Take One At Bedtime
by Jenny Twist
Melange Books
eBook ISBN: None Given
Print ISBN: 978-1-61235-064-6
Nobody ever goes upstairs in Margaret’s house. So what is making the strange thumping noises up there? And why is there a toy rabbit under the kitchen table? Margaret’s Ghost is just one of a collection of short stories including the romance tales A Castle in Spain and Jess’s Girl.
Author’s Note: Below is one full story from this collection.
Jess’s Girl
“Good God, it’s Jess’s girl.”
Robyn looked up. The man approaching her across the hotel lobby was wearing a morning suit and a button-hole, so he must be one of the wedding guests, but she didn’t recall ever having seen him before. Of course, she didn’t know all of Brenda’s friends.
She stood up, feeling perplexed, and the man put out his hand.
“Sorry, sorry, you don’t know me. Colin Williams, Jess’s friend. You must think I’m barking mad. It’s just I’ve always wanted to meet you. You won’t believe this, but I’ve been carrying your picture around with me for the last two years.”
He fumbled in his pocket and brought out a rather shabby leather wallet, flipped it open, extracted a snapshot and handed it to Robyn.
****
It was Jess. Jess and her at the party. She in a schoolgirl’s outfit, he in flowing Arab robes. They were both laughing.
A great wave of longing swept over her as she looked at his face in the photograph. It was as powerful as if she had only seen him yesterday.
“I don’t suppose you remember,” Colin said and was shocked at the wounded look that came into her eyes.
Of course she remembered. She had been remembering for fifteen years. The night of the fancy dress party….
****
She hadn’t even wanted to go. It was Brenda who had wanted to go, the same Brenda who had got married this afternoon. At that time she had been in pursuit of some chap – Todd? Toby? Robyn couldn’t remember. Nothing came of it anyway.
But Brenda had persuaded her to devote her precious once-a-week night out with the girls to some stupid student party in some revolting student flat with mis-matched, rickety furniture and vile wallpaper.
And now Brenda had disappeared into the smoky interstices of the flat, leaving her alone amongst a crowd of people she didn’t know and didn’t want to know.
It was a typical student party. Far too many people crowded in a small space, smoking and clutching cans of beer. There was even the mandatory group of medics, two of them dressed in surgical gowns and masks, eagerly reciting the “Dead Parrot” sketch.
She felt too old for this. She was, in fact, the same age as most of these students, but marriage and motherhood had set her apart, made her more mature.
If she hadn’t met Neil in her last year at school and fatefully got pregnant, she would have been one of these carefree students, having intense discussions about obscure topics.
She didn’t regret missing it. It all seemed a bit puerile now. And she loved Neil and the baby of course…
She looked up and her eye fell upon a man dressed as an Arab. His outfit didn’t have the hastily–assembled look of most of the others. In fact, if not for his fair hair and blue eyes, he could have been mistaken for a genuine Arab.
He looked up and their eyes met, and something passed between them – some connection. His eyes widened in surprise and he began walking towards her, still holding her gaze. She found herself unable to look away and was gripped by a mild panic.
But all that happened was he said, in a perfectly pleasant and ordinary voice, “Is there room for another on that sofa?”
She gave the sofa a dubious look. “There’s room,” she said, surprised at how normal her voice sounded, “but whether it can support the extra weight is another matter.”
He laughed and sat down. The sofa creaked alarmingly and lurched slightly, but remained intact.
“That looks genuine. Is it?” she said, indicating his robe.
The man looked down. “Oh, the Djellaba?” he said. “Yeah, I lived in Morocco for a while.”
“It would be entirely convincing if your beard was darker,” she said, thinking she was being clever.
He met her eyes and again that strange communication passed between them, almost like an electric current.
“Oh, but there are Arabs with fair colouring,” he said. “The Berbers.”
****
He went on to tell her about his travels in Spain and Africa. He was a good teller of tales. Amusing and erudite. She listened, fascinated.
And he seemed equally fascinated by her life, her marriage to Neil, her frustrated hopes for university, the baby. He asked questions and watched her face as she spoke. He made her feel as if she were the only person in the world.
They discussed politics and religion, told anecdotes about people they knew. They were as intense as the others around them. And they laughed a lot.
They found their respective names hilarious – Jess and Robyn – he with a girl’s name, she with a boy’s. “We wouldn’t half confuse people if we were a couple,” Jess said, and Robyn shivered with secret pleasure at the idea.
When she told him she was married she thought he winced slightly, but the expression was gone before she could be sure, and she wondered if she had imagined it.
“Do you love him?” he asked.
“Of course I love him,” she replied hotly. “I wouldn’t have married him otherwise.”
Jess smiled. “Well, people do,” he said gently.
And she wondered to herself at how hard it had been to say that to Jess. To tell him that she loved her husband. As if she were justifying herself. As if she didn’t love him. But she did. Of course she did.
And all the time they were talking she was aware of that connection between them. They were sitting side by side, not touching and she felt an overwhelming need to touch him, just brush her hand against his, perhaps. But she also felt that it was dangerous. That they both knew that if they touched something irrevocable would happen. That they would lose control. But neither of them acknowledged it.
And as they talked she ached with longing and did nothing.
****
Later he said, “You’re going to have to do it, you know.”
“Do what?” she had asked, somewhat alarmed.
“Go to university.”
She started to shake her head, but he carried on. “If you don’t, you will come to resent them, your nice husband and your lovely child. Because they stopped you from finding out what you are capable of. You have to do it for them as well as you.”
He leant forward, as if he was going to take her hand and she drew in her breath sharply. But he pulled his hand back as if from a flame.
“I must go,” he said abruptly, stood up and walked out of the room. He didn’t look back. He just left.
And she watched him go in an agony of indecision. She wanted to run after him. Call to him to come back. Tell him she was wrong. She didn’t love her husband. She loved him, Jess. Just like in all the best Mills & Boon novels. Love at first sight. Love that throws all caution to the wind.
But she did none of those things. She sat and waited for Brenda to come back. And she said nothing. Because her voice was full of tears.
****
And Jess had haunted her ever since.
When she went on holiday to Spain with Neil, she had thought how much better it would have been with Jess. Jess would have known stuff. He would have been able to speak to the natives. He would have known interesting things to see. They wouldn’t have spent the entire fortnight on the beach. They’d have gone exploring.
When she went to university she thought how much she would have loved to share it with Jess. Jess would have understood why she had to do it and encouraged her. Jess would have had interesting insights.
And at night she thought of Jess, wondering how it would have been with him, this man she had never even touched.
And when, at last, Neil left her for another woman, despite her outrage and distress, her first thought was, “I could have had Jess. I stayed with you when I could have had Jess.”
But, of course, she didn’t know that. She would never know whether he had felt the same. Because nothing had happened.
****
“Nothing happened,” she said, looking at Colin through tears. “Nothing happened.”
As if it mattered. As if anyone cared in this day and age about the sanctity of marriage and sense of duty. Why should she care what he thought anyway?
“I know,” he said. “I know all about the nothing that happened. Jess and I were really close. He came back to my place after the party and he said, ‘Tonight I met the woman I want to marry, and she’s married to someone else.’ And he wept.”
Robyn felt a mad surge of joy. She wanted to kiss this kind man, this stranger who had told her what she had always wanted to know.
“I told him to go back and find you,” Colin said. “I told him to try and persuade you. That he might never meet another woman who would measure up. That he had to at least try.” He paused. “But he refused. He said you loved your husband and he had no right to interfere. He was, you know, honourable – an honourable man. And later,” he went on, “when I had the pictures developed, I found this one of you together and he kept it. It’s been all over the world, that picture.”
A dreadful thought suddenly crossed Robyn’s mind. “So why have you got it now?” she asked. “He’s not…”
Colin smiled. “It’s OK. Nothing’s happened to him. He gave it back to me when he got engaged. He said it wasn’t fair to his wife to keep it and he couldn’t bear to destroy it.”
The pain was so great she couldn’t breathe. It was huge, overwhelming. “He’s married?” she whispered.
Colin said something, but she didn’t hear. Because she felt something. She knew before she looked up. He was here, coming through the doorway with a small child on his shoulder and a women walking beside him.
He was incongruously dressed in a formal suit and his hair and beard were shorter, with just a touch of grey. But otherwise he looked exactly the same.
He saw her and stopped in mid-stride so suddenly that he almost dislodged the child. His hand went up automatically to steady him, then he gently lifted the child down, put him on his feet and began striding towards her.
“You!” he said, his voice low and fierce, sounding almost like a threat.
She put her hands up as if to ward him off.
Then she turned away in agony and met the eyes of the woman who had come in with Jess.
She smiled. “You must be Jess’s girl. The one in the photograph. You haven’t changed much. I’m Wendy, Colin’s wife.”
“Colin’s wife? I thought…” Robyn stopped in confusion.
The little boy had climbed on Colin’s knee and was saying, “Look what Uncle Jess bought me, Dad.”
Robyn managed to smile. “I’m sorry, I assumed you were Jess’s wife.”
Wendy looked confused.
Colin said, “He didn’t go through with it, Robyn. That’s what I was trying to tell you. He said it wasn’t fair on her. She could only ever be second best.”
Jess was still standing over her, his face a mask of despair.
“I’m divorced, Jess,” she said. Her voice came out in a rusty whisper and she was afraid he hadn’t heard her. She started to clear her throat to try again.
But he bent over and swept her up into his arms in one easy movement. And it happened, just as she had always imagined it would, a rush of pleasure as her whole body rejoiced in holding him. Jess gave a low moan and tightened his grip.
“I love you,” he said. “I have always loved you, from the moment I first saw you in that ridiculous schoolgirl’s outfit with your hair in bunches.”
Robyn was looking up at him, laughing and crying at the same time. “Me too,” she said.
Unnoticed, a small piece of paper fluttered to the ground and Colin bent to pick it up.
“I don’t suppose he´ll be needing this now,” he said, tucking the photograph back in his wallet.
A great book that I have thoroghly enjoyed reading. Jenny has a real talent for telling a good story.
A wonderful feel-good story. Loved it!
I agree with John's opinion. I've said it before and will say it again, I seriously overdosed on this book. Couldn't put it down.
Enjoyed the excerpt Jenny. Looks like great character development. Best wishes.
~Rose
What a lovely story… I didn't want it to end x
I had tears in my eyes by the end on this story. Lovely and with a catchy ending.
I loved this collection!
LOVED IT JUST WISHED IT WAS LONGER.