kitchen, Paton busied herself opening a bottle of wine, and poured the dark liquid into heavy crystal glasses. She had lit the beeswax candles that congregated in the middle of the kitchen table like town elders; their scent was earthy, smelling faintly of honey and vanilla, their flickering light reflected in a million shards in the cut crystal of each glass. She handed Tom his wine, skimming his fingers as she did, and sat down at the table. He stood in the doorway, filling it with his frame.

Paton took a sip of her wine.

‘Come,’ she said. ‘Sit down with me.’

He didn’t move from the doorway, hand swirling the wine in his glass, but he didn’t bring it to his lips. He swirled the wine for a few minutes before he spoke.

‘We’re just friends, Paton. You know that. Nothing more.’

She put her glass gently down on the table, and smiled up at him. ‘Tom, I don’t buy that for a minute.’

He shifted his weight, then walked over to the sink and placed the glass on the stainless steel, the meeting of the crystal and metal making a ringing, clinking sound.

Moving back to the relative safety of the door frame, he said ‘I don’t want anything else.’

Paton laughed quietly, stood then moved toward Tom until she faced him. She stared up at him and caught him in her gaze like a trapped animal, the steel of the situation closing in around him.

‘Sure you do,’ she said, ‘Or you wouldn’t be here. It’s that simple. You felt it the minute you started working here. I did too. Why do you think I kept finding things for you to do? I just wanted to see you. To have the certainty that I would keep on seeing you. At least for a time. At least until…’

He held her gaze: defiant, scared, trapped. ‘It’s not what I want,’ he said. ‘Paton, you are not what I want.’

She wanted him to understand that what she felt was bigger than him, so she reached for him. Placing her hands on Tom’s face alongside his mouth, tracing the line of his lips with her ring fingers, she asked: ‘But how do you know that if you aren’t even prepared to try?’

She raised herself up on her toes and kissed him gently on his lips.

He didn’t resist.

- 9 -

Morning came with a ferocious freshness, light cutting its way through bamboo blind, ambushing the sleepers into a dozy wakefulness. Clothes were strewn around the room in little mounds of disarray. In bed, Tom and Paton were naked, the pale sheets crumpled around their bodies, legs intertwined, arms slung casually over each other’s waists.

Paton turned and moved toward Tom and cuddled into him from behind, kissing his shoulder, her arm wrapped tight around his chest.

‘Hi,’ she murmured.

‘Hi.’

‘How are you feeling?’

‘I’m ok.’

She moved closer to him and breathed in the light musky scent of his skin.

‘It was good, wasn’t it? We were good.’ She kissed his shoulder again.

‘Yeah. Yeah it was.’

He gently extricated himself from her arms and sat, slouched, on the edge of his side of the bed. Paton noticed that he wasn’t looking at her, or making any move to reach for her or touch her. Her stomach churned, and she felt ill.

‘I’ve got to go to work, Paton.’

‘But I’ll see you later?’

‘Maybe tomorrow. I’m not sure. I think I’m pretty busy for the next couple of days.’

Paton’s disappointment was obvious. ‘Oh.’ Her stomach flip-flopped.

Tom collected his clothes from the floor and dressed, knowing that Paton was watching him. Fully clothed, he leaned over and kissed her quickly on the cheek, then stepped away from the bed, inching his way towards the door. Paton turned away from him, wrapped her arms around her body, shielding herself from the words she knew would come, words that would wound her heart as if fired from a cross-bow. They didn’t come.

Tom stood in the doorway and said, ‘Maybe in a few days, ok?’

Paton, through the soft armour of her pillow replied softly, ‘I don’t have much choice, do I?’

‘It’s the best I can do.’

‘Then…ok. See you in a few days.’

And Tom turned and left the room, closing the bedroom door after him.

- 10 -

Paton always welcomed the first days of autumn. It was a time of recovery from the harsh, dry heat of summer. She could feel the gentle change of the seasons, air cool and moist, the sun more forgiving in its warmth. The dry heat was mellowing, becoming softer. She spent the days outside, gardening, reading or drawing, making the most of the weather’s hospitality.

It was here in the garden that Tom found her—some weeks later—sitting comfortably on the swing seat, reading and sipping beer from a delicate, amber bottle. He watched her for some time, before a shift in his weight caused a twig to snap. Paton glanced up, disoriented, before smiling broadly up at him in recognition. Her stomach lurched with that familiar butterfly feeling of desire.

‘Hi,’ she said.

‘I wasn’t sure if you’d be happy to see me.’

‘How have you been?’

‘Ok,’ he said. ‘You?’

‘Ok, but I’ve been thinking a lot about you. I was wondering when you’d turn up.’

‘You’re so sure I would?’

‘Yes.’

‘I wasn’t.’

Paton moved over, and patted the space next to her. ‘That’s where you and I are different. I look at something and take it at face value. You have to analyse everything. Pick it apart. You shouldn’t do that, you know. You should just let things…be.’

‘I wish I could be as sure as you.’

‘Maybe I’m sure enough for both of us,’ she said.

‘Maybe that’s not enough.’ He looked directly at her, challenging her.

Tom hadn’t moved, and Paton gestured again for him to sit with her.

‘I’m prepared to take that chance, Tom. Are you?’

With his hands stabbed deep into his pockets, Tom half-smiled at her. Her innocence, her knowing, her surety, had become an enticing self-challenge. He sat next to her on the swing, easing his frame into the tiny space beside her. He reached for Paton’s hand, and bringing her hand to his mouth, he kissed her fingers.

- 11 -

Paton was woken by a far off rooster, his cockle-doodle-doo daring the morning to appear on his watch. It was still dark—the sun not yet risen—and the street light outside still burned bright through the slits of the bamboo blind. She watched the gentle rise and fall of Tom’s shoulders as he breathed in and out, and pulled up the sheets to cover her naked body against the chill of the morning. The sheet was twisted around his legs, and he stirred as she untwisted it, and pulled her to him.

‘Morning,’ he mumbled, speech slurred with sleep.

‘Hey,’ Paton replied softly. ‘I’m just about to make some coffee. Want some?’

‘Sure.’

She slid out of bed, slipping a kimono around her body, drawing it in close, the silk liquid against her skin. He could hear her padding around the kitchen, opening drawers and cupboards, sorting through cutlery, filling the kettle.

She returned with two mismatched mugs, and held out one to Tom.

‘White with one, right?’

He nodded and took the mug she offered him, and sipped the hot liquid.

Paton removed her kimono and hopped back into bed, careful not to spill her coffee as she got in.

They were quiet for a few minutes before Tom spoke.

‘Last night I came to tell you that I can’t… couldn’t… do this. I can’t lie to you, Paton’

‘Oh.’ Paton let him finish.

‘I’ve been thinking about you—this—a lot. I don’t want to hurt you, but… you are not who I imagined I would end up with. And that’s why I’m saying this now. Before this goes too far. Further than it has.’ Tom put his cup down on the floor and sat on the edge of the bed, the sheet covering him, but only just.

Paton seethed at his words, the anger white-hot and melting over the twisted knots in her stomach.

‘You want to know what I think, Tom? I think you are lying to yourself. And I don’t understand how you could do that. What we have is real. This… this is real.’

Tom got up from the bed and located his clothes, strewn like discarded toys around the bedroom. He pulled his jeans on first, unable to find his jocks, then his singlet, and his feet slid into his thongs. The sense of déjà vu was unsettling, disquieting but Tom was resolute. He knew what he needed to say.

‘So. What are you looking for? I mean, you must have some idea. If you know what you don’t want, surely you know what you do?’ Paton’s voice was knife sharp, and cut through the chill of the room. She sat up in bed, sheet clasped around her naked body. Vulnerable, she felt like a wounded bird whose nest has been upturned by bullying children, and the sheet offered her a modicum of protection, not quite armour, but better than nothing.

‘I don’t know, Paton, but I’ll know when I find her. I’m sorry it’s not you. I really am.’

‘You know what, Tom? I would laugh if you got to the end of your life, and you were old and sad and alone, and you realised it was me… me all along. I was the one. Me. I would laugh.’

The tap of his feet on the wooden floor, and the gentle slam of the front door being closed shut ricocheted around Paton’s soul for an aeon.

- 12 -

It was the sound of laughter from the TV that woke the old man from his sleep. Groggy, he could make out the giggles of children and the chortles of adults, seasoning conversations where the words had faded and blurred and muddied. The nurse was seated near the wall-screen, and she was laughing softly. The wintry sun shared its weak light with the window, but not enough to heat the room. His hover-chair had been manoeuvred close to the fauxplace, the dark glass logs shining blue-bright, and with the lapcoosh tucked in tight around his thin legs, he was warm, perhaps too warm. He struggled to open his eyes, but they were heavy with sleep. The nurse, sensing the old man was awake, turned and smiled over at him.

‘Oh… you’re back with us then,’ she said. ‘Have you seen this show? It’s very funny.’

The old man ignored her, although his black eyes, red-rimmed, found the screen. They sit in silence until the nurse looked at her watch, as if to confirm what she already knew. ‘It’s nearly dinner time,’ she said, swivelling around in her chair. ‘Tell you what. I’ll stay and eat with you.’

The old man sighed. ‘You’re new,’ he said.

‘Yes, I am, Mr Marshall. How did you know?’

‘If you knew anything, you’d know that I always eat alone. I prefer it that way. I…’The swoosh of the trolley-bot entering the room interrupted his tirade and he sank, subdued, back into his hover-chair, the smell of roast chicken and potatoes and gravy seeping into the room from under the cloche.

The nurse smiled at him. ‘That’s not very sociable. How do you know you won’t like my company if you’re not even prepared to try?’

The old man started. From a shining point way back in the recesses of his brain, a spark of memory pushed its way forward. A different time, a different place, but it was there. The memory wriggled and squirmed and demanded to be noticed.

‘What did you say?’

The nurse lifted her slim frame from her hover-chair and walked over to the trolley-bot, choosing a meal, then lifting the cloche, breathing in the savoury steam and collecting cutlery. She picked up a tray and cutlery, before sending the trolley-bot over to the old man with the roast chicken.

‘I said… you’re not being very sociable. How do you know you won’t like me if you’re not even prepared to try?’ She clipped the tray to his hover-chair, handing him his dinner, cutlery and a crisp, linen napkin.