Out Late with Friends and Regrets (49 page)

“So how long have you known Marie?” asked Alan, on her left, “Are you in the business?”

“No, I’m her –”

“She came to a gig, and we got talking,” said Marie, “she even bought a CD.”

“So what do you do, Fin?” asked Alan’s girl-friend, funky in home-knits.

A stimulating but good-humoured debate about the iniquities of capitalism ensued, with bacon rolls at half-time.
 
Apart from the little sting of not being introduced as Marie’s girl-friend, Fin enjoyed herself very much, and was taken by surprise when Marie said, “Oh shit, look folks, I need to go home and pick up my stuff for tonight, I wasn’t watching the time.”
 
She stood and pushed her chair in before adding, “Want to come along, Fin, or are you staying?”

Momentarily taken aback, Fin said, “I’ll come.
 
Thanks.”
  

Subsequent Sundays didn’t conform to any pattern: one of them was spent in bed, right up until it was time for Marie to leave for Owlie’s; once they spent the afternoon with a sound engineer who had once worked with Hawkwind; and once Fin actually persuaded Marie to go and see ‘Coalminer’s Daughter’ being shown at the University Film Club.

And the nights... Nights were now measured from midnight, and through each one Fin explored and wondered at the geography of Marie’s body. She loved to kiss the little silky curl at the nape of her neck under her plait, place the pad of one finger in the dimple above Marie’s navel, sweep with the side of her face the marvellous smoothness of those thighs.
 
Sometimes as Marie lay sleeping beside her after the tumult of passion, the overwhelming joy of being where she needed to be almost caused Fin to weep.

Christmas approached like an accelerating bus.
 
The compartment of Fin’s brain which handled shop business worked with precision and commitment, despite her underlying fatigue.
 
Dek was tireless, and would well deserve the bonus she intended to give him.
 
Not that it would be much, but she wanted to show her appreciation, and she hoped he would want to stay on.
 
Margaret’s baby was due soon – mustn’t forget a gift for it, or to enquire how things were going.
 
The figures weren’t too bad, considering; it wouldn’t be the best ever Christmas, but in view of the financial climate and her loosening ties with the shop, it could be a lot worse.

She wondered on and off whether to go ahead with the course in Birmingham.
 
Even at this late stage there was time to cancel.
 
She realised with shame that she still hadn’t rung Anna to ask if she wanted to spend Christmas in Harford; she wouldn’t want to, Fin was certain, but she really should have given her daughter more thought, and at least enquired. It was the fifteenth of December by the time she got round to it, and was a little embarrassed at the relief she felt when Anna revealed her own, London-centred plans.
 
It was lovely to talk to her, though, and they were longer on the line than usual. Fin realised that her attitude to Anna’s reaction had hardened.
 
She loved her very much indeed, but Anna’s acceptance of her being gay was now less important than it had seemed before.

It was three a.m. on the twenty-second when Marie said to her, “I’m sorry, Fin, but I won’t be able to spend the holiday with you.”

“The holiday?”

Fin was in a groggy, pre-sleep state which made her brain a bit slow.

“Christmas.
 
I’m going to stay with my parents.”

“Parents... You never said... Will you tell them?”

Marie’s face was unreadable.
 
Eventually, she replied, “Perhaps not... this time, Fin.”

What a stupid thing to ask Marie. Of course she wouldn’t tell them.
 
Fin wished she could call the question back.
 
Funny, how Marie seldom mentioned her parents.
 
But then, Fin had never told her about Paul, or Patrick, or Anna.
 
Nor even about Ellie or Rachel, except in passing references.
 
They had never really had time to talk much.
 
Fin had avoided making plans, unwilling to tempt fate.
 
Let it grow naturally, take its time. The future could wait. Living in the moment, and sex, and music, were enough for now.

“Marie, are you still awake?”

“Yeah, just.”

“When are you going?”

“Tomorrow.
 
I was going to tell you in the morning.
 
Not spoil tonight.”

Marie was usually asleep when Fin got up and went home.

“Marie, I want to. Now.”

Marie groaned.

“Darling, if I’ve got to live without you for – how long is it? You will be back before I go away, won’t you?” Fin persisted.

“Don’t know, Fin, please go to sleep...”

“Marie, I need you right now.
 
I need to know you’re there, hold you, and-”

“Too tired, Fin.”

“Please.
 
Please, Marie.
 
Please.”

She knew Marie’s heart wasn’t in it, but she went ahead anyway.
 
Marie gasped, and arched, and cried out, but this time Fin couldn’t tell for sure whether it was genuine.
 
Her own fault, for insisting. Nevertheless, she climaxed alone with a mute shout of anguish, then buried her head in Marie’s shoulder, holding her tightly as her breath rasped in and out of the waves of Marie’s hair.

“I love you, Marie.
 
I didn’t want to tell you before, but I can’t help myself, I love you.”

“Yeah, me too.
 
‘Night.”

In the morning, very early, Fin crept down to the front door and out to her car.
 
She took Marie’s present from the boot, a beautifully decorated Spanish guitar with a rosewood fretboard and mother-of-pearl inlay.
 
She knew nothing about guitars, and assumed that Marie might want to carry on using her old one anyway, but it would be something nice for her to have.
 
Fin imagined the pleasure on Marie’s face as she picked it up, and wished she could be there to see it.

She leaned it against Comfy’s chair, and stroked the cat’s head gently.
 
Comfy pushed it against her, purring richly.
 
She looked around to see if she had left anything, in the sitting room, the kitchen, the bathroom, the bedroom.
 
Only a couple of weeks.
 
But it would be nice to start all over again, new, in a new year.
 
Perhaps Marie would move in with her.
  

She kissed Marie, or at least the back of her head, not wanting to wake her.
 
She had to be early at the shop, with only two more days to go, so she left the kitchen as it was, as chaotic as the day she first saw it.
 
Then said goodbye under her breath to Comfy, feeling compelled to stroke him and feel his lithe softness.

“See you next time, Comfy.”

Then out into the dark morning.

A blur – as always, but more so.
 
The twenty-third hectic, Christmas Eve a sensory overload: carols and cliches taking turns on the CD player under the counter; questions, the odd complaint, excited babble and the usual seasonal exchanges from the customers; the colour red a hot seller; the wink and sparkle of the decorations that Dek and Yvonne had spent most of a day putting up, and the fragrance of an incense burner which claimed to smell like mulled wine and almost did… Dozens of miniature mince pies, little grenades of spicy sweetness baked by Dek’s mum to put on the counter for the customers, every crumb gone by eleven... The idiocsyncratic little jolt of the till drawer as it closed every time, as if to say, you don’t really deserve this, but don’t worry, it won’t last... Christmas carrier bags with merry Santas on them which opened with a satisfying THOCK, and which ran out just after lunch ... These had been too expensive to buy in great quantity, and even the everyday shop ones were all used up before closing time, obliging Fin and Dek to scrabble around for recycled supermarket bags for their last sales.

Late customers kept them at it until half past six, and when Fin finally locked the door behind the last customer, she leaned against it, resisting a strong temptation to cry her eyes out.
 
Instead, she put her arms round Dek and gave him a long, tight hug.

“Arghhh! This is sexual harassment!” he fluted, in a cracked falsetto.

“Shut up, you horrible man.
 
The tribunal’s closed for Christmas, so fuck your luck,” replied Fin, releasing him.

“Did, it, didn’t we?” he grinned.
 
“Record breaker, or what?”

“Looking good, Dek.
 
Don’t know if we’ll be quite breaking records, but it did seem busier than previous years.
 
Anyway, I’ll let you know when I’ve done all my sums, maybe the day after Boxing Day, OK?”

“I’ll be in the shop anyway, prepping the Sale.
 
Will you need to check my reductions?”

“Probably not, but I’ll be in to help anyway.
 
Don’t expect me in too early, though.”

“Oh, is your daughter off back to London that soon?”

“Oh, yes, yes, early train.”

A harmless lie.

“Well, you have a nice time, and have a good rest.
 
You haven’t been looking all that great, lately.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“No, I reckon you need a rest, Fin.
 
I mean, you’ve been looking tired.”

“Yeah.
 
I am, a bit.
 
Anyway, Dek, a happy Christmas to you and yours, and could you give these to your mum and dad, and Yvonne?”

Just chocks and a bottle, and perfume for his girl.
 
Nothing much.
 
But Dek seemed genuinely touched.

“Oh, oh, thanks, thanks a lot. I’ve got something for you, actually.”

“Oh, Dek! Thank you, too.
 
That’s really well wrapped, for a man.”

“Hmm. Well as it happens I don’t need to scrunch it up in the back page of The Cantlesham Advertiser, just to prove my masculinity, so there.”

Fin smiled.

“Here’s yours,” she said, handing over an envelope.
 
“You’ve earned it.”

He mumbled his thanks, eyes down, then kissed her swiftly on the cheek.

“Go on, piss off,” she said, “get off home to your family.
 
I’ll lock up.
 
Have a lovely time.”

“Merry Christmas, then.
 
‘Bye.
 
Take care on your way home, you know what this time of year does to people’s heads.”

“Yeah, you too.
 
Good night.”

Headlights, bright as stars, expanding and exploding as they passed her, going in the other direction.
 
The gaudy jewel boxes of houses’ front windows, the Christmas trees posing in their short-lived glory.
 
Then the city, and the excess of the stores’ window-dressing, already passé, already wearing their Sale banners.
 
Into the Triangle, some of the little shops still lit, though most were closed.
 
Home.
 
She parked, locked the car, unlocked the front door.
 
She put on a table lamp, and sat heavily on the sofa, closed her eyes.
 
Opened them.
 
Bare.
 
The corner she had almost subconsciously earmarked for the Christmas tree, when she had looked round the house with Petra, was empty.
 
She had forgotten to get herself a tree, or decorate the house.