Read Online Without Consent by Frances Fyfield - Free Book Online Page A

the direction of a household with a nice man and a couple of children. Especially children. Well, I’m over thirty and the prospect gets ever more remote. I just don’t like men well enough to try. Then I met John. That isn’t his real name. I’m not going to tell you his real name.’
    â€˜Why not?’
    â€˜You’ll see. And if this is dictation, you aren’t supposed to interrupt.’
    â€˜Sorry.’
    â€˜He worked in the same place as me. We got on well. I used to watch his hands and think, God, you are the most beautiful creature nature ever invented. He had all the humanity I like in a man; vulnerability, too. Not the sort of drivel you’d put in a statement, is it? I suppose it might have been obvious that I went into spasms whenever I saw him, but the others didn’t seem to notice, so I thought he hadn’t either. We copers have self-control, you know. Yes, you probably do know. What would have been more obvious was the fact that I sparkled when he was around, became the life and soul of the party, full of wit and energy. Falling in love must be like that. I’ve always hated the phrase. I thought the best thing would be to be friends first, let love, or whatever you choose to call it, grow like a plant. But desire isn’t like that, is it? It’s a bloody affliction. It has nothing to do with approval, mutual feeling and appreciation, nothing at all. It’s a ghastly virus, immune to medicine.’
    She gulped her wine. Helen sat in front of her notepad, trying to make herself as anonymous as a shorthand-taker at a board meeting.
    â€˜And we were friends, I thought. He has a special smile he reserved for me; he seemed to seek me out, even when every other female in the place simpered and would have thrown their knickers at him, given half the chance. So I let hope spring eternal. Perhaps one day he’d say, let’s have a drink? How about dinner sometime? The one thing I wasn’t going to do was make the suggestion: I was tooscared of rejection. I sort of prayed it would come from him. It’s always better to live in hope than risk the negative, don’t you think? Well, it is if you look like me. Such sensitivity, I have.’
    Her fingernails were neatly trimmed, Helen noticed. There were flecks of paint on the back of both wrists. Anna stuffed her hands into the long sleeves of the kaftan she wore, as if hiding them.
    â€˜But no, he didn’t take whatever bait I was offering, not in months, and then he was posted somewhere else. A man with a career path, you see. I was devastated at the thought of not seeing him again. So there I was, acting out of character, saying, why don’t you come round to supper before you go? He said he couldn’t, but he’d drop round for a drink sometime. I had to be content with that. Had to? I
was
content. Doesn’t take much to please me. I worshipped him.’
    Helen caught a waft of scent from the garden. It would be pleasant to eat at this table, with the doors open like this and the blaze of flowers outside.
    â€˜I waited, of course one waits, but not all the time. He turned up, like they do, when least expected. It was that hot spell, a couple of weeks since; freakishly hot. Midnight or so, too late for a casual call. I looked a mess; it made me flustered. I was in the living room.’ She jerked her head in the direction of the first room off the hall which Helen had only noticed briefly. ‘I was doing my ironing. Well I tried to smooth myself down, fetched us a drink, but it isn’t easy to look both alluring and casual when all you have on is a long T-shirt. I was too flustered to get the ice; he did that.’ She gulped.
    â€˜I put down the drinks: gin and tonic, first things first; I was joking and had my back to him. I wanted to unplug the iron, put the board away, because I didn’t want the damn thing littering up the room. I wanted … I wanted him to