The Courier & Advertiser (Perth and Perthshire Edition)
“It was an invitation to make a decision. I didn’t realise then that it was a life-altering one. I tilted my chin up and smiled.
Sometimes I would meet Reuben on the landing, both of us would be halfdressed, and my whole body would blush.
I’m sure he never noticed, because I would vanish as quickly as possible.
The sight of Jane and Reuben ogling each other at mealtimes made me nauseous.
I hate the way couples communicate in some weird code: a raise of the eyebrow, a secret smile, a warming of the eye.
When the two of them were together, they’d usually be wrapped around each other.
From the shelter of Reuben’s muscular arm, Jane would make some spiked sisterly comment.
“You’re seriously wearing that to go to the pub?” Or: “You could try smiling once in a while.
“No wonder you haven’t got a boyfriend!” she would laugh.
On one occasion Reuben broke free and put his arm about me.
“Don’t be so mean,” he’d said with a laugh.
“I like the Lucie scowl. I like a bit of attitude!”
I’d spent days wondering if he’d meant something by that. Was there a hidden message there?
Was he having a go at Jane, with all her demureness and her playing by the rules?
The day we were introduced, the way Reuben had looked right into my eyes – I longed for another moment like that.
Beguiling
But my natural prickliness bloomed in his presence. I avoided looking at him, my chin dipping miserably and my eyes refusing to flirt.
My best selfie pout, the one I practised in the mirror, turned into a lopsided leer in front of Reuben, which, I had to acknowledge, was neither sexy nor beguiling.
I wanted to be more Jane, relaxed and chatty and open.
I told myself that my sister’s boyfriend liked the bits of me that weren’t Jane.
Then came a day when everyone was out. Jane had gone on a hen weekend with her best friend and a gang of probationary teachers.
Dad was visiting the sick and needy; Mum had gone shopping for the day in Aberdeen.
Reuben had been bed busted and was sitting in the parlour with a few beers. “What’s bed busted?” I’d asked, loitering in the doorway like the shy kid at primary school.
“Too many guys on the rig and not enough beds,” he replied.
“I’ve been stood down for a few days, so I’m making the most of it!”
He raised his beer bottle and grinned. My insides wobbled.
“Do you want to join me? Or maybe you have other plans?”
Other plans? Me? This was new, this was unfamiliar. An invitation to make a decision.
I didn’t realise then that it was a life-altering one. I tilted my chin up and smiled.
“Yeah. I will join you.”
“Beer or wine?”
“You have wine too?”
He kicked a Tesco carrier down by his foot. “White. It’s not very chilled.”
“Neither am I.” What was I saying? Was I flirting with him? Did that even make sense?
He nodded to my mother’s mahogany display cabinet. “Grab yourself a glass.”
I’m not very chilled. I cringed next to him on the couch and let him splash wine into my glass.
I sipped politely. “It is pretty warm.”
“I’ll stick it in the fridge.” He made to get up and I said: “No,” way too quickly.
Our gazes collided. “No, don’t get up.”
He clicked the rim of my glass with his beer bottle, his gaze never letting go of mine.
Laughed
I was lost. I don’t remember what we talked about. We laughed a lot.
My faltering encounters with my sister’s boyfriend up until that point hadn’t prepared me for how warm and funny he was.
He didn’t criticise Jane outright – we hardly mentioned her, to be fair – but he seemed to understand the way she was with me, the put-downs, the snide comments.
He made a joke of it all, and the joke was on Jane. As the wine disappeared down my throat I seemed to find a new me – vocal, confident. A flirt.
The kiss, when it came, was not unexpected. We were angled towards each other, heads leaning comfortably against the back of the couch; me cradling my wine glass, he running a finger round the moist rim of his beer bottle.
My gaze lingered on his finger and our knees were touching.
The sober me would have jerked away; I’d always thought I hated being touched.
He pushed the hair back from my face. His fingers were damp and smelled of booze.
When he kissed me, it was the most natural thing in the world.
He tasted of alcohol and burgers, but the taste was just right.
There was no shyness, no awkwardness, and I never thought about Jane once.
A blackbird lands heavily in front of me, jerking me away from the very thing I’d sworn not to think about.
The birds have been doing a lot of squabbling in the ivy, and I guess this one’s been kicked out.
He looks scared, too; I can see the feathers rippling over his heart.
He shoots me a knowing look, and I tell him to get lost.
Suddenly, some unholy sound starts up, a dull rumbling that comes up through my borrowed wellies, throbbing through the wooden bench.
Curiosity
It starts off like a burst of thunder, but continues, finding a rhythm I can feel in the bones of my backside.
The rhythm is punctuated by the splash of water, and then I know what it is.
Someone has started the mill.
I grind out the cigarette and get to my feet. The blackbird dodges away to a safer part of the garden, and curiosity leads me to the front of the house.
Who on earth has set the thing going at this hour? And why? Some part of me doesn’t want to see the mill come to life.
It’s the noise. That banging, creaking rumble has dislodged something in me, wormed its way into the lost place.
It’s unsettling, discordant.
Behind me, in the dimness of the cottage, Reuben is still asleep. Suddenly, painfully, I know what I have to do.
More on Monday.