When they woke up late on Saturday morning, Tom was feeling much better and raring to go.
“Can we go and do all the things people usually do on weekends?”
“I don’t know. What do people normally do on Saturday mornings?”
“I don’t know,” he said with a huge smile and a shrug. Kate was still half asleep and having trouble following the logic of this conversation. She looked so bemused that Tom ruffled her hair and explained, “I’m usually playing golf on the weekends. I try not to miss the cut too often. So I don’t get to do all those routine things couples do on weekends.”
“I don’t either – not that I’m playing golf but that I seem to have been missing out on the couple bit.” She was still so sleepy that she wasn’t even worried about the fact that she had basically told him she’d been a sad single female before he came along.
“Well, let’s pretend for today that we are a normal couple.” She humphed.
“Then we will have to do the grocery shopping, complaining the whole time about how crowded it is and how expensive everything is, then you will spend the afternoon watching the football while I clean the flat, do the washing, ironing, getting more and more resentful.”
“Er. Can’t we do the young and in love movie version. You know brunch in some hip café, reading the newspapers companionably, walking arm in arm in the park, shopping at the markets on Portobello Road, drifting off to bed for an afternoon…nap before going out tonight.”
“Now that sounds more appealing. Particularly good idea to go out for brunch since I don’t actually have any food you’d want to eat.”
As they sat in the hip café drinking cappuccinos, Kate regarded Tom over the top of her newspaper. He really was gorgeous and she could get quite used to having him around to do nice things with. He looked up at her, “What?”
“If we really were two normal people having a proper relationship, is this what we’d be doing all the time?”
“Probably,” he shrugged, “Anyway, we are normal people having a proper relationship.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Excuse me, are you Tom Benson, the golfer?” Kate looked up at the older man who had interrupted their conversation. Tom just nodded and smiled in a friendly way.
“Could I have your autograph, please?”
“Sure.” Tom signed the piece of paper the man held out, shook hands with him and then turned back to Kate as if nothing had happened. It was obvious that the people at the surrounding tables were scrutinising them closely to try to work out who Tom was.
“Well, that’s not normal for a start.” He shrugged again.
“It’s no big deal.”
“I’m sorry - the only person who interrupts me while I am drinking coffee to ask me for an autograph is my secretary and it’s usually for her petty cash claims!” Tom laughed and suggested they get on to the walking arm in arm bit.
At the end of the day, she had to admit that she had enjoyed pottering around London with Tom enormously. She had finally broached the subject of the fancy dress aspect of the party and they had spent a couple of hours rummaging in market stalls for something suitable for Tom to wear. The theme of the party was James Bond – the party was for Patrick, a friend of Matthew’s from school who worked for MI5 (not that anyone was actually sure what he did – personally Kate thought that he was probably an auditor but didn’t want to admit to such a boring job so in real MI5 style sexed it up a bit!). She felt it was unfair to expect Tom to wear anything too outrageous when he didn’t actually know anyone at the party. She was a little disappointed but could understand why he had rejected her suggestion that they should wear a pair of pyjamas – that was, Tom should wear the bottoms and Kate the top. In the end, he wore a sports coat with an open necked shirt and a cravat and was one of the Russian baddies from one of the movies in the 80s that she was a bit hazy on. Kate wore black trousers and a gold waistcoat, blow dried her hair into a lovely 1960s shape and was Pussy Galore – after all, it was such a great name!
They were greeted at the door by Patrick, resplendent in his dinner suit, martini in hand. Kate introduced Tom and they were quickly swept into the party. Most of the men were, like Patrick, wearing dinner suits. There was also a Blofeld, complete with stuffed fluffy white cat and a Q, anxious to show anyone he could his gadgets, which included a pair of exploding balls that he had to rummage around in his trouser pocket to find whilst muttering ‘Now where are my balls’. The girls were generally in a state of undress. One stalked past in knee high stiletto boots, PVC trousers and a bustier. Kate had had to close Tom’s mouth for him. It turned out that she was Patrick’s usually rather meek and mild girlfriend, Cordelia. When Kate commented to Patrick that she hadn’t recognised Cordelia, he laughed and explained that when she had been planning the party people had simply misunderstood the theme – they all thought it was Bond when in fact it was meant to be bondage!
There was a commotion at the door with the arrival of Matthew, sporting a long blonde wig, tiny white bikini (with enormous fake breasts) and a dagger in his belt. He made his way through the laughing crowd to Kate and kissed her warmly. She turned to Tom, “You remember Matthew, don’t you?” Tom was completely gobsmacked but recovered his composure enough to shake hands.
“He is appalling and totally incorrigible,” said a mellow voice behind Matthew. Kate squealed and hugged the man tight.
“Tom, this is Jasper, Matthew’s partner. He’s wonderful and you will love him so just ignore Matthew and talk to Jasper. Jasper, this is Tom Benson.” Tom and Jasper fell into an easy conversation and Kate felt free to wander off to talk to other people.
She had a fabulous time at the party, fuelled by mojitos and the knowledge that she wouldn’t be going home alone. She didn’t spend the whole night glued to Tom’s side, confident that he would cope without her. She remained very aware of him throughout the party and quite enjoyed the feeling of him watching her across the room while she was talking to someone else.
She was happily bopping around on the dance floor, when Tom came and grabbed her hand, pulling her close to him.
“Pussy, darling, I think it is time we go and do what James Bond does best.”
“What? We have to go and save the world from total domination by an evil mastermind?”
“No, the other thing he does so well.”
“We need to speed around in an open topped sports car?”
“No, the other, other thing he does so well.”
“Oh, that. Okay, just let me go and say my goodbyes.” Tom spent another half an hour, during which he had another beer and chatted with Jasper, watching Kate work her way around the room hugging and kissing people as she said her farewells (and even introducing herself to a few people she had not yet met!).
Once they’d made it out on to the street, Tom asked whether she always took so long to get ready to leave. She looked rather sheepish. “Yes. I’m always worried that I might miss out on something if I leave.”
“I promise you, if you leave with me, you won’t miss out on anything.” He folded her into his arms and kissed her passionately on the doorstep until the next lot of partygoers leaving interrupted them. Kate blushed but he just shrugged and dragged her off into the night to look for an empty taxi.
When she woke up the next morning, she reflected that she had indeed not missed out on anything by going home when she did. She did, however, miss Tom in her bed now. She had assumed that he would be there when she woke up in the morning so she was a bit disappointed that he wasn’t. She lay stretching in the bed trying to wake up gently. She couldn’t hear any noises in her flat to indicate he was there. She sat up to look around. His bag was still on the floor where he had left it so he obviously hadn’t done a runner. She slid out of bed and into her bathrobe that had been flung across the armchair. She padded out into the kitchen but there was no sign of him. She made herself a cup of tea with a sigh and fetched the paper from the doorstep. As she was heading off back to bed, the doorbell rang. She looked through the peephole to check who it was – Tom. She opened the door for him. He was standing on the doorstep, in shorts and a T-shirt, red in the face and sweating profusely.
“Good morning, can I help you?” she asked politely.
“I’m selling the complete Encyclopaedia Britannica door to door.”
“Ahh, that explains why you’re so hot and sweaty but I’m sorry I don’t need an encyclopaedia,” she answered with a laugh.
“How ‘bout a vacuum cleaner?”
“Er, no.”
“Steak knives?” She just shook her head.
“Now, this is my absolute final offer – croissants, freshly squeezed orange juice and the paper,” he said holding out a bulging plastic bag.
“Oh, I think you had better come in.”
They spent a lazy morning eating croissants, drinking coffee and reading the paper (Tom actively avoiding the coverage of the tournament for which he had missed the cut). In the afternoon, they headed off to a bookstore as Kate wanted to buy the latest Ian McEwan book.
As they mooched around the bookstore, she asked, “Do you read?”
“Yes, Kate, I can read.”
“No, I mean, do you like to read? Do you read a lot?”
“I guess I do. Lots of time on planes, you know.”
“And what do you read? Airport thrillers, guy lit, military history, biographies, pop science?”
“God, is this some kind of test? If I say the wrong thing I’m out on my ear?”
“Mmm, possibly.”
“Okay, I’m guessing that you are a completely obsessive reader – like you appear to be about any of the things you actually take seriously. I’m guessing that Jane Austen is your favourite author and Pride and Prejudice is your all time favourite book. Am I right?”
“Maybe.” He crowed in triumph. Of course, he was right! What self-respecting reader didn’t love Pride and Prejudice with a passion – particularly readers with a passion for soppy romances but too snooty to admit it, requiring their romance to be packaged as literature – Pride and Prejudice, The English Patient, Possession. Tom interrupted her thoughts.
“So I should probably say that I love Jane Austen but I don’t think you’d believe I had ever read any.”
“Well, have you?”
“No. How about you?”
“All of it – even the juvenilia and the incomplete novel. Sad, huh?” He laughed at her.
“So back to my original question,” she prompted.
“I read thrillers – lots of sex and violence. I read biographies – I just finished reading Nelson Mandela’s. I thought I should read it since I met him last year at a golf tournament in South Africa. I don’t read military history.”
“Thank God, for that,” she snorted. She was dying to hear all about meeting Nelson Mandela but didn’t want to seem like too much of a groupie so filed it away for later reference.
“Pop science I may need to give a go. Guy lit, I’m not sure about.”
“You know, Nick Hornby.”
“Oh, no, too introspective for me.” It was her turn to laugh at him. He looked serious, then asked, “So, did I pass the test?”
“Yes, of course. It was the military history that was vital.”
“And do you read, Kate?”
“I spend all day at work reading and then like nothing better than lying on the couch reading when I get home.”
“So no television for you then?”
“Oh, no, I watch TV and read at the same time.”
He shook his head. “I should have known.” There was a pause and then he went on, “So this was all designed to check that I would not disrupt your lifestyle? That I would agree to spending hours lying around reading with you?”
“Well, will you?”
“Alright, but can you also read naked in bed?”
Kate threw him a cheeky grin. “Shall we buy some books and see?”
Consequently, they spent the afternoon in bed reading - well at least, some of the time was spent reading.
Kate climbed out of bed as it started to get dark. She padded out to the kitchen to rummage in the fridge and pantry to find something for dinner. By the time Tom had followed her out, he was sniffing appreciatively.
“Smells great. What is it?”
She giggled, “It is my mum’s secret weapon in the cooking stakes. Whenever she’s really busy and running late with dinner she always bungs on some onions and garlic to fry so the whole house is full of great smells and my dad thinks she’s cooking up a storm and has been at it for ages. The smell keeps him happy even if he has to wait forever for his dinner.”
“So did you get all of your feminine wiles from your mother?”
“Plenty to learn from her. She’s amazing.”
“Well, you aren’t so bad yourself,” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist.
“If you do that, you’ll never get anything to eat.” He let her go immediately and she looked vaguely disappointed.
“Sorry but I’m starving,” he said, with a shrug. He watched her as she zipped around the kitchen, efficiently turning out spaghetti with creamy tomato sauce in the time it took to cook the pasta.
“This is incredible,” he said, as he slurped up the spaghetti.
“I’m a whiz at 10 minute dinners. I’m always so tired when I get back from work that I can’t be bothered with anything that takes any longer.” She took another sip of wine and regarded him over the top of her glass. She hated to admit to herself, and certainly would never admit to him, that it tasted way better with him than it had ever done before.
After dinner, they lay on the couch watching television. It was all so normal that it was a bit of a shock when he suddenly grabbed the remote control from her and changed channels just as the sports report started on the news. She had briefly forgotten that this was a hiatus from real life and that this wasn’t something they’d be doing every weekend. She tried to think bracingly that it would probably get boring after a while. Yeah, right!
“How about you go into another room and I watch the news and tell you who won?”
“As long as it is not that snotty nosed Spanish kid, I don’t care.”
“You mean Alonso. What’s wrong with him? He seemed pretty innocuous to me.”
“I know. He is but it’s just that he’s always touted as the new generation and he makes me feel positively decrepit.”
“What at the age of 32?”
“Hmm, sad, isn’t it?” She snatched back the remote control and flicked back to the news. Tom leapt off the couch and headed into the hallway. She called him back, “Too late, we missed it with all our fannying about.”
“I beg your pardon, all of our what?”
“You know, farting around, fannying about.”
“I think you’ve been living in London far too long if you can use an expression like that casually in conversation.” She threw a cushion at him. She moved to her laptop and turned it on.
“Are you going to do some work?”
“No, I’m going to check who won on the internet.” He sat miserably on the couch while she waited for the BBC News homepage to open. She silently clicked to the sports page and then the relevant story.
“So who do you think won? Based on what you saw on Thursday and Friday.”
“Hmm, well, Alsonso was playing well and it was in Spain so he is a realistic option. Maybe Jonathan Squires, he was the highest placed Aussie or Ernie Els, you can never rule him out.”
“And he is so gorgeous.”
“Excuse me, Ernie is gorgeous?” She just nodded. “Really?”
“He’s big and manly. He’s all laid back and solid and dependable. I just love him. I mean, his nickname is the Big Easy. What’s not to like?”
“And what am I? Chopped liver?”
“No, my friend, you are extremely easy.” It was his turn to throw a cushion at her.
“Just put me out of my misery and tell me who won.”
“Okay, it was another Spaniard. Miguel. Won in a play off with Squires. Won it on the first play off hole. Squires fired his tee shot into the water and it was all over.”
Tom moved behind her to read over her shoulder. He was grinning broadly.
“What’s so great about Miguel winning?”
“You see, he’s about 45, bit of a paunch, smokes cigars out on the course, big drinker, thinks all this fitness stuff is crap. He says it’s just about getting a little white ball in a slightly bigger hole. I think perhaps that loses something in the translation. But you get the idea.”
“In other words, you won’t feel the need to get up and go for a run tomorrow morning.”
“Exactly. Speaking of which, I think it is about time we went back to bed.” Kate laughed but was more than happy to be led off to the bedroom yet again.
“I could get used to this,” Tom muttered to her as he drifted off to sleep later that night.
“Hmm, me too.”
The next morning, Kate reached out a hand to whack the alarm when it went off and then snuggled down further into the bed. She really didn’t want to go to work. Tom rolled over and put his arms around her.
“Do you feel sick?”
“No,” she mumbled into his chest.
“Pity, if you were sick then perhaps you’d have to spend the day in bed and I could stay and make sure you’re alright.”
“That sounds heavenly but unfortunately I do have to go to work.” She stretched and then threw off the covers. It was a slow and difficult process getting out of bed, especially as Tom kept pulling her back into bed and she found it impossible to resist. Somehow rekindling her relationship with Crazy Clive seemed far less attractive than staying in bed with Tom.
She came back into the bedroom when she was ready to go to work. She sat down on the edge of the bed. Just the sight of him, all tousled and sleepy, was enough to make her stomach flip. She kissed him.
“When will you be back in town?” She hadn’t even meant to ask the question. It just popped out. She had intended to play it cool, just a casual ‘see you later’. Now she sounded like some possessive mistress type.
“I have to be here the week after next for a sponsor event. On the Tuesday but it’s a cocktail party so it shouldn’t be too be late. Perhaps we could meet up afterwards.” She had a sneaking suspicion that meeting up afterwards was code for come back to my hotel and have sex – at least she hoped that was what it meant.
“Let’s see how it goes. Now I hope you don’t miss the cut again this week. Have a good week.” She gave a casual wave over her shoulder as she left. She cringed inwardly. Her behaviour was all over the place – now she was sounding like her mother chatting to one of her church flower arranging buddies. She really wasn’t sure how you were supposed to handle the whole post blissful coupley weekend thing. It just seemed weird that after an intense couple of days together he was going away and she wouldn’t see him for another 10 days. She wasn’t even sure what was going on. Were they a couple? Was he her boyfriend? What was she supposed to do in the unlikely event that someone else asked her to go out?
Plagued by uncertainty, she whipped out her mobile as she walked from the tube to work. She called her own number, hoping he would realise it was her. He let it go to the answering machine. “Tom, it’s me, please pick up.” She waited a while but he didn’t answer. Maybe he was in the shower. She hung up and then decided that it was probably a good thing that she hadn’t spoken to him. She probably would’ve asked him if he was her boyfriend as if they were in high school again. She blushed at her own stupidity. Perhaps she could be really juvenile and get Imogen to ask for her – that had always worked well in high school.
She gave herself a stern talking to. She was a grown woman not a giggling teenager. She was capable of having a relationship with a man that was outside the categories that she would have recognised at 16. There was no need to analyse it and determine exactly what was going on. She could just go with the flow and see where it led them and not worry too much about the consequences. Hmm, and pigs might fly, too. It was not in her nature. She needed to know exactly what was going on and what the future held. Unfortunately, with Tom that just wasn’t possible.
Her gloomy, preoccupied state lasted throughout the day. And whilst it had been difficult leaving home that morning, it was nothing to the feeling of coming home to an empty flat. Usually she cherished her solitude and the peace and quiet that came with living alone. It was a nice contrast to her crazy working life. But today it was just depressing and lonely. Made even worse by the fact that Tom had gone out and bought her flowers before he had left. Really, he was the most wonderful man, if a little inconvenient. She couldn’t be bothered eating and fell straight into bed. Even though Tom had made the bed, there was still an indentation from his head on the pillow (at least she could see it) and it smelt of him. In fact, there was a definite Tom sized hole in her bed. Luckily, she was not so far gone that she wasn’t able to give herself a mental kick in the pants. She really was being quite pathetic. 
