Out Late with Friends and Regrets (14 page)

After some familiar banter with the two men, Ellie hustled Fin to a quiet spot by a fading rhododendron, and fumbled in a denim shoulder-bag.

“Listen, Babe,” she said, “Sorry I’m a bit late – had something I needed to attend to.
 
Meanwhile …” as a crumpled half-sheet of jotter emerged from the bag; “here’s your date.
 
Name’s – uhhhm, let’s see… Celia, I think it is… nice girl… you’re to meet her at the Nine-O Bar in King’s Row at eight thirty – you’ll just make it if you hurry
 
- I’ve left my taxi waiting in the road for you – now
go
!”

The date! The fucking
date
! Fin had forgotten all about that part of Ellie’s message.
 
From a state of relaxed enjoyment she was suddenly catapulted once more into the void. Ellie was guiding her by the arm through the crowd.

“I really ought to thank –” Fin gestured towards where she had last seen Dave. It would be so ungracious to leave without a word.

“Don’t worry,” reassured Ellie, “I’ll do that for you – just get going, and have fun!
Now
!”

So there she was in the taxi, checking that her keys, cash and card were still in their respective pockets, and asking the driver for the Nine-O, King’s Row; on her way to meet a girl she wondered whether Ellie herself actually knew, and with the stomach-churning feeling of being tossed by a mischievous fate out of the plane without a parachute for the second time that day.

This was a hell of a bizarre evening.

There was no doubt about it, the girl looked... rough.
 
Even under the low lighting of the bar, the dark circles round her eyes and pitted, pale cheeks were as obvious as her twisted posture on the bar stool.
 
She wore something resembling a long cardigan, and the hands clutching her drink were clad in milkman’s mittens.
 
In June! The hair suggested partial mauling by bears.
 
She
had
to be a drug addict, right? She was the only solo female in Nine-Oh, which was small enough to see all four corners from the door.
 
Fin hesitated.
 
Could Ellie really have set her up with this unappetising creature?

She was about to turn and leave, when the girl’s eyes caught hers in the gloom.
 
“What the fuck do you think
you’re
looking at?” they said, as clearly as if aloud.

“Oh, God”, thought Fin.
 
And then... a rail-thin youth in skinny jeans and a brow-length woollen hat approached the girl and inserted himself between her knees, wordlessly plunging his tongue deep into her mouth.

“Sooner you than me, mate,” breathed Fin, realising she was shaking with relief.

“Excuse me,” came a voice at her shoulder, “are you Fin?”

She jumped, letting out an embarrassingly loud gasp, and turned to face a young woman with long, straight hair and unremarkable features. Her expression was serious, but at least she wasn’t scowling. The contrast with the first girl was so welcome, Fin rather overdid the beaming smile of greeting.

“Oh,
hi!
You must be Celia!”

“No.”

“Oh! Oh, I’m really sorry, I thought –”

“It’s Cecilia.
 
Two Cs.”

“Ah.” A pause.
 
“Like the patron saint of music, then?”

“Yes.”

Oh, come on, Fin, take control, for God’s sake.
 
Drink.
 
Offer her a drink.

“Well, nice to meet you, Cecilia. What would you like?
 
To drink?”

I wish I’d never come.
 
I want to go home.

“Er...”

“Um, white wine? I don’t know what, er, what they’ve got, I’m afraid... Breezer, they’ve got Breezers on display...
 
Oh, look, there’s a board with cocktails... Goodness, haven’t some of them got weird names? I must confess, I’ve never had a Woo-woo, let alone a super Woo-woo, have you?... What do you think?”

Please say something. I can’t cope with this.

“Could I have a large cherry brandy and orangeade, please?”

Yuk.

“Yes, of course.
 
Shall we, er, sit over at that table over by the window? That all right for you? If you could go over and bag it for us, I’ll order our drinks.”

Fin brought the sticky mixture over to the table, together with a mineral water for herself.
 
Being bumped into this situation had de-fuzzed her head even as she left Rachel and Dave’s in Ellie’s taxi; but getting to know this girl was going to require an effort, it seemed obvious, and more alcohol might not be a great idea at this stage.
 
She rehearsed her opening remarks.

“Right, Cecilia,” she smiled pleasantly as she sat down, “Tell me all about yourself.”

Did that sound patronising? Probably.

It was a new experience for Fin to be leading a conversation, driving the action, except in dealing with customers in the shop.
 
At least her daily round of smiling, advising, selling and negotiating the odd discount would give her a veneer of authority and composure she was far from feeling, if she could get over the awkward start.

Cecilia was not socially gifted, but despite the heavy going Fin managed to get her smiling once or twice, and elicit a little information.
 
Probably painfully shy, she told herself, although Cecilia didn’t come over that way: more strange than bashful, somehow.
 
Never mind, she wouldn’t have to see her again after tonight.

Another couple of the revolting drinks that Fin had privately named Nosebleeds made their way down, and the conversation staggered on.
 
Cecilia was one of Ellie’s students, but hadn’t formed any thoughts on what to do beyond her degree. No, no hobbies really.
 
She didn’t watch telly much but quite liked stuff with pathologists in it.
 
And Jerry Springer.

Oh, for heaven’s sake.

Fin volunteered one or two generalities about her own life, purely to break up the one-sided question and answer format.
 
Cecilia failed to pick up any of the cues, however, and seemed unbothered by the occasional silences that decended.

It was only when on her fourth Nosebleed that, as Fin talked about university courses in general, Cecilia abruptly came out with, “Ellen is so absolutely fantastic, don’t you think? I’d give anything to go to bed with her.”

Yes, well, thanks for that, Cecilia. Your dear Ellen is the one who saw fit to dump you in my lap for the evening, probably to get you off her own back.

“Yeah, she’s really something, isn’t she,” Fin managed, “great personality.”

Unlike yourself, Cecilia. Although the mere mention of her name seems to have mobilised your blank, corpsey face for the first time of the night.

Fin was beginning to think of ways to call time on the encounter, when Cecilia lifted her tall glass, still half-full, and drained it in one gulp.

“That was lovely. Will you see me home, please?”

“Course I will. It’s, er, it’s not too far from here, is it? Or, I can get you a taxi?”
 

“No, not far. I’d really like you to walk with me, Fin.”

The bars and restaurants were still busy, and the pavements full of night-outers, as the two went the quarter mile to Cecilia’s flat.
 
Fin was surprised when Cecilia took and held her hand; in response she neither shook it free nor gripped it.
 
She had noticed young female students holding hands about town, but it felt odd in the present circumstances.
 
Certainly nobody stared at them; all were too involved in their own Saturday nights.

The building was Edwardian-pompous with a dignified corbelled fascia, which rose some three floors above the street-level bank that had probably built it a century ago.
 
Access to the flats was through a door at the side, and Cecilia tapped in a code on the external keypad.
 
The latch clicked.

“Come in for coffee,” she said.

Crossroads.
 
No time to weigh up options and possibilities. Surely not a problem, though; Fin could leave after coffee; nothing wrong with that.

“Fine.
 
Thanks.” she said.

She had the ascent of three flights of stairs during which to consider her position.
 
What if Cecilia asked her to stay? To be coldly pragmatic, she had nowhere to sleep; it was far too late to try to get into a B & B.
 
She could get a taxi back to the party, of course, and see if Ellie would let her kip down on her sofa, but she balked at the idea of parading a description of her dreary evening in front of her mentor, who would inevitably be surrounded by some of the friends Fin had met earlier.
 
They would undoubtedly be sympathetic and supportive, which would be too awful. These were people she wanted to get to know, have laughs with; interesting people.
 
Better by far if she could relate the story later, spin it as a comic anecdote, with the ultimate control of retrospect.

  
        
Of course, it was possible that Ellie had set up the date for her so she could get her first real taste of Sapphic experience, with a partner who knew the ropes but who wouldn’t engage her emotionally.
 
The sheer calculation of that, if true, was chilling.
 
And if Fin were complicit in such an intrigue, it smacked of dancing to the puppeteer’s tapping foot, a habit that she needed to put behind her for ever.
 
Different, if she had been attracted to the girl.
 
That would have put the evening into perspective as, well, as an introduction.
 
Dilemma.

“Here we are,” announced Cecilia, unlocking her featureless front door.
 
Her cheeks were flushed from the climb, and her eyes – were they marginally less passive?

“Hmm, this is... nice,” said Fin.

It
was
nice, in that the room was spotless, free of clutter and mostly beige.

“You can sit there.”

“Thank you.”

“How do you have your coffee?”

“Strong, please.
 
One sugar, not too much milk, thanks.”

Cecilia was not ugly, smelly, stupid or, as far as she could tell, mad.
 
Damn it, what could be the harm in sleeping – or, more accurately, mostly not sleeping – with her? Fin had to start somewhere, after all.
 
Still, every little bit of her cried out, wrong, wrong, wrong.
 
Oh hell, she thought, I shouldn’t be here, contemplating committing a mortal sin in cold blood, just for the experience.
 
Let nature trample joyously over nurture when the time is right, with someone I really fancy.

She could see Cecilia in the cramped kitchen, watched her making the coffee in two mugs.
 
The spoons clinked against the china, the kettle huffed its way to climax, and the bland but pleasant scent of instant coffee drifted into the room.
 

No, she would chat through coffee, thank Cecilia for a delightful evening,
take a taxi to Mornington Road, and try to get some sleep in the car.
 
She would need to move it into the next street, of course, so as not to be spotted by any of the partygoers.
 
Not much of a plan, especially in view of the restrictions imposed by a two-seater soft-top, but better than walking the streets of the city at night.
 
The alcohol in her bloodstream should be pretty well dispersed by first light, and she could get some rest at home before the first viewing appointment of the afternoon.