Morning After

I came awake gradually and snuggled deeper into the pillow for a few moments, enjoying the lazy don’t-have-to-get-up-yet feeling of a Saturday morning. Then my eyes suddenly popped open as I registered the sun across my cheek – my flat’s bedroom faced North and was fitted with blackout blinds; I was never woken by the sun. I peered short-sightedly across the room; the blurry shapes were unfamiliar and for a second or two my heart beat painfully fast in fear, before the throbbing in my wrist reminded me of the events of last night and where I was. The attempted mugging, the helpful stranger. Coming back to Richard’s house.

I rolled over carefully and pulled myself up against the headboard, groping on the bedside cabinet for my glasses with my uninjured hand. Once I could see again, the morning sunlight streaming through the cotton curtains gave enough light for me to inspect the room properly. Last night I’d been too tired to do anything much more than keel over as soon as I was shown a bed.

The room was a fair size, painted a warm cream and with a dark blue carpet which matched both the striped curtains and the duvet of the single bed I was propped up in. There was a pine wardrobe and chest of drawers, a chair on which my clothes were neatly folded. The whole impression was one of neatness and comfort, a far cry from my own bedroom where I still lived out of boxes. This spare room obviously belonged to one seriously organised person.

I pulled my knees up to my chest and hugged them, wondering what to do now. Mum had never covered what to do after spending the night in a complete stranger’s spare bed. At least it was the spare bed. I still remember that horrendously embarrassing time I found a sex education book subtly left out for me at home. I’d turned the colour of a tomato even in the privacy of my own room, and we’d neither of us even casually alluded to the topic in person. But I’d read the book. Probably still had it somewhere, stuffed at the back of my bookshelf at Mum’s house.

The book had been quite clear about the subject of one-night stands and casual pick-ups – basically, don’t. It had gone on about trust and relationships, I couldn’t remember what exactly as back then I was more interested in flicking to the meaty bits. Heh. Maybe I’d better rephrase that.

My single one-night stand at Uni had been enough to prove the book right. I shuddered to think of that fiasco even now, though I hadn’t exactly proved a whiz at the relationship thing it had gone on about, either. The less said about that disaster the better.

And why was I thinking about sex and relationships at all? I blushed a little at my presumption. There was nothing to say that Richard was even gay, let alone attracted to me. Sure, he’d been so kind and helpful, and it had felt as if there was almost a connection between us. Certainly I’d never been able to talk to another person, someone I’d just met, so naturally before. My stupid shyness usually made me look a complete idiot. There’d been a – a kind of warmth in his eyes when he looked at me. But he’d never been anything other than completely platonic towards me. No, I must have been imagining things when I thought he was interested. Why would anyone be interested in me, anyway? I mean, red hair, glasses, sad computer nut. I’d only ever been with two men in my entire life, and I’d only met them because Jane had dragged me out on pain of death.

I sighed and pushed my hair back out of my eyes. Well, that was cleared up, then. I’d better get up and get out of Richard’s way before he got fed up with me. I’d caused him enough problems already, after all.

Feeling a bit down for some reason, I threw the covers back and slowly got out of the bed, wondering what to do. I didn’t want to get dressed until I’d had a shower, but it would be rude to just go and use the bathroom without an invitation. I got as far as the landing where I hovered uncertainly for a few moments, debating whether to go down in my pyjamas. I glanced down at myself, tugging the wrinkled cotton a bit straighter. I was perfectly decently covered, but somehow it just seemed a bit – forward.

The decision was taken out of my hands at that moment when a cheerful voice called out “Good morning.”

I looked down to see Richard at the bottom of the stairs, dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved sports shirt, smiling up at me in seemingly genuine pleasure. Despite my earlier depressing thoughts I couldn’t help but smile back.

“Um – hello again,” I said hesitantly.

“I hope you slept well,” said Richard, coming up the stairs to stand in front of me. This close I could tell he’d obviously been up for a while himself; he was clean-shaven and his short-cut dark hair was mainly dry but still slightly damp in places. He was a good few inches taller than me, which must put him at over six foot, with broad shoulders and solid build that appeared to be all muscle. No wonder those two muggers had run off so quickly when he’d appeared on the scene. I’d been in too much of a tizzy last night to take in anything more than ‘helpful, friendly, nice-looking guy’ in a vague sort of way, but now I couldn’t help but notice how attractive he was. I’d always fantasised about guys nearer my size before, not so imposing, but somehow Richard in the flesh was enough to wipe those pale dreams right out of my head.

I nodded in response to his question; for some reason I’d slept better, even in a strange bed, than I had in months. Recently I’d been too wound up thinking about work to go to sleep early, but last night I’d conked right out and hadn’t woken up once.

“Did you want to get a shower before breakfast?” asked Richard, reaching out to straighten the collar of my pyjama top, which had got tucked under on one side. I could feel his warm fingers brush the skin of my neck for a second before he stepped back, and could do nothing more but nod dumbly. Richard didn’t seem to mind as he smiled at me warmly again, a sincere smile that reached his dark brown eyes; I noticed tiny crinkles at their corners, he was obviously a man who smiled often.

“I’ll get you a towel,” he said, heading for the bathroom and passing me a large towel from the linen cupboard (mine never look so white and fluffy). “You brought your toothbrush, didn’t you? How about a razor? Never mind, you can borrow mine,” he continued in response to my grimace at my forgetfulness. “Have you got something clean to wear, or do want me to lend you something?”

Luckily I’d remembered to pack some underwear along with a clean shirt – wearing an almost-stranger’s underwear (no matter how hot he was) seemed just a bit too intimate.

“How’s the wrist this morning?” asked Richard, eyeing my bandaged arm. “Can you manage to shower okay or did you want to take a bath?” He reached out expectantly and I automatically held out my left wrist for him.

“It seems a lot better,” I said. “It still aches a bit but I can sort-of use it. I should be okay with the taps and everything.”

“I’m glad it’s not so painful,” Richard looked up from his inspection of my wrist. “Hopefully in a couple of days it’ll be completely fine.”

He let go of my arm slowly and almost reluctantly and turned to leave the bathroom. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Shout if you need any help, if not I’ll see you downstairs. Toast and cereal okay for you?”

“You needn’t go to any trouble on my behalf,” I mumbled, embarrassed at foisting myself on my good Samaritan to such an extent that he had to feed me as well as rescue me, take me home and put me to bed.

“It’s no trouble at all,” Richard said cheerfully, in a tone of voice that convinced me that he was actually telling the truth. I returned his smile before shutting the door behind him, feeling suddenly much more light-hearted all of a sudden.

*****

“Just in time,” said Richard as I moved hesitantly into the large, airy kitchen, as before his matter-of-fact tone putting me completely at ease. “Pull up a chair and help yourself to toast. There’s butter and marmalade on the table. Did you want tea or coffee?”

“Coffee, please – black, no sugar,” I replied, sitting down at the round pine table and reaching for a slice of toast. Wholemeal, not the white bread I normally had, and the marmalade was thick-cut while I only liked the shredless sort, but I was a guest and wouldn’t dream of complaining about what I was offered. Mum had dinned the rules of politeness into me often enough. I buttered my toast liberally to disguise the taste of the brown bread, but to my surprise it was actually quite nice. The first slice awakened my hunger and I wolfed that one down and was reaching for another when Richard brought two mugs over to the table and took his own seat.

“Sorry,” I mumbled through a mouthful of half-chewed bread, embarrassed at my greediness.

“The toast’s there to be eaten,” said Richard easily, buttering his own slice. “You should have a decent breakfast in the morning – it’s the most important meal of the day.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at the well-worn comment. “So Mum’s always saying. But I can never normally eat much in the mornings.”

“You mentioned your Mum last night,” said Richard. “You must be close to her. She’s up in Leeds, I think you said? I’m guessing that’s where you’re from, from the accent?”

“Yeah, I’m Yorkshire born and bred, though of course we lot speak properly - it’s you Southerners that have the accents, if you ask me.” I teased, amazed at my daring. Normally I never spoke much around new people, and certainly not to joke.

“Hey – less of the Southerners, matey, this is the Midlands, you know! We won’t thank you for calling us Southerners,” retorted Richard.

“Yeah, yeah…” I gestured vaguely with my hand, as if anything other than the North was one big amorphous mass that wasn’t worth distinguishing between.

Richard just grinned in response and helped himself to another slice of toast. “So what are you doing down here in the Midlands, then?”

“I came down for a job – I’m a computer programmer, I create and design software tailored to my company’s customers’ needs.” I replied, trying not to go into too much detail and sound like a complete nerd. I knew I could be really boring when I got started on the subject of computers.

”Wow – sounds technical,” said Richard. “I have to use a computer at work myself but I don’t go any much further than using the basic packages. I don’t have a clue what to do when they go wrong.”

“That’s okay – you’re the sort of person that keeps me in a job. But honestly, I sort of fell into it myself. I’ve always loved computers and I did computer studies at University but I never knew what to do with it afterwards. But someone saw one of my student projects and offered me a job, and I worked for them for four years. Then my new company offered me a raise to move down here. It was too good to turn down, and – well, here I am.”

“You must be good if you were headhunted – twice,” said Richard, sounding impressed.

I blushed slightly; I hated to sound as if I was boasting. “I don’t know about that. I like my job and I’m good at it, but I work as part of a team. We all contribute. Anyway, how about you, what do you do?” I changed the subject rapidly, uncomfortable with all this attention on me. Nobody apart from my Mum or Jane was usually so interested in what I was doing.

We’d both finished eating by now and Richard got up from the table and pushed his chair in. “I’m just a plain old businessman, I’m afraid,” he replied, beginning to collect up the dirty dishes. I got up to help him, putting the butter and marmalade back in the fridge and clearing the rest of the table while he began to run water in the sink. “I manage a chain of camping and outdoors and sports shops.”

“I’d have guessed you were into sports, you look so fit,” I said before I thought about it, my faded blush coming back stronger than ever now I’d given away the fact I’d been looking at him and thinking about him. Way to go, Toby.

Luckily Richard didn’t seem to pick up on this, taking the comment. “I do love sports, though I never got to professional level. I used to play rugby at University and I’ve done some triathlons in my time. Now I mostly just run or hike. How about you?”

“I’m never really been a sporty person, I’m afraid, though I did like to run at junior school. No hand-eye coordination.” I sobered as I thought back to that awful first year of senior school when my complete lack of anything resembling coordination, whether on the playing field or off it, had been one of the major factors – or at least, excuses – in me getting seriously bullied. I’d turned into a nervous wreck and I’d had to move schools before things had improved. Add to that my Dad dying the year before and it was not one the best periods of my life.

Richard must have sensed something as he gave me a searching look, which I avoided by grabbing the tea towel and scrupulously drying the bone-china mug to within an inch of its life, careful not to drop it with only one fully-working hand.

“You never answered me earlier – is your Mum still up in Leeds? Did she mind you moving down here for a job? It sounds as if you’re close,” he said, changing the subject.

“We are close,” I replied, cheering up at the thought. “It’s just been us for about fifteen years but she never hesitated when I was thinking about moving. She wanted me to have a chance to live away from home. This is the first time I’ve lived on my own,” I confided. “I went to Uni in Leeds and stopped at home, and I could get the bus to my first job. This was a major change.”

“Well, it’s very brave of you – and your Mum,” Richard said, with no hint of any patronisation in his voice. “Starting a new life can be really scary. Have you settled in down here yet?”

“I like the place, and my team at work are great. But I haven’t really made any new friends yet – apart from you.” The last sentence slipped out and I could feel the heat racing up my skin AGAIN – I hated the fact that I blushed at the drop of a hat. Not only was it really wimpy but it always gave away my feelings. Such as my complete and utter embarrassment at my presumption that Richard would want to call me a friend. So I liked him and found it easy to talk to him, but why would he want to know me any further when I’d been nothing but trouble so far?

I put down the tea towel in mortification and turned away, but Richard’s hand on my shoulder stopped me before I could go any further.

“Hey, hey,” he said softly as he turned me round to face him. “What’s up, Toby? What are you so embarrassed about? Calling me a friend? I’m glad you did that – I like you, Toby, and I’d like to get to know you better.” His hand, still slightly damp and soapy, raised my chin gently until I found myself looking up at him. His eyes were gentle and his face kind. “I like you, Toby,” he repeated, and I found myself believing what he said. “I’d be glad to count you as one of my friends.”

There was a pause for a moment as we both looked at each other, Richard’s eyes looking into mine as he added with a wicked smile, “And maybe, sometime, something more, hmmm?”