Chapter 1: Anja's Old Neighbour
It had been a moment of boredom at work, when she'd signed up at the website. It was one of those "old school friends reunited" sites, and she'd playfully added her name and email address, recalling fondly some of her old gossip-circle, her first boyfriend... but it had seemed a cruel twist of fate that the only person who contacted her was Nigel.
Nigel had been a few years older than her, and coincidentally had lived in the same street, and as one of the school's most outlandishly antisocial high-achievers he'd been her saviour on more than one occasion. With a flutter of her eyelashes she'd been able to get him to help with her homework for hours if needs be, and he had never asked for anything in return. A few years older than her, he must now have been past thirty, and she had not seen him in a decade.
But when the email from him came, she was flattered that he remembered her, and she answered politely. A few emails passed back and forth until, suddenly, he announced that he was coming to town for a few days – "flying in" the next Friday. She jokingly replied that they should meet up. He accepted the invitation, and a time was set for dinner. When he later emailed asking if she could recommend a hotel for him to stay in she decided that if she was going to be hospitable then she may as well offer him her spare room: it wasn't as if it was used often.
So, on the Friday night when she got back from work she threw on a pair of jeans and a jumper. She brushed out her dark hair and fixed up her make-up, but she saw no reason to get dressed up, and imagined that this simple effort would make her presentable for dinner. She remembered the pale youth, bad complexion, thick glasses, a book always under his arm, and she began to doubt that she would enjoy this evening. Then the doorbell rang and she walked uncertainly to answer it. But when she opened the door she was quite taken a back: the glasses were gone (no doubt replaced with contact lenses), his complexion was healthy, and whereas many men had started to blur with beer-fat by thirty he remained slender; he was no male model, but it was a most pleasant surprise.
"Nigel! It's really good to see you." She surprised herself to find that she really meant it.
"Hi," he smiled awkwardly, "I hope I'm not early, or late, or..."
"No, it's perfect." She looked him up and down quickly, and decided, after all, to slip into something more striking for dinner. "Just let me change and we'll get some food."
She let him drive her into town, and suggested an Italian place that she liked for food.
"I don't know. Umm, I'm working in Bologna, so I get a lot of that stuff, anyway."
"Well, that explains the tan!" she smiled. "OK, then, how about Chinese?"
"That's along way from Italy," he agreed.
Over dinner conversation was difficult, but not as bad as she'd expected. He had travelled a lot, so when they fell silent she kept plugging him for travel stories, and that filled the silences.
"Have you kept up with anyone from school?" she asked, eventually.
"Only Mary Greyford, for a while."
"Greyford...? Oh yes, quiet girl, wanted to be a nun. You still in touch with her?"
"No. Not since August '98."
Anja suspected that there was a story there. "You kept in touch all that time, or you two were...?"
He did not catch her drift, or chose not to. "Anja, have you ever been to Switzerland?" he changed the subject abruptly. "I worked at Cerne for a while, and..."
She felt relaxed with him, and began to get to grips with his dry sense of humour, and she was happy to spend the evening with someone so profoundly harmless. When they returned to her house they spent another hour or so chatting amiably. He relaxed a little, and she sat back to admire him, well-proportioned, tight, tanned. She crossed and uncrossed her legs a couple of times and adjusted her skirt, but got no reaction.
She was puzzled by him: she had worn her most supportive bra, and had left her blouse unbuttoned far enough down the front to show off her cleavage, but not once had his eyes wandered down to admire her chest.
At length, she announced that she was going to have a shower, and left him to his own devices in the sitting room. She assumed that he'd flick on the TV, but instead he reached for a two-day-old newspaper.
When she had showered she felt no desire to dress again, and so she slipped into her long purple satin dressing gown, and fastened the sash in a bow at her waist. Back in the sitting room Nigel still thumbed at the newspaper.
"Well," she leaned against the doorjam, "it's half past ten. What are your plans for the rest of the evening?"
"Well, I've had a tiring journey, so, I thought, if it isn't rude, I might turn in. Go to sleep. If that's OK."
"Of course. Your bag's in the car? Fetch it in and I'll show you the room."
He was gone only a moment, and then she led him up stairs and showed him the small spare room, the single bed made up ready for him. He smiled, put his suitcase down on the side table, and then turned to her with a blank expression but a nervousness in his eyes. "Thank-you," he said, almost formally. "I've had a really nice evening." And then, to Anja's astonishment, he held out his hand, as if to shake hands.
She stood there, looking dumbfounded at his extended palm. "Nigel, can I ask you something?"
"Umm. I suppose so."
"Nigel, are you gay?"
His hand dropped to his side, he looked at his feet and he murmured, "Umm, no, of course not."
Anja stepped into the room, and with a wiggle of her hips beneath the sheer robe, she raised her hand up in front of her face. "Then look at my fingers." He looked nervously up, and as soon as he focused on her fingertips she moved them to her chin and then she began to lower her hand, past her neck to slide her fingers in between the hems of the dressing gown, easing it open as she let her fingers slide down to her navel, exposing the soft sides of her rounded breasts. "Are you sure you aren't gay?"
He looked down at the floor again. "No really, I'm not, not at all." And he blushed. Anja was stunned – a grown man blushing at no more than a glimpse of the curve of her breast! "Why do you, I mean..."
"Because Nigel, I have never in my life met a man who has shown so little interest in my body."
"I am interested!" he protested, still looking at the floor. "I always have been, I mean, even when I used to help you with maths, years ago, I mean, I think you're very... nice."
"Nice?"
"Umm, yes!"
