The Right Time (32 page)

‘You haven't been frank so far?'

‘Tim and I didn't have a great sex life, even before our marriage went down the gurgler,' she said. ‘I'm just so out of practice.'

‘You know what they say, it's like riding a bike.'

‘What? Sweaty and uncomfortable? Leaves you a little sore in the saddle?'

He laughed then, a big laugh, throwing back his head. ‘You crack me up.'

Ellen couldn't remember anyone saying that about her. But then, life hadn't given her much to be funny about for quite a while. She drained her beer and set it back on the counter.

‘That seemed to go down easily enough.' Finn said. ‘Do you want another?'

It was tempting. She was having a nice time, and she was feeling quite a buzz, from one beer. That was probably because she hadn't eaten anything all day, she just realised, she'd been so worked up about Tim. But that had all gone away, talking to Finn. He was so easy to talk to . . . maybe a little too easy, the things she'd just said . . . She really should have something to eat before she drank any more. Maybe it was better to bid a dignified retreat while she still could.

‘No, I've held you up long enough,' she said, picking up her bag. ‘Thanks for listening, really Finn. I appreciate it.'

‘Any time,' he said.

She walked towards the door.

‘Hey Ellen?'

She turned around.

‘If I can ever be of any assistance . . .'

She raised an eyebrow.

‘You know, if you want to get some practice in.'

He was grinning that big cheeky grin of his.

‘I'm just saying . . . you let me service your car . . .'

‘Bye Finn,' she said with a smile, walking out the door.

All the way home Ellen couldn't stop thinking about what Finn had said. And she couldn't stop imagining him without a shirt on. And once she was home, she couldn't stop imagining him
without a shirt on, saying what he'd said, and then making mad passionate love to her on the floor of his office. Feeling flushed and lightheaded – because she hadn't eaten, that's what it had to be – she made herself a toasted sandwich, and then she made herself eat it before she opened a bottle of wine. She drank down a glass too quickly and refilled it straightaway. Then she happened to glance at the time on the stove. God, it was barely five o'clock. This was not good. She was about to tip the glass into the sink when she thought better of it. She'd save it for later, and right now she'd have a shower, clear her head, get dressed into her most unsexy flannel pyjamas, and settle down to watch a very unsexy DVD. Damn, she hadn't even thought to stop at the video store on the way home. Ellen went to check their own collection of DVDs. She had to find something that would take her mind off . . . well, Finn. She couldn't believe the things that had come out of her mouth today; if a man had spoken to her the way she had spoken to him, she would think he was sleazy, taken it as a come-on and given him short shrift. But Finn hadn't given her short shrift at all. He had offered her another beer, he had offered her his services . . .

Ellen shook her head to clear it. What was the matter with her? Sex deprivation, that's what it was. How long can someone go without sex before they start to see everybody as a prospect?

Finally she spotted the perfect distraction –
To Kill A Mockingbird
. She would not be having any lurid fantasies involving sex on the floor of a service station while Atticus Finch was championing civil rights. That would be unseemly.

Showered and pyjamaed, Ellen curled up on the sofa with her glass of wine and started the DVD. She'd loved this movie ever since the first time she'd seen it as a little girl. When she got a little older, she developed a crush on Gregory Peck, but it was one of those very chaste crushes, like the ones you have for priests. Watching him now, he reminded her of Finn, somehow. They were nothing alike . . . well, they were both tall with dark hair, but that was where the resemblance ended. There was something though . . . the mannerisms? Maybe it was the essential kindness of the man. Finn had always been very kind to her, she reflected rather wistfully as she drained her glass. She tottered off to the
fridge and brought the bottle of wine back with her, filling her glass again. She may as well leave the bottle here, it didn't need to be completely chilled on a cool night like tonight.

She settled back on the sofa and sipped her wine. Maybe it was the voice? Ellen liked a deep voice on a man. Well, who didn't? But it was the
depth
of the deepness . . . she didn't mean Barry White deep, but like Gregory Atticus here. Depth with gravity, with kindness, with understanding. Just like Finn's. Ellen drained another glass and refilled it absently, staring at the screen. Their builds were different, Finn was more . . . built, was that the expression? She started to wonder what Atticus Finn would look like without a shirt.

Okay, that was quite enough. She snatched up the remote and stopped the DVD. What was going on with her? When she and Tim had separated, the last thing on her mind had been finding another man. She had had quite enough of married life by that stage, and the thought of settling down into another rut held no appeal in the slightest. She had been so lonely in the marriage, she couldn't imagine that life without a partner could be any lonelier. But it was a different kind of loneliness now. It had probably been short-sighted of her, but while Ellen had been relieved to move on and not be somebody's – namely Tim's – wife any more, she hadn't really thought about the fact that she wouldn't be a mother full-time any more, that her family life would become fragmented, divided up into allotted portions. As her marriage had died off, her kids had filled the void. They were her life. What was she supposed to do with herself when they weren't around?

Ellen drained her glass and stared at the bottle. That's what she did with herself – she sat around on a Saturday night alone, in her pyjamas, drinking too much and feeling sorry for herself.

Her mind drifted back to Finn, and what he'd said. Was he serious? Was he actually interested in her? He said she was attractive, several times; they had gone out for a drink together only yesterday. Did that count as a date? What was that remark he'd made today . . . her head was getting a bit fuzzy . . . when she'd asked him if he was married? He'd said that he would have told her by now. Why would he have had to tell her if he was
married? Surely he was indicating that there was something developing . . . possibly . . .

Oh, how was she supposed to know? Ellen had never really dated before. There had been a couple of boys in high school, a pash at a dance, and then she'd met Tim. She tried to remember what had attracted her to him; it was so hard sometimes to see past the man he had become. But he was a boy then. A nice, considerate, gentle sort of boy, who didn't scare her like a lot of boys did. She didn't know why boys should scare her, she could hardly be described as timid. But she knew nothing about boys, she hadn't even seen one naked until Eddie was born. She could remember how they had all been so fascinated by his anatomy, standing around ogling at nappy change time, giggling when the poor kid would get a prepubescent erection in the morning – it was a wonder he hadn't grown up with some major issues.

And so Tim became her boyfriend. It felt safe to be somebody's girlfriend. It gave you an identity, and you weren't there for the taking any more. After they were going out for about a year they tried sex, with rather clumsy results, but again, it was a bit of a relief to get that out of the way with someone who was safe. Tim hardly knew what he was doing either, but they fumbled through, and being teenagers with the requisite raging hormones, they got the hang of it well enough. Well enough for her to get pregnant.

Life had taken over from there, there were no choices to make, it seemed, even though they made dozens and dozens of choices from then on in; but in reality, they were just reactions to the situation they'd found themselves in. We're having a baby, we should get married, we should have another baby so they're not too far apart, we should buy a house now Tim's graduated and working full-time, she should go back and finish her degree, she should do teaching, it's a good career for a mum . . .

And so it went on. But now her kids were spending the weekend with her estranged husband and she was sitting in her pyjamas alone on a Saturday night. Now, she had some choices to make, and she didn't know how to go about it.

Was Finn there for the choosing? Could it work with him? But there was the thing – did it have to work with him? She was an adult now, a
consenting
adult was the popular term. What
exactly did that mean? That you give your consent to have sex, freely, without expectation, without ties, without obligation. Was that possible? Was that what she wanted? How would she know? She'd never had sex with anyone but Tim. She had no idea how it would feel. And she never would until she gave it a try.

This made hang-gliding look easy.

Ellen stared at her phone on the coffee table. Her heart was pounding against her rib cage, vibrating right up into her ears. She was well aware she'd had too much to drink, she wouldn't even be considering this if she hadn't. But she also knew that if she didn't act now, she never would; that she'd wake up tomorrow morning and remember what she had contemplated and be incredibly relieved she hadn't done anything about it. And then she would stop going around to Finn's garage, she'd pay off the rest of her account online, and she'd probably even try to find a new mechanic. And she would regret it. Granted, she might also regret having sex with him, but what was she likely to regret more?

She lurched forward and grabbed the phone. Her hands were trembling as she scrolled through the numbers and pressed Finn's.

He answered almost straightaway, which was just as well or she probably would have hung up.

‘Hello.'

She took a breath. ‘Hi . . . it's Ellen.'

‘I know.'

Great, what was she supposed to say now?

‘You got home all right?' he asked.

‘Yes, thanks. Oh, are you at home? Am I interrupting anything?'

‘No, I'm just watching telly. It's a big Saturday night in.'

Ellen was trembling all over now. And she'd gotten hot all of a sudden. She held out the front of her pyjama top and blew on herself.

‘So, what are you doing?' he asked after a while.

‘Oh nothing,' she said quickly, dropping her top again as if he could see her. She took a breath. Of course he couldn't see her. ‘I'm just watching telly too.'

‘Hm.'

There was a pause. What the hell was she thinking? What was she going to say to him? This was such a stupid idea.

‘So . . .?' he prompted after a while.

‘What?'

‘Ellen, you called me.'

She sighed. ‘Yeah, I did. I think I shouldn't have, I'm sorry –'

‘No, no, wait on,' he said. ‘What's up? Did you want to talk?'

‘Oh, sure, yeah . . . I guess.'

‘What did you want to talk about?'

Okay, this was it, speak up or forever hold your tongue. Or was it peace? She took a gulp of her wine. ‘I was thinking about what you said today.'

‘Oh?'

He wasn't going to throw her a line at all.

‘As I was leaving,' she added.

‘Oohhh,' he said like now he understood.

‘Well, I was wondering if you meant it,' she blurted quickly.

There was a pause. Shit.

‘Ellen . . .'

His tone . . . this was excruciating. ‘Never mind, I shouldn't have bothered you –'

‘Wait, just wait a minute,' he said over the top of her. She was quiet. ‘Are you still there?'

‘Yes.'

‘Ellen,' he started again. ‘Well, yeah, of course I meant it, but I didn't mean it . . . I mean, I wouldn't throw you a cheap line like that and expect you to take me seriously.' Now he sounded like he was nervous. She heard him take a breath. ‘I was flirting with you, you know?'

Ellen wasn't sure how to take that. ‘Did you mean to?'

‘Sorry?'

‘Did you mean to flirt?' That didn't make sense. ‘Were you flirting with intention?'

There was another pause, another deep breath. ‘Well, yeah . . .'

‘Okay then,' she said. ‘So what happens now?'

‘Sorry?'

Ellen sighed. ‘Listen Finn, we're adults, aren't we? And I think we get along, there's obviously some mutual attraction, and we could spend the next . . . who knows, maybe months, playing this game – a bit of flirting, having a drink, maybe graduating to a
whole meal – until we finally make it into bed, which is where we've been aiming for the whole time.'

God, she couldn't believe she just said that. Maybe Finn couldn't either, there was only silence on the phone line, she couldn't even hear him breathing now.

‘Finn?'

‘Exactly how much have you had to drink, Ellen?' he said finally.

‘Not that much,' she said, glancing at the half-empty bottle. ‘The fact is, I do know what I'm saying, Finn, and I also realise I wouldn't be saying any of this if I hadn't had a drink, but is that such a bad thing?'

He didn't respond. He liked these long silences.

‘I'm going to get a complex soon if you don't say something.'

‘What do you want me to say?'

‘That you're coming over.'

‘What, now?'

‘This is what I've been getting at,' said Ellen. ‘I need to have sex. I need to get it out of the way so it's not so scary. And I trust you, Finn, you've been really decent to me. I just think this is far better than picking up some random guy in a bar, or online. But that doesn't mean I expect anything to come of this, Finn, I promise. We can even pretend like it didn't happen afterwards, if that's the way we feel. I don't want to lose you as a friend, or a mechanic for that matter.'