A Little Rain (16 page)

Then my world starts to rock again as I see him
coming.  Unmistakable, his shimmer remains.  I feel I want to run away before
he sees me but my feet are glued to the floor.  He has seen me.  I try to, but
cannot move.  But as I watch him approach, like some highest rank of angel, I
realise I don’t want to.  He comes and says “Hello,” kisses me on both cheeks
and he smells beautiful, like the soft forest floor and of winter spices and
warmth.

I am lost for words.  I just look at him with the
biggest smile, feeling like it stretches the broadest width of my face.  He
smiles back.  Beautiful.  We just look at each other for a long time, and then
somehow words find me, “So, do you want to go for a drink?”  I have no idea where
to go but as we start to walk, I realise I don’t care.  I’m just happy to be here,
walking beside him.  After a few moments, he gently takes my hand.  His touch
sends vibrations through me.  He leads me into a bar across the road and down
the street.  Immediately I notice that it’s quite a classy place.  Floor to
ceiling frosted windows, a glass and metal door, with a man with a dark beard,
woollen hat and long coat standing next to it.  He opens it for us.  I’ve
definitely not been here before.  As we go in I see a lot of solid wooden
furniture, heavy red velvet curtains and lots and lots of candlelight.  I
hesitate inside.  I don’t feel comfortable.  I fear when they see me, they
might ask me to leave.  The walls are darkest red and purple.  It’s quite
smoky.  It reminds me of a club.  It has so many tea-lights it positively
glows.  There are co-ordinating fabric drapes, and square prints of modern
art.  Wrought iron chandeliers hang from the ceiling.  There are matching
velveteen cushions on most of the sofas and I fall in love with the elegant
leather-bound studded heavy chairs that I would struggle to even move.  Even the
staff look beautiful, well they do from where I stand in the candlelight.

Etienne leads the way.  As we start to approach the
bar, I notice an eagle-eyed pretty blonde already waiting to take our order. 
He asks me what I want to drink and I don’t know what to say.  I think what
your average girl might answer, “Oh, white wine please. Thank you.”  I don’t
really like wine but it doesn’t feel ladylike to say beer.  The thought of
spirits turns my stomach and I doubt this is the sort of place that will sell alcopops. 
But as soon as I’ve asked, I wish I just said what I wanted.

Just as I’ve chosen a table and I’m sitting down,
getting comfy he comes over with the drinks.  I thank him again. I take a sip
of warmish wine.  It’s horrible, dry and musty, tasting like vinegar but I
can’t ask for something else.  He’s bought a whole bottle over in a tall chrome
bucket and has a glass for himself too.  Maybe I could just leave it for him to
drink, but that might be rude.  I would not hesitate to say something if I was
in the pub with my brother but not now, this is me on best behaviour.  Rob
would say, “Be yourself.  What’s the point of pretending otherwise.”  He’s
right, it’s true.  But I would rather just sit here, say nothing, drink the
poison and not make a fuss.  I am happy just to talk, but he speaks first.

“Were you waiting long?”  His accent sparkles in the
dusky room, obscure tribal beats playing in the background.  No crowd noise. 
No narcotics.  I like it.

“No, not really,” I say, and so it continues.  We talk
a lot.  He tells me he came from north of the river, on the underground.  It
took him nearly an hour to get here.  He lives in a quiet leafy street.  He
says it’s nice, but dull.  I tell him a bit about my exciting weekend.  I don’t
dwell on the negative, only the good parts.  I don’t go into too much detail of
last night.  We then talk about films, music, weekends, work.  He tells me he’s
a chef in a hotel.  A tiny part of me almost dies and invisible arms reach up
and touch the sky.  A twin soul maybe.  Although I’m a little disappointed when
he tells me he doesn’t like his job.  He says it’s basic and badly paid.  He
does a lot of chopping, peeling, and preparing.  I tell him still, I like food,
a lot and that I would love for him to cook for me sometime.  I feel thirsty
and my mouth is dry from talking so much.  I gulp down more of the horrid
venom, trying to keep my face straight, like really it tastes ok but I don’t
want to give that impression.  I don’t want him buying another bottle.  The
faster this one is finished, the quicker I can get something else.  As I drink
some more I feel muscles in my face scrunching up involuntarily but the more I
drink the more bearable it becomes.  Etienne gets up to go to the toilet.  I
take the opportunity to light up a cigarette.  I’m desperate to taste something
different, too tense earlier to do it in front of him.

I look round to the bar while he is gone and see a
waitress going from table to table taking drinks, like in a restaurant. 
Suddenly I feel hungry again and start to wonder if they do food.  I see a long
folded purple card with gold print at the end of the table.  I look more closely
and see fancy thing.  Olives.  Rustic bread and oil.  Mozzarella with sundried
tomatoes.  Deep fried squid.  Squid?!  I have never eaten that.  I am intrigued
and maybe even want to try it.  I pour myself a second glass of wine which
tastes a little bit better than the first.  It still makes me feel a bit sick. 
I wonder if really I should drink any more.  I take a big gulp.  As bad as it
tastes, it does make me feel nice.  I feel different, like I’m smiling without
trying to, though I’m not sure if that’s the wine or just because of Etienne.  I’m
glad I have made it this far.

Etienne is back.  He makes me feel hot again and I
feel myself blush.  He says I have a lovely smile and I feel hotter still.  A
waitress then comes over and brings white square bowls with warmed nuts and
little odd-shaped multicoloured crackers.  I’m baffled.  I haven’t asked for
them.  Still, I try one of the little white squares.  It tastes weird and salty
and sticks to my tongue.  My phone rings suddenly.  Etienne picks up his
drink.  It’s Rob.  My escape call comes early. Although I really still have no
idea what time it is.  “You ok?” He says bluntly.

Sitting right in front of Etienne with him hearing
everything, there’s not a lot else I can say but, “Yeah, great!”

“How’s it going?” He says.

“Fine, yeah, good.”  I say.  Not like I can say
anything else, but I am telling the truth at least.

“Ok, call me if you need me.” He says, and hangs up. 
I look up and smile at Etienne but his head is turned and he’s looking at the
bar.  I notice he’s finished his glass of wine.

“Another drink?”  He says, reaching for the wine
bottle which is now less than a quarter full.

“No more wine for me please,” I say bravely.  I still
have half a glass.  He just smiles.  I tell him it was my brother on the phone
though I don’t want to say too much.  I have to watch my words after a drink. 
Alcohol makes it all the more easy to blurt out something regrettable.  I
realise I must be talking a lot about me but I don’t really know what else to
say.  I want to ask him questions so I start to try and think of some.  Just as
I’m thinking, a waitress comes over to our table with a round black tray.  At
first glance it looks like she’s bringing two more tea lights.  I almost say
something out loud about whether they have a power cut, but as I watch her put
them on the table, I realise they’re not candles.  I don’t know what they are. 
I stare at them, then at Etienne in wonder.

“Sambuca.”  He says.  I look at him mystified.

“To drink?” I say, in retrospect a little foolishly,
wondering what else they would be for.  Etienne laughs softly, smiling still.

“Watch!” he says in a mystical way like he’s about to
do a magic trick.  He takes a glass and I think he might be about to set
himself alight, but no.  He blows on the flame and quickly drinks, and smiles
at me.  “Your turn,” he says gesturing towards the other flickering glass.  I
take it quickly.  It feels hot to touch.  I go to gulp it, but he suddenly
stops me, his hand on mine.  I tremble again from his touch.  He says sharply,
“No!” and I realise why after he puffs out the flame. “Now ok,” he says, still
smiling.

I drink and the sickly spirit immediately burns my mouth. 
I think now I really might be sick as sweet fire dances down my throat.  It
carries on dancing in my belly.  I think it may make my stomach turn inside out. 
Maybe my body’s gone into rejection and my face does not deny my feeling. 
Etienne’s hand is still on my wrist and I open my eyes to look at him.  He
looks concerned.  “I’m ok.”  I say to reassure him and I put the glass down, trembling
slightly.  The taste in my mouth is horrid and I have to concentrate on not
being sick.  I sip a little more wine and it kind of takes the taste away,
replacing it with something equally disgusting.  I really crave a glass of
water but to ask for this would mean stupid, failure.  I close my eyes for few
seconds and feel dizzy.

“Really?  Are you ok?”  He asks again, gently
squeezing my wrist, as I feel like I’m swaying slightly in my seat.  I think no,
but find myself lying again.

“Yes, I’m fine,” I say, maybe I need nicotine, maybe
that’ll make me feel better.  I reach for my bag, pull out my cigarette box and
light one up.  My eagerness for self-satisfaction makes me forget my manners. 
Only after my second draw, I realise it would be polite to offer Etienne one
too.  He accepts and takes the lighter from out of my hand, his touch again
makes me shiver.  I sway silently for a moment or two more before realising
I’ve got quite the urge to pee.  I tell Etienne where I’m going just so he
knows, just in case I do pass out in there.  I pick up my bag, lighter and
cigarettes awkwardly, with the lit one still in my mouth and take myself to the
toilet.  Trust no one.  Not yet anyway.

There’s a woman in there, sitting on a stool.  She says,
“Hello darling.”  I don’t respond and head to the nearest cubicle.  I perch on
the cold seat, dropping ash on my bare thigh.  I try and focus on the wall but
can’t.  It’s moving.  Rows of little white square tiles move up and up, like
I’m in a lift going down.  I grin stupidly and laugh at myself.  Eventually
when I feel a little less dizzy, I get up and flush the end of my cigarette
away.  I ignore the woman again.  I look in the mirror and think I still look
surprisingly ok, in a hazy kind of fluffy way.

I come out of the toilet and realise I have forgotten
where we are sitting. I wasn’t paying attention and the toilets are quite far
away.  I have no sense of direction at the best of times.  Now making my way
back is not easy.  I panic a little.  It does seem busier now.  Faces I
accidentally get too close to stare expectantly.  I whisper sorry and nudge
past.  After walking round in what feels like an entire circuit, meeting some
of the same people again, I must be doing something wrong.  I feel an idiot and
decide to head back to the bar.  A barman is looking at me like I might order
but instead I ask him, “Did you see where my friend went?”

He looks back at me puzzled, smiling a little, “That
guy there?” he says, pointing.  I feel stupid but sheer relief as I look over
and see Etienne.  Then the barman adds, “You just walked past him.”  I see
Etienne is looking at me curiously.

I try to think fast, tricky in my state, and all I can
think to save myself is blurt back to the barman, “Two sambucas please, over
there,” and I point in the direction of Etienne.  I hope I covered my tracks but
still quietly accepting I am a total banana.  I know the barman is looking as I
walk away.  I don’t look back.  I walk with a little wobble in my step over to
Etienne as if nothing has happened, trying to style it out.

“You were a long time.” He says, as I’m carefully sitting
myself down, trying to be graceful, but my foot slips.  I fall down on to the
sofa with a sudden bump and my leg shoots forward and kicks the table, making all
the glasses shake.  My feet were aching anyway from the boots, but now my toes
hurt even more.

“Umm... Yeah, there was quite a queue.”  I say, lying.
 “There always is for the lady’s”.  I ramble on.  I must’ve taken a long time
as he is lighting up another cigarette.  It smells strange.  I remember he had
one of mine just before I went.

“So did you phone someone?” he asks, smiling.

“No, no I didn’t,” I say, determined not to lie again.
“I just took long.”  I shrug.  He nods.  “I don’t need to phone anyone, don’t
worry.  I’m not going nowhere.”  He smiles and I smile too just as the barman
brings over the drinks I ordered.

Etienne takes his glass without hesitation, holds it
up, but does not drink.  He’s waiting for me.  “Cheers!” he says.  I almost
laugh.  A French accent on a very British word amuses me.  Like Del Boy saying
Bonjour.  There’s no going back now.  I want to rewind it all and for the
waiter to come back and take the glasses away.  Not going to happen.  No
choice.  I take the glass.

“Cheers!”  I say back, in sharp south London.  We
drink.

Almost immediately, things wobble again and start to
go hazy.  I feel I have stepped off the edge of a cliff.  The kite string is
cut and I am flying high.  I hear myself babbling.  My words make perfect sense
to me but Etienne looks confused.  I am brought a glass of water.  Etienne keeps
asking if I am ok.  He says he should take me home.  I noisily protest but he insists.

I fall into a cab who is a chancer stalking the street. 
I eye him suspiciously but think maybe it is best I just get home. Thankfully
when I blurt out my address he knows where to go and even more amazingly I
manage to make the whole journey home without being sick.  Etienne must pay as
I don’t.  I stumble falling over onto the grass going up the path.  Feeling
damp and cold, Etienne picks me up.  I get to my front door.  I struggle for a
while to get the key, thinking I must be silent as Rob and maybe Ruby or even
Marcia might be here now.  Trying to be quiet makes things worse.  I am dropping
things, bumping into walls and I fall into the bath trying to go to the toilet.
 There is a lot of noise.