As it turned out, the drive back did not take them that long. Then Marcie wanted to get Richard’s stuff out of the house as soon as possible, so once Ben had dropped his bag in the spare room and plugged in his phone, they loaded the boxes together, before taking them out to the car with the carrier bags that Marcie had tied up. Ben found he could lift and carry the heavily loaded crates easily, without any wheezing, and he felt satisfied that his lungs weren’t that weak after all.
“Isn’t it a problem, leaving all this out on the street in full view?” Ben asked as they walked away.
“I don’t think so. Who’s going to smash a car window for a load of old books?”
“I guess that’s the difference, living in Jesmond,” Ben observed dryly, as she let him back into the flat. He wasn’t sure though that Marcie really understood how the security she took for granted contrasted so much with some other parts of Newcastle.
“I’m glad that’s done,” Marcie said as she went through to the bathroom to wash her hands. “What time did you want to eat? I was planning a cheesy pasta bake, if that’s okay. I feel like opening a bottle of wine too, if you’ll share it with me?”
“That all sounds great,” Ben replied as she stepped into the kitchen to join him. “I’m hungry now, actually. Would you mind an early tea?”
“Oh, of course, you poor thing!” Marcie exclaimed, lifting her hand to give Ben’s cheek a sort of sympathetic pat, “You said the hospital food hadn’t filled you up, and I didn’t give you much for lunch. Just let me have a shower, then I’ll get started.”
“I can cook, if you like,” Ben suggested, feeling a little useless as he stood there.
“No, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Marcie responded firmly, “Let me find you a book, like I promised, and you can just relax on the sofa while I get myself ready, then get the tea ready too.”
“Well, I’ll cook tomorrow evening, then. We can take it turns,” Ben said as he followed Marcie into the living room, where she was scanning her bookshelf. Thinking again of her planned meal, he asked, “Are you a vegetarian, then?”
“What? Oh, you’re thinking of the cheesy pasta. No, I just don’t eat meat every day. Here, these are very popular. Have you heard of Terry Pratchett? Are you okay with fantasy stories?”
“Like Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings?”
“You’ve read Lord of the Rings?” she asked with a hint of surprise.
“No, but I saw the film. It was good. I’m looking forward to the next one coming out.”
“Well, the book is a bit more long-winded. Pratchett is easier on his readers, and quite funny sometimes. Why don’t you try this?” She put a paperback with a bright cartoonish cover into his hand.
“‘Mort, the fourth Discworld novel,’” he read aloud, “I can’t remember the last time I read just for fun. Does it matter if this is number four?”
“No, just see how you get on,” she said brightly, “I’ll go for my shower now.”
Ben felt a bit apprehensive as he sunk down into the sofa, but he was committed to giving this book a go, realising how important reading was to Marcie. As he got stuck in, whilst hearing her shower running, he realised she had been right. The book was easy to get into and quite funny in an odd way, but he still felt a bit confused by it.
He heard the bathroom door open and saw Marcie walk into the living room, wrapped just in a large towel, her shoulders bare, her hair bundled in another towel. The rich colour of her exposed skin seemed to glow against the brilliant white of the towel. Though she was revealing nothing more, Ben felt another warm rush of blood to his cheeks at the thought of her clean body naked underneath.
“Are you doing okay? I’ll just get dressed and dry my hair. I’ll be as quick as I can,” Marcie said, then she was gone again. Ben’s mind lingered on her though, his imagination recreating the memory of her standing before him, a feminine vision at ease in her own space, the poster of the couple kissing hanging behind her. He had distinctly noticed the smattering of dark freckles or moles across her exposed collarbones, the creases of the towel under her armpits and the stray wet curls of dark hair escaping her improvised turban. It had felt somehow intimate to be with her like that, but he reminded himself that they had only just become friends. He had committed himself to a patient game, given what she’d just been through, and he would stick to that. Diligently he went back to his book, trying to focus on it.
He heard the distant whir of a hairdryer coming from Marcie’s bedroom, then a few minutes later, she appeared in the living room doorway. “That feels better,” she said, “I decided to put a frock on. And I’ve released the hair!”
Ben felt struck dumb. She was wearing a summer dress with a pale blue pattern, gathered tight under the bust and flaring loosely over her hips, hanging down to her bare ankles and feet. Its thin shoulder straps left the thick white straps of her bra visible against her tan skin, and the low scooped neckline revealed some dramatic cleavage. Ben couldn’t help dropping his eyes to see this shadowy crease above a line of delicate buttons. He lifted his gaze quickly to admire the dramatic transformation to Marcie’s hair. Now that it wasn’t pinned back, its dark brown waves flowed from her central parting down to her shoulders. He guessed that she had brushed it out as she’d used the hairdryer to give it the impressive volume that surrounded her head like a soft cloud or a dark halo.
It only took a moment for him to take all this in and come to his senses. An expectant look seemed to play on Marcie’s face, her eyes twinkling above glossy smiling lips that Ben realised she’d made up with a subtle shade of lipstick. “You look great, amazing!” he said lamely. “I feel very scruffy now.”
“I felt like making an effort for our new beginnings, as it were. You’re welcome to use the shower and get changed too. I picked up a shirt with your clothes, if you wanted to wear that. How are you getting on with the book?” she asked, sitting down beside him.
“I’m not really sure what’s going on. It started talking about a space turtle, then wine for fortune tellers, or something. Now I think a farmer is going to trade in his son.”
“Well, Pratchett’s style is a bit silly, but it sounds like you’re getting the gist of it. I’d say you should stick with it, and the strange internal logic of the setting might settle into place with the story.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m a slow reader. With a dense book like this, I lose my place on the page. It’s like the words start jumping about.”
“I wonder if you have a little bit of dyslexia? Well, a simple trick is to put a bookmark under the line you’re reading, like this.” She’d leapt up to pick up a thin card flyer from the bookcase, then sat down close to him, their knees touching. She reached over to the book that was in Ben’s hands, pressing it open while he still held it. She held the bookmark to the page with her other hand, moving it down as she read a couple of lines aloud, brushing Ben’s hand as she did so. Ben savoured the close contact as he listened, breathing in the pleasant scent of her clean hair before he realised he was doing it.
“‘You set him as a prentice, see,’” Marcie quoted in an attempt at a yokel’s accent, “‘And his new master’ll have the job of knocking him into shape. ‘Tis the law. Get him indentured, and ‘tis binding.’”
She paused, the said, “Hmm, yes, it is a bit confusing, isn’t it? Well, see how it goes, then we could pop into the City Library together tomorrow afternoon to look for something else, if you wanted. But I’d better get started with the cooking now. Do you think you will have that shower?” she asked as she pulled away from him and stood up.
“Yes, I think I will,” Ben said, closing the book over her bookmark and standing up too. He hoped Marcie hadn’t asked about the shower because she’d noticed some body odour or lingering hospital smells when she’d been close to him.
“Great,” she called over her shoulder as she headed to the kitchen, “We’ll open the wine when you’re out. How does that sound?” Ben agreed that it sounded good, then took himself off to the spare room to sort through the clothes that Marcie had packed and to pick up his toiletries.
Marcie had put an apron on, bundled her hair back with a scrunchie band, got a pan on to boil and was chopping an onion when he went back through to the kitchen. “Oh, I’m a bit tied up here. Could you find a towel for yourself in the bottom drawer through there?” she asked as he squeezed past, blinking a tear from her eye.
“Sure, thanks,” Ben said, shutting himself in. As he pulled open the drawer she’d mentioned, he was a bit surprised to see an open box of tampons lying next to the bath towels. While he undressed and started the shower running, he wondered if Marcie had forgotten they were there when she’d suggested he help himself, or if she really wasn’t bothered about sharing small intimate details of her life like that with him. Somehow the simple accident of seeing the toiletries that she used for her period had made Ben realise that he’d already become involved in a woman’s real life. He remembered the tear on her cheek from the chopped onions too, and these thoughts made him feel somehow protective of her.
Once under the hot shower, he worked up a lather and washed himself down, then he felt his penis react to his brisk actions by lengthening comfortably. He thought this was perhaps unsurprising given his recent close contact with Marcie, especially as she had suddenly presented herself to him in a far more glamorous, even sexually alluring way. But again, he reminded himself to be discreet and play the long game in their growing friendship.
Once he’d finished cleaning and drying himself, he put his deodorant and clothes on, then hung his towel on the rack with Marcie’s, leaving his toiletries with hers beside the bath. He bundled up his dirty clothes, opened the door and stepped into the kitchen in his bare feet.
Marcie stood in the kitchen stirring a simmering pan next to some boiling pasta and a pile of grated cheese. The delicious smell of fried onions, garlic and thickening tomato sauce suddenly reminded Ben just how hungry he was.
“I’ve done extra,” she explained, “We can have it cold for lunch tomorrow if there’s any left. Oh, drop those in the laundry basket through there, if you want,” she added, gesturing back towards the bathroom when she saw his bundle of clothes, “I don’t mind sharing space in the washing machine. Then you can pour the wine. There’s a white in the fridge.”
Ben found the bottle and two wineglasses, then after checking with Marcie, he cracked the seal around the screw cap to open the wine. He filled the glasses halfway and offered one to Marcie.
“Ooh, that’s a big glass! Sorry, I’m not complaining,” she reassured him before raising her glass, “Well, let me say it formally, Ben. Welcome to my home, I hope you like it here, and I sincerely wish you get well soon. To your good health!”
“Slàinte mhath!” Ben echoed, the two words of Gaelic that he knew popping to his mind, “And I hope you’re right, that despite everything, things are taking a positive turn, for both of us now.”
“Hmm, I didn’t think to ask. Are you really a wine drinker, or would you have preferred something else?” Marcie asked, once they’d both taken a sip and she’d put her glass down.
“I’m easy, really. I’ll order lager or shots if I’m out, if my mates are, but I drink bitter or whisky with my dad. And I like to share wine in a restaurant.”
“Do you go out often then, down town, like the Bigg Market or the Quayside I guess?”
“Maybe,” he admitted, watching Marcie as she drained the pasta and brought things together in a big oven dish. “I meet friends, mates from work too, maybe twice a month at least. It’s not like when I was younger, when I first moved here. I’d do Friday, Saturday and Sunday night if I wasn’t working the weekend, every week. The clubs too, old school raves, trance DJs, you know? Too much booze though, it’s not great for your head, or your wallet. I’ve learnt, you don’t want to mess about like that if you’re handling a chainsaw the next day, high in a tree when the wind’s up. This is nice now, a meal and a drink at a friend’s house.”
“Aw, thanks,” Marcie said, putting the dish in the oven. She took her apron off, then raised her arms to take her scrunchie out. Ben caught himself looking at her smooth bare skin - from her raised elbow down past her armpit to the edge of her dress - as she shook out her huge hair with both hands. But he deliberately shifted his gaze to catch her eyes as she lifted her glass again and said, “Let’s take these through to the sofa.”
She paused pensively when she sat down, obviously with something still on her mind, “But can I ask, if you don’t mind, do you meet girls out too? I mean, do you ever walk up to a woman you don’t know and chat her up? I’m sorry, but this is an unknown world to me, and I’m curious.”
“Well, yes, it does work that way sometimes. Are you going to ask if I pick up women that way?” An awful thought crossed his mind, “Do you think I might go out, then bring someone back here, into your flat, while you’re putting me up? I’d never do that, not in a million years.”
“No no, that’s not why I asked at all,” Marcie urgently clarified, reaching across to squeeze his knee. “I guess I’m just curious,” she paused, then added, “And I’m being nosy, about your past girlfriends, your conquests. You saw Richard, so you know a bit about my history. I was wondering who’s in your past. It’s very cheeky of me to ask though, you don’t have to say.”
“It’s okay,” Ben said, leaning back and taking a sip of wine, unsure where to start or what to say. He wondered why Marcie seemed so curious too, perhaps as if she were already thinking of herself as more than a friend to him. “Well, you know about Jo. I met her maybe a month ago, as a friend of a friend, sort of. I guess it was like you said. Erm, we chatted, then she came home with me. We had a few date nights, but now it’s finished.”
“Have there been lots like her then? Girlfriends who were sort of, well, easy come, easy go. I guess someone like you has no problem catching their eye, with your blonde curls, piercing grey eyes and six-pack abs. Holy Mary, you must find them queuing around the block!”
“Aye, maybe,” Ben replied to the question about casual girlfriends, before he realised how vain he might seem. “I mean I’ve had a few quick relationships, like you say,” Ben paused again, still unsure where Marcie thoughts were going with her questions, and unsure how to react to her flattery with modesty but honesty. “Well, maybe not as many as you think. In all the time since I left school, how many girlfriends? Maybe two dozen, or maybe closer to three. Do you think I’m a tart?”
Marcie giggled, “No, I just don’t really know anyone else like that, I guess. But you’ve been in more serious longer-term relationships too, then?”
“Aye, yes. Phoebe would be the one who I got most serious with, I guess. I was what, twenty? And it lasted around two years. We’d moved in together, when I first got that flat over the workshop.”
“So why did it finish? Oh, I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that. I’m just too nosy!”
“No, it’s okay. You said earlier, didn’t you? We can be honest with each other. I like that. So, aye, finishing with Phoebe,” he paused, reappraising things for himself too, “I guess, at the end of the day, I was just a bit slow. Remember I said I used to go hard at it on a night out? Perhaps we were both like that when we started. Well, she realised we needed to grow up, get out of those habits, but I wanted to carry on. I thought I could keep being the boy about town, but still play house with her too. I can see now why she got fed up with me. Also, to be honest, there was an incident. She found out I’d had a kiss and a cuddle with someone else.”
“Just that? You weren’t sleeping with that someone else, then?”
“No, I wouldn’t have done that, even back then! If things aren’t working in a relationship, if you want to go with someone else, you say it, don’t you? You call it off before you hop into another bed. There can’t be any trust otherwise, can there? If you’ve betrayed the most important thing, your intimacy together, what is else is there? What does a relationship even mean, you know, if it’s not faithful?”
“Not all men think that way,” Marcie said gloomily.
“Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t think. I wasn’t thinking of you and Richard. I was just trying to be straight with you. I’m not sure I’ve ever really talked openly about all this, with anyone else.”
“Hey, there is absolutely no need to apologise. And I’m really glad you’re sharing with me,” she sighed. “Damn Richard, I definitely made a mistake with that one. But I don’t want to think about me and him anymore. Do you want a drop more wine?”
She took his glass, filled it in the kitchen, then passed it back to him as she collapsed back onto the sofa beside him. As he thanked her, Ben once again noticed with pleasure her woody citrus perfume as her summer dress and her cloud of hair moved the air around him.
Marcie took a sip of wine, seemingly appraising him with a twinkling cheeky look over her glass, before she pressed on with her next question, “So, Phoebe, Jo, these other girls, would you say they had anything in common?”
“How do you mean?” Ben asked
“Well, I’m wondering if there is a type, if there is something that you’re drawn to when you’re looking for a girlfriend. Somehow I imagine them all being tall, sleek, glamorous, fair-skinned and blonde, like you I guess.”
Ben had begun to guess where Marcie was heading with these questions, but he decided to play his answers straight, deliberately keeping his tone innocent, “That sounds like Jo, at least. Phoebe sometimes dyed her hair blonde, and I guess she was quite glamorous too, with her all her makeup and slinky clothes. But I wouldn’t say I had a type. Why do you ask?”
Marcie looked straight at him as she obviously considered her answer. He held her gaze, seeing her tension. But then she sighed, drew a big lungful of air, and launched into what she wanted to say.
“Well, you’re here in my flat Ben, right now, and it’s just the two of us, and we’re being honest, right? Okay. So when I saw you in the gym, slipping out of consciousness, your lips turning blue, I had a strange feeling. Here was a beautiful man, a Norse god, an Anglo-Saxon hero from legend, huge and masculine, but he was maybe dying in my arms, quite literally. It felt like it was that serious, that I might genuinely have been comforting you in the very last moments of your life. I had no idea who you were, and I might never have got to know, if you hadn’t made it. But you did come through, to my huge relief, and now I have got to know you. And I’m very glad about that because you seem like a lovely man on the inside as well as on the outside. You’re polite, honest, interesting, and you’re fun to be with. But seeing you so poorly, it makes me realise how fragile life is. Did I say it earlier? Life seems too short to play games now. So, I know I’m moving in very quickly, and it might make things more awkward between us as friends, as flatmates maybe, but I want to know. Can you imagine me as your girlfriend? Do you fancy me at all? Because I confess, I fancy you something rotten. Oh, damn that thing!” she exclaimed as, at that very moment, the oven’s timer started beeping.
She rushed to the kitchen, slamming her glass down on the table as she passed. In a moment she had stopped the alarm and rushed back to the sofa. She perched on its edge, close to Ben, hands folded on her knees, looking with vulnerable entreatment into his eyes, and said, “Oh, I’m sorry. It must be the wine on an empty stomach. If you say you’re not interested, I promise I won’t pester you again and we can both try and forget what I just blurted out.”
Ben put his hand over hers to squeeze them in what he hoped was reassurance, “Marcie, you must have seen the signs, the way I’ve been looking at you. Of course I’m interested. You’re a beautiful woman.”
“But…” she prompted.
“Well, we are so different. You are so much cleverer than me,” Marcie made a scoffing sound at that, but he continued, “And your life is so different from mine, with the university and the books and the science. And yes, you are different from other girlfriends in my past, in appearance. But perhaps none of that really matters. And there was something else too, something that maybe opened my eyes. The staff at the hospital thought we were a couple already, and I quite liked that. I obviously have big changes ahead. Perhaps being with you is the good change that will help me with the others. And you’ve been such a huge help already. But that sounds like I just want you to nurse me, and that’s not what I want at all.”
“What are you saying, Ben? Your words are going one way then the other,” Marcie asked in anxious confusion.
“I would like you to be my girlfriend, Marcie, but not yet. I want to be kind to you, like you’ve been to me, and I want to get to know you better, to spend a lot more time with you. I promise I won’t date anyone else while we’re doing that. But let’s not rush.”
“Thank you, Ben. That is very sensible,” Marcie sighed, leaning back a little. “I wonder if you’re thinking of what you saw this afternoon with Richard though? Are you worried this is just a rebound thing for me?”
“I’d not really thought about it,” he admitted. “Do you think it might be?”
“No, I really don’t. My relationship with Richard has been dead from the waist up for more than a year, if you get what I mean. To be honest, there’s been no life from the waist down either these last few months. I feel pretty confident that you’re not on the rebound from Jo, either. You seem pretty chilled about letting that one slip away.”
“Well, you’re not rushing just because of that then. So we can still pace ourselves. If it works out, then it’s worth waiting for, right?”
“Yes, you’re right. We can say we’re courting, if we want to sound old-fashioned,” Marcie paused, perhaps thinking more seriously about what that implied, “No, maybe that’s not right either. We can be friends who spend a lot of time together, okay? Go for walks in Jesmond Dene, go the library, go to the doctor’s together even, have drinks and meals, see films - enjoying the spring together, and perhaps the summer too. Does that sound good to you?”
“It sounds very good to me,” he agreed.
“Great. Come on, let’s eat before my cooking goes to ruin, if you don’t think it’s a lost cause already!” Marcie started rising from the sofa, but then twisted round on one knee to face Ben. He raised his face to hers as she loomed over him, anticipating what seemed to be coming. Indeed, she did lower her lips to his, but she just planted the smallest peck of a kiss before she pushed herself back onto her feet.
“Do you think you could find a CD to put on, and turn the lamps on too?” she asked casually as she turned toward the kitchen, almost as if nothing had passed between them.