Friends Or Lovers Part 3

"I guess it depends whose got their hand on your behind, eh?" I said with a furtive look.

Elona tensed and was unsettled by this remark.

"What do you mean?" she replied as she shuffled in her seat. I detected a touch of embarra.s.sment in her behaviour.

"I was just saying that perhaps some blokes attention is nicer than others?"

She rubbed her ear and her brows came together as she spoke.

"I dont understand what you are implying, Ms Leyton. I have a boyfriend and I only like him to touch me like that. I dont want other men doing it."

Ms Leyton? A bit formal, I thought. Still, I could see she was agitated so I took another approach.

"And quite right too, Elona. Im glad we had this talk."

I smiled strongly at her as I drew the conversation to a close.

"It seems that we have a few more heads to knock together, doesnt it? If anyone does something that you dont like, tell them straightaway. Can you do that?"

"Yes. Ill try."

"Do you have a diary?" I asked.

"Yes. Why?"

"If youve asked someone to stop and they continue to touch you in a way that you dont like, make a note in your diary. Can you do that too?"

"Sure."

"And if you feel the need, come and see me. Okay?"

She seemed to relax.

"Okay," she confirmed.

After Elona left the room I pondered her behaviour. Her defensiveness suggested she was hiding something. I wondered if she was receiving more attention than she was saying. Ill discuss with Phil before I depart on Monday. Clearly we will need to work on this problem together.

Chapter 8.

I live on the outskirts of town in a two-bedroom flat. It suits me for the moment, although one day Id like a house with a garden that I can tend. I take some pride in my home. Although I live on my own, Ive worked hard to shape it in my own image. Last year, after I was accepted in this job, I splashed out on a wooden floor and cream leather sofa. I always work hard to make my living room the most welcoming one in the house. Over the brick fireplace I have some ethnic artwork. On the wall either side are two African masks, each with different tribal markings. At ground level, I have large vases with dried flowers that give some colour and texture next to an attractive gas fire. The mantelpiece supports two tall candles in wrought iron holders and a number of stone carved nightlights. When I settle down with a box of chocolates and dim the light, the candles give the room a romantic s.e.xy feel.

On the opposite wall, I have a photo of my younger sister, Carole. She is 30, two years younger than me, and has made her career in teaching. At the moment she is on maternity leave, her first child with boyfriend Chris. I think hes a bit of dope she does too but since their son was conceived hes taken his job (as a computer programmer) more seriously. Recently he got a promotion to project a.n.a.lyst and is now supervising others for the first time.

Next to Carole is a picture of my parents on their 40th wedding anniversary. Considering their generation, they had children quite late. After meeting at university they wanted to travel the world together for a while. They had decided that if they still wanted to be together after living in each others pockets for two years, theyd do it for life. And so it has been. When they got back, they each established their careers, got married and had children. My mother, like my sister, is a teacher; she will be able to retire next year. My father, however, still has two years before he can retire. He is a civil servant who rose through the ranks to lead a unit that answers parliamentary questions. Sometimes he gets to prepare answers for TV. He even gets to write answers for the Prime Minister sometimes. Fame of a sort, I guess. Im proud of him.

My father is the kindest man I know but I have had a p.r.i.c.kly relations.h.i.+p with my mother ever since I turned 14. At that time, I grew close to my sister and we stayed that way ever since. We now call each other every week, sometimes we write e-mails to each other and swap humorous cards. A few of these hang on a pin board in my living room. My favourite card is...

Men have only two faults

Everything they say

And everything they do

...although I also like another one that says "Grow your own dope: plant a man". My sister sent these to me when she was having difficulty getting her boyfriend to settle down with her. I ask if we will hear wedding bells soon but the most optimistic response shes given so far is "Next Year: probably." What is it about men and commitment? Even though shes been with him for three years now, many of our phone conversations still dwell on "man problems". I keep telling her that we are better off without them, but she holds out hope that eventually theyll get married. Forlorn, I reckon, but hope springs eternal where she is concerned.

My bedroom is a mini-paradise. The focus is my pinewood king-size bed with a deluxe duck feather duvet and pillows. I dont have a regular fella to keep me warm at night, so a sensuous bedroom equipped for lingering self-pampering is one of lifes essentials. I have a built-in wardrobe and dresser a present paid for by my parents when they helped me buy this place four years ago. They know how I like to adorn myself, so the dresser came with an array of drawers to hold all my paraphernalia: lip gloss, selections of lipsticks, nail varnishes and eye shadows (which I use only on special occasions). Either side of the mirror is a raised area for an a.s.sortment of bottles; moisturisers, facial scrubs, make-up remover and spot sticks. Jewellery is in one of my side drawers; organised into earrings, belly bars, necklaces, bracelets (wrist and ankle), and a choice of rings for fingers and toes. The other side draw holds my collection of lingerie, carefully selected so that on the rare occasions I think enough of a man to invite him back, I can make him think that hes gone to heaven early.

The headboard is decorated with subtle white lights, and on each bedside table I have one of these new cylindrical lights with slow moving silver flakes that refract light. When I go to bed, I switch out the main light, switch on the bedside lights, and watch the patterns that meander around the room. Wrapped in my duvet, I feel deliciously erotic, a sensual and very personal love nest, just perfect for fuelling my fantasies when I feel like playing with myself.

The kitchen is small but functional. The work units and oven are built in so there is a reasonable amount of works.p.a.ce and cleaning is easy. I dont have s.p.a.ce for a was.h.i.+ng machine so I still do my laundry down the road. It gets me out of the house and I can chat to Betty who does the service washes. She gives me the latest celebrity gossip. When Big Brother hits our screens we chat about it each week and I invite her around my flat to watch eviction nights.

"Hi sis"

"Hi Carole. Good week?"

I enjoy these chats with my sister.

"Not bad. Hes sitting up now and hes a lot happier because he can look around. I give him a toy with a bell on it and he sits there shaking it and laughs for ages."

"If only adults were as easy to amuse..." I commented.

"Chris has raised the idea of using his flexi-hours to spend more time at home. I dont know, Im not sure about it. In some ways its good to have him home, but he just makes more work for me."

"Cant you train him better?" I ask. This has been a standing joke ever since she started going out with him.

"I try. I try. He is trying too, bless him. He can change a nappy now, but baby refuses to be fed by bottle. He actually gets upset that he cant feed his child. I rea.s.sure him that as soon as he starts on solids then h.e.l.l be able to get in on the action."

"He sounds keen," I interjected.

"Yes. He is. Quite sweet really. Just wish he could cook then hed be really useful to me."

"Nothing on the matrimonial front, yet?"

"Havent raised it for a while, it just creates tension. How about you?"

This is another standing joke - my inability to find any man worthy of me.

"No, nothing to report there. But I did meet an interesting man this week on the plane back from France."

"Tell me more...." Carole quipped.

"Hes married, got kids, so thats a no go area. He was keen to meet me again so weve agreed to meet up next week for lunch."

"Hey you. Sounds like hes a fast worker, and youre giving him a big green light."

"No Carole, its not like that." No sooner had I uttered the words than I realised how stupid they sounded.

"Oh, yes?" she asked.

"No. Hes most odd. I cant explain. He burned my ear with all this stuff about s.e.xism in the army. Like I say, hes an odd-ball."

"So, why are you meeting him?"

It was a pertinent question.

"Oh. Im not sure. He has lovely eyes. He is a practiced flirt. Hes intelligent, a consultant, a writer."

"Youre smitten. I can tell."

"Oh dont say that Carole. I have no idea whether Im doing the right thing and you know what Im like with men. But he seems different. I want to satisfy my curiosity."

"And your libido?"

"I dont think so," I said weakly, but I didnt even convince myself so I doubt that I convinced her.

"Go for it, I say! You only live once."

We are so alike.

"Yeah! Ill call you in the week; let you know how it goes."

"Too right you will."

"Say 'hi to mum for me if you talk to her."

"I will. Stay cool."

"Bye sis"

And with that, we both put down the phone and returned to our very different lives.

Chapter 9.

My weekend was fairly typical: shopping, cleaning, reading, relaxing and sleeping. Living on my own, I have the pleasure of buying in exactly the foods I wish, watching only the television that I want to, and getting up when I like. I can also avoid having my house systematically trashed by boisterous kids (although I imagine it wont be long before my nephew will oblige). Not having a man about the house also helps in that respect; most men who I let into my bed think that the corner of my room has an invisible linen bin placed there. There is a constant battle to train them to put their clothes in a bag ready for them to take away when our romantic interludes are concluded. No way am I going to start was.h.i.+ng their clothes.

But I cant deny that there is loneliness too. I still cant get used to going to bed by myself and I especially miss the pleasure of waking up next to someone, snuggling up to them, and sharing my thoughts and feelings. I dont always feel safe on my own. Despite the faade of strength I present at work, if the doorbell rings on a dark winter evening I use my spy hole to check whos the other side. If it is a man I do not know and sometimes even if I do I dont let them in. I particularly hate having workmen in the flat during the day.

One thing that only women can understand, I think, is the silent fear we have of violence. Breaking up with a man is traumatic because you never know how hes going to react. Some withdraw into themselves and skulk off; but with others you can visibly see their bodies convulse with anger. Sometimes I get really scared. So far none have hit me, but my sister was not so lucky. Her last boyfriend punched and kicked her when she ended the relations.h.i.+p. Sitting with her, looking at her bruised mouth and eye, holding her hand while she sobbed like a young child, watching her shrivel with humiliation as she admitted to a nurse how she received her injuries; thats an experience thatll never leave me.

By Sunday, Id done my ch.o.r.es so I took myself off to the Malvern Hills for a walk. It was a pleasant day, warm for April, and I was able to remove my jumper and wear just a tee-s.h.i.+rt and shorts. Walking gives me a wonderful sense of freedom; time and s.p.a.ce to think. At the moment I wonder whether my life is going in the direction that I want. On the surface it looks very fulfilling; good career with responsibility and the chance to travel; two circles of friends (inside and outside work) that balance each other and provide good times and support for bad times. I have a nice home and neighbours; a family I can see when I need (far enough away not to crowd me but close enough to visit the same day). Im sufficiently attractive to be able to enjoy male company more or less whenever I like, so why do I feel so empty?

As I walk on the brow of the hill I look north towards Worcester. The houses on the plain are as tiny as an architects model and the specks that move slowly along the motorway look like matchbox cars. The wind buffets my face as I stand like the French Lieutenants Woman; an isolated and desolate beauty searching the wilderness for something in life that will make it more meaningful and satisfying. In my mind, I recall Johns comment that looking down on the world reminds us of our insignificance.

Am I significant? Do I make a difference? Have I had a positive influence on the people Ive known? I wasnt sure. Ive been hard on boyfriends who would not make a commitment to me, but perhaps it is me who is avoiding commitment. The life I have is safe, and I have many things that give me pleasure, but deep in my heart Im still quite lonely. Even when Im shacked up with a man, I still feel lonely.

Family and friends are great but there are limits to how I can be with them. If my parents knew how I behaved sometimes they would probably die with shame; I cant show them the real me. I even hide my feelings from my sister. My deepest need; the desire to share myself physically, emotionally and spiritually, cannot be satisfied with any of them. In fact, Im not sure there is anyone with whom I can do that. Why is it that the greatest source of pleasure is also the source of so much fear and pain?

As I resume my walk I cannot help but notice that most people are walking with someone else. Husbands walk with wives (lovers or friends, perhaps). Parents walk with children. Rarely do I see two women or two men walking together; the hills are filled with people who have come to terms with sharing themselves with another. I dont think Ive shared myself fully with anyone. Im too afraid.

Chapter 10.

Im in Leeds today. The interviews went off as well as could be expected. I found a man and woman; both married. Both with children in the 11-15 age range and extended family support (thats usually necessary in this line of work). There was a single woman with previous direct sales experience and good family support so I think we have found the people we need. I also interviewed a single man who had won custody of his children. He too seems to possess the necessary enthusiasm and skills.

At the moment, Im driving back to meet John. I cant help but feel excited even though I know this is not an appropriate way to feel. I have George Benson playing "Lady, Love Me One More Time" on the CD player and this fuels an expectation that lunch will be the start of a romance. I keep reminding myself that this is an unrealistic (and unhealthy) way to be thinking but the b.u.t.terflies in my stomach wont go away, no matter what I do. We e-mailed each other over the weekend and agreed to meet at Pizza Hut. As I enter the outskirts of town, the clock shows there are only 50 minutes to go and my breathing deepens and lengthens as my nerves start to intensify.

"Stop it!" I shout. "Go away!" but ranting makes no difference. I wish I didnt feel like this. I shouldnt be meeting him. But I keep driving towards the town centre, turn right into an NCP car park, watch the barrier rise, see the front of the car turn to the left and climb the levels. The car parks itself as if Im on auto-pilot. I try not to think and focus on getting through the next few minutes.

Find the exit. Go down the stairs. Turn left. Now right. Along the high street. Look in the shop windows. Check my handbag. Where is my lippy? Look in the shop window. Apply evenly. Press lips together. Turn left. Continue. Go to cashpoint. Press 7725. Enter. Choose "Cash no receipt". 50. Wait for card. Take the money. Turn left. Walk. Open the door.

"Penny! There you are." The moment I hear his words I come out of my trance.