Pillow Talk Part 20

'Yes, I love it.'

'Your music?'

'I teach music.'

'That's how we met. Through your music.'

'That's how we met. And how we came to know each other better remember me playing for you, while you did pottery cla.s.s in the summer term? How we'd sit and chat too?'

'Of course I do. Do you remember the first time, though, at my school in the spring?'

'Vividly.'

'I remember the song, Arlo. "Among The Flowers".'

'I'm flattered.'

'But I heard it not so long ago too on the radio. Only it wasn't you.'

'I know.'

And he'd looked a little pensive. And she wanted to know why but didn't feel she could ask just then.

'Another time, Petra,' he'd said, antic.i.p.ating. And he'd smiled, a little sadly, and tucked a squiggle of her hair behind her ear. And for a split second they both wondered whether they were on the cusp of their very first kiss.

Yet there seemed no rush.

The only urgency was the failing light.

So that was when they had talked about telephones and he had told her to go.

She prepared to pedal away. He held the handlebars steady. His ran his index finger gently over the swoops and peaks of her knuckles.

'I did look for you, Petra,' he told her. 'I didn't really know where to start. I a.s.sumed you'd gone.'

'I had.'

'But you're back now. For how long?'

'I don't know, really.'

'Stay awhile.'

'OK.'

Arlo looks at her number and he looks at the clock and he thinks, She might well be taken aback that I haven't yet phoned. We parted a couple of hours ago.

But what am I going to say?

And what is this going to start?

And what am I thinking starting something at all?

And Petra is looking at her phone and she's thinking, Why doesn't he ring? If he doesn't ring tonight, I'm leaving tomorrow.

'Hullo, Miss Flint.'

'Hullo, Arlo.'

'Get back OK?'

'Yes, no problem.'

'Good. Sorry I didn't phone earlier. I was marking.'

'Oh, don't you worry about that I've been busy faffing around anyway.'

Pause. Fill it!

'How mad is all of this, Petra?'

'We could just look on it as a perfectly simple twist of fate.'

'I like that idea.'

'Well, that's what I'll do.'

'Me too, then.'

'That way, when we next see each other, we can just pick up where we left off and not worry about marvelling about serendipity and happenstance.'

'And kismet and karma.'

'Exactly!'

'How long has it been?'

'Two hours, Arlo. And seventeen years.'

'How about we start from now. Or, rather, how about tomorrow night? Can I take you out for supper?'

'Yes, please.'

'What else do you like, apart from chips and ketchup?'

'There's the Thai in Stokesley do you know it?'

'Of course. I've lived here for four years.'

'I haven't been but it always looks buzzing.'

'It's great. Let's go there. Let's meet there at seven thirty. Tomorrow.'

'It's a date.'

Pause. Fill it!

'Goodnight, Petra. See you tomorrow.'

'Night, Arlo.'

He felt moved by the thought of Petra, on her own, pa.s.sing the Thai but settling for chips. If only he'd known. If only he'd known earlier that she was here. If he had known earlier, where would they be by now? Further down the road? He shuddered. He wasn't worried about the path of true love running steep, he was worried about the terrible places it could lead to. He'd been there once before. Hadn't he decided that it was a journey he wouldn't be taking again?

Petra was euphoric. The date itself and it was a date, wasn't it and also the way it had come about. She praised herself to the hilt. For her composure. For keeping her voice nice and steady when all the time her fingertips had whitened from the pressure of gripping her phone so hard. Her heart racketing away while she managed to sound calm and collected. Her soul soaring with the blessings of karma and kismet. Her conscience trying to be heard above the din.

Calm down.

Calm down.

You'll see him tomorrow.

However will I sleep?

Chapter Thirty-one.

Arlo was not in the habit of lying but over the years he'd become adept at being evasive with the truth. So when Miranda asked him where he was going, he simply said Stokesley and left it at that. When Nigel asked if he wanted to join him and Jenn for a drink they were now quite a couple Arlo thought first to ask where they were meeting and when Nige said Chapters Deli he breathed a silent sigh of relief and declined. The Thai was round the corner from that bar and set back a little. And once Nige was installed at Chapters, he tended to stay there for the duration.

'Want a lift?' Nigel asked.

'Thanks but no I'm just going to nip in on my bike.'

Arlo's colleagues a.s.sumed he was popping in to the Co-op. That's where one usually nipped in to Stokesley by bike. And Arlo decided not to put them straight. It was true he was going to nip in. However, he was intending not to nip out again until much later that evening. But he hadn't been asked about that. So he wasn't going to elaborate.

Petra had sent out one communal text, the detailing of which would satisfy each of the recipients. She was going on a date 2nite. V xited! Px.x.x Eric and Kitty fired back messages of encouragement.

u've waited 17 yrs, don't rush it 2nite, Lucy texted, wear manky pants!!!;-) Petra thought how comforting it was that though her friends were spread over continents and time zones, it was as if they were gathered in one supportive little posse, rooting for her.

The power of text messaging, she mused as she left the house. Can't believe Arlo hasn't discovered it. Bless him.

She went the long way around, walking along Levenside, by the river and the houses, instead of crossing directly to the High Street. She needed time to make her footsteps match her consciously slow breathing, or vice versa, she wasn't sure. But she walked slowly and breathed carefully and when she caught her reflection in the front windows of the houses, she liked what she saw and arrived at the restaurant excited but steady.

The restaurant was crowded but Petra spied Arlo sitting at a table, sipping a beer.

'Miss Flint,' he said, standing.

'Mr Savidge,' she said, sitting.

They b.u.mbled over pleasantries and been-here-longs and come-here-oftens before immersing themselves in the menu to rea.s.sert their composure.

'I like your hair like that,' Arlo said after a thoughtful sip of beer.

'I like yours like that,' Petra said. 'I remember it, all locks and curls and young Bob Dylan but this way suits you too.'

'We're very Dandy Warhols,' Arlo said. Petra looked puzzled. He sang softly, 'I really love your hairdo, yeah, I'm glad you like mine too, see we're looking pretty cool.' But he had to sing the chorus before she clicked and they duetted, 'And I like you yeah I like you,' and they laughed and tucked into the prawn crackers. 'The thing is,' Arlo said, terribly seriously, 'once my hair started receding, it was a question of shave it all short or grow a long bit to comb over.'

Petra looked momentarily horrified.

Arlo winked at her and she flicked a crumb of cracker at him in mock consternation.

'You look like What's-his-name,' she said.

'Bruce Willis?' Arlo asked. 'Quite a flattering trichological journey, really, from young Bob Dylan to mature Bruce Willis.'

Petra laughed. 'I meant that bloke off Location Location Location.'

'Good G.o.d, from the heights of Hollywood to flats in b.l.o.o.d.y Cricklewood?' Arlo protested.

'I have a bit of a crush on him, actually. Phil Thingy,' Petra said to her plate. 'So there.'

She looked up. Arlo had reddened a little. It made her grin. He shrugged. They took synchronized sips of their drinks and then laughed and c.h.i.n.ked gla.s.ses. Petra Flipping Flint, he said. Arlo Sodding Savidge, she said. And they laughed again. Of course she felt nervous but with excitement rather than unease because actually, he was easy to be with, easy to talk to. She wasn't having to prepare interesting conversation-starters. She wasn't having to formulate the manner, or the words, with which to respond. Compared to those ten stilted months with Rob, this first evening with Arlo was natural. And fun.

They both wanted to ask each other everything, to hear the lot the questions ama.s.sing from the seventeen-year hiatus, the marvelling that had filled their minds since they b.u.mped into each other a month ago. Chit-chat was one thing, but to open their hearts for viewing and lay their souls out for inspection was another. What if I don't like what I hear? What if he-she doesn't like what I say? The food came to their rescue and tasted delicious after all those school dinners or takeaways. Discussing their dishes and sharing forkfuls provided the perfect foil to their awkwardness.

'Better than chips,' Arlo said.

'I do like my chips though,' Petra said.

'Well, let's do chips next time, then,' Arlo said. Immediately aware of his forwardness, his hand shot up, like one of his pupils', and he asked for the bill.

'OK,' Petra said slowly, arranging stray grains of rice into a pattern on the table.

'OK what?'