Here's Looking at You (27 page)

Laurence grinned even more widely and rubbed his eye.

‘Don’t you?’

Anna shrugged. ‘If you don’t regret it, why conceal it? Be yourself, I say.’

‘Because of the assumptions that go with it. That you’re superficial, or mess people around.’

She suspected both those things. Anna wondered about the justice of her preconceptions about who she would and wouldn’t want to date. She was telling Laurence his scorecard didn’t prejudice her, and it wasn’t strictly true. Was that fair?

‘Speaking theoretically, in general, I suppose if someone’s treated people as disposable, you’re more inclined to think you’ll be disposed of pretty easily too,’ she amended, carefully.

‘Hmmm. I mean, all I think is, if you’re hungry, you go out for dinner. If something looks like fun, it probably is. My motives and behaviour have always been pretty straightforward. But sooner or later you get labels like
womaniser
or
ladies’ man
or whatever, and I think it’s humans being human.’

Anna considered: maybe he’s simply honest and I’m being judgemental. Then: is this precisely how an arch seducer works? Knocks you off balance with moral relativism, throws in some self-deprecation, a spicy cologne and some warm alcohol? Next thing you know, you aren’t sure which way’s up, but your knickers are off?

‘I suppose I wouldn’t want to be judged for my choices either,’ she said.

‘And what are they?’

‘It’s mainly involved waiting around hopelessly for someone who matters to me.’

‘I’m doing that too. I’ve just kept busier.’

‘Are you?’ Anna said.

‘Yes.’

Laurence held her gaze as he sipped his drink. Anna wondered if he’d be
really good at it
, with all that practice.

‘Hey, look at that,’ she said, glad of the distraction, gesturing to two swishy-haired twenty-somethings in pristine white boots, twirling around on the rink. They were doing that thing of looking over their shoulder and crossing their feet as they zig-zagged backwards, almost floating. They were so fast and able they danced between the rest of the people on the rink. ‘You thought I was any good. Now
they
know what they’re doing.’

‘You’re very modest for someone with so many reasons not to be modest.’ Laurence had barely glanced at them. Anna felt he was reading from a ‘make her feel she’s the only woman in the room’ playbook.

‘Oh God, please don’t.’

‘See? Terrible at taking compliments.’

‘Believe the good and you have to take the bad seriously too.’

‘It makes you even nicer, trust me. You don’t meet many beautiful women without massive attitude. Or massive neuroses.’

Make explicit mention of her beauty. But make it clear she’s so much more than that.
James was right, Laurence should write a version of
The Game.

Anna shook her head.

‘You certainly don’t have to be beautiful to be given huge neuroses.’

‘Hah. You wouldn’t know.’

Wouldn’t she? She was quickly realising that it was impossible to have a proper conversation with him, he was stuck in this gear. Every line was practised, every look was carefully weighted.

And here endeth The Laurence Experiment. He wasn’t for her. There were some men, she thought, for whom you’d always be quarry. And when they’d captured you, skinned you and … er, eaten you … OK, this was not the best analogy. When they’d done that, they’d get bored and need to go on another hunt. He didn’t want to get to know Anna, he wanted to bed her. It was pointless trying to meet the real Laurence, and she doubted she would like him if she did.

‘How does ice-skating compare to bowling, then?’ he said.

‘Not a fair fight, given I’m useless at bowling and vaguely competent at skating.’

‘I more meant as a date,’ Laurence said.

‘What? The bowling wasn’t a date.’

‘I know, but … humour me. Rate My Date Dot Com.’

‘What
is it
with the pair of you?’

Anna had a flashback to James and Laurence at the Mock Rock, stood in the wings, revelling in the triumph of her complete humiliation. This was another game and once again, she was the mark.

And once again, she was participating in this set-up willingly, naively. As the mist cleared she was faintly disgusted with herself.

‘Is this some sort of contest, a bet between you two? Is that why you did the whole high-stakes “I’m desperately begging you for a date” routine?’

‘Come on, Anna, I didn’t mean it like that about the bowling. I was kidding …’

‘Thanks for the drinks. I hope your arse isn’t too bruised tomorrow,’ she stood up to leave. ‘Or your ego.’

Despite extensive protestations from Laurence that she’d completely misread a light-hearted remark, Anna insisted she was leaving.

‘Laurence. Your princess is in another castle.’

‘What does that mean?’

Anna hesitated.

‘I don’t know. My colleague Patrick says it.’

James Fraser hadn’t immediately followed up his threat to give her a talking-to over Laurence. No doubt he’d heard Laurence had failed to close the deal and deemed it no longer necessary. Good riddance times two, Anna thought. That was until she came back from a lecture to catatonic second years a week later and found an email from James waiting on her screen. She refused to register the small pleasurable jolt it gave her.

She’d had enough of humouring this duo. She set phasers to Major Snark and fired off:

That’ll do it, she thought, with grim satisfaction. James expected women to fall at his feet, did he? She’d enjoy his curt bafflement in reply. His anger couldn’t touch her, given she had no interest in pleasing him.

Anna laughed out loud and played with her pen and re-read it and giggled again. She vacillated over how to respond. James, with all his insouciant self-confidence, had decided they were friends. Surrendering to it was easy. It felt nice. Plus, dammit, she was dying to see that documentary.

‘Because I am a hubristic, ageing idiot I completely misjudged how long my run would take, so sorry,’ James said, pulling a t-shirt with a ‘V’ of sweat away from his body, after he’d opened the door.

Anna made polite murmurs about how it was no problem. She was simply glad of there being a focus for conversation. By all accounts they’d officially crossed the line from obligation to tentative friendship. The date with Laurence was a one-off deal, there were no defined guidelines here.

‘Would you think I was rude if I ran upstairs and had a very quick shower?’ James rubbed his cheek on his dark blue t-shirt sleeve. His face was glowing with exertion and his hair was glossy with sweat. Anna could imagine Lexie passing out at the combination of Man of Steel looks and man-musk.

‘No, not at all,’ Anna said, sliding her coat from her back as she followed him into the front room, dropping her bag next to the pink sofa.

James brought a silver wine cooler to the dining room table, poured out a glass of white wine and put it in her hand. He placed the TV and DVD remote controls next to her.

‘Cue up my fan Tim. Don’t start it until I’m ready though, I don’t want to miss a single trinket.’

Anna realised she was growing comfortable in James’s company. She didn’t truly trust him, but considering the mixture of fear and distaste that she’d once greeted him with, she increasingly felt like she knew her way around his sense of humour. She’d never had a brother, but maybe this was what it would’ve been like.

She played with the remote controls and couldn’t get a picture on the screen. Luther waddled into the room, observing her intrusion impassively.

‘Hello, Luther!’ she said, politely.

‘Bwaaaaaap!’ he quacked.

He approached a very expensive-looking teal cushion on a footstool, clawing at it with an outstretched paw. He scowled over his fluffy neck ruff at Anna like a naughty charge left with a babysitter, daring her to object.

‘Not sure you should be doing that …’

‘Bwuuuurrrrp!’ he pulled the cushion to the floor and started scratching at it with the enthusiasm of a child tearing the wrapping from a Christmas present.

Anna got to her feet and tried to wrest it from his clutches. He responded by digging his claws in harder. There was a nasty ripping sound and Anna stopped pulling. Was this cat determined to make her every visit a disaster? Was he doing his mistress’s bidding? Luther stopped scratching.

‘Thank you!’ Anna said.

He arranged his rear end over it and made a face awfully like the one she’d seen in the litter box photo.

‘Oh no. James!’ she called.

She tried to tweak the soft furnishing out from under Luther, but the claws had sunk in again. She was not going to be blamed for this creature turding up something that cost a mint from Heals. She’d failed to check protocol before, and this time she had learned her lesson.

There was no noise from the first floor. Anna bounded up the stairs, noisily, given they were hollow-sounding wood, with only a strip of sea grass mat runner up the centre.

‘James? James!’ Now she’d come this far, she really had to carry on. She clambered up the last few stairs and heard the rainfall of running water. As the sound reached her ears, her eyes met a surprising sight in the bathroom at the end of the landing. James. All of James. Or all of him that could be seen with his back to her.

He had a head full of shampoo and rivers of soap coursing down his back, like some real life Diet Coke break advert.

Anna opened her mouth to speak and all that came out was a Lutherish croak.
Urgent message from her brain to her oddly sluggish feet:
James was going to turn around. Any second now he would look at her and maybe if she kept looking a moment longer she’d get a full frontal and oh my God, yes, he WAS turning round, and Anna glimpsed the merest hint of pink skin and black hair as she hurtled back down the stairs.

What was she doing? James was
married
. She was on the brink of ogling another woman’s penis.

She returned to her perch on the sofa, picked up her wine, and tried to ignore the internal clamour. Her mouth was dry as she took a mouthful of wine. She needed to regroup. That had been a visual stimulus. It was merely unexpected, that was all. She waited for her heart rate, and a feeling she was going to have to call lust, to subside. Think about Boris Johnson, in a neon mankini, chest hair shaved into a giant B. OK, that was working. She felt calmer. Situation normalising.

‘Cwaaarpp!’ Luther squawked as he rolled himself off the mercifully smear-free cushion and crawled onto her lap. He rearranged himself awkwardly, like an arthritic old man, and settled down to snore, loudly.

Anna put her hand out and gingerly stroked his fluff.

‘Phweeeeee,’ he emitted an odd noise of satisfaction.

This was a weird house. A gilded palace fit for a beautiful golden-haired queen who’d abdicated her throne; an erotically confusing man who danger-showered; and a squeaky mobile Whoopee Cushion of a cat, like one of those Tribble things on
Star Trek.

James reappeared, his calamity-creating arse now clad in jeans and his top half in a different t-shirt. He was rubbing at his clean damp hair with a white hand towel.

‘Guess what, I even managed not to lock the door properly and it drifted open. I felt like a dirty old man in the park in a Pac A Mac, trying to flash you.’

Aaargggghhhh no no no, he actually mentioned it?!
Anna hadn’t anticipated this and went completely, instantly, smelting metal hot. Muscular buttock-pervers doom. This was her Ass-ghanistan.

James had been joking, but Anna’s startled expression, the change in her complexion and the way she chewed air instead of speaking made it obvious she had been caught out.

He knew she was a dignified, modest kind of woman but he didn’t think she was so
Lost in Austen
timid that the mere mention of an unlocked bathroom door would be enough to get this reaction.

No, she must have seen him? He twanged with embarrassment and self-consciousness but also something else. She hadn’t been going to mention it or mock him … was it possible she didn’t entirely hate the experience? Now he really
was
a creepy old indecent exposer, if he enjoyed the idea of her enjoying it.

‘I see Luther’s warming to you,’ James said, to fill the awkward space.

‘Seems to be,’ Anna said, in a funny voice. Oh my, they needed conversation, and fast. James picked up the glass he’d left out and sploshed wine into it.

‘You survived the encounter with Loz, then?’

‘As if you haven’t asked him how it went.’

‘He only said he’d failed to convince you he was sincere. Not surprising given he wasn’t sincere and you’re intelligent.’ James sat down on the armchair. There was no way he was sharing the sofa so soon after Nob-Seeing Gaffe. God, he hoped he’d been tensing his stomach muscles. He wasn’t twenty-two anymore. And while he didn’t think he had anything to be ashamed of, he hoped Anna didn’t have an ex who had one the size of a sea cucumber.

‘He wasn’t sincere?’ Anna said, with a smile.

‘He sincerely wants to shag you, just as he has sincerely wanted to shag lots of people.’

‘Does it matter that he’s shagged lots of people, if he didn’t carry on doing it if we got together?’