Big Update

Have done some more on my last story. This is turning into a bigger thing than I first imagined. Still don't have a title though.


Untitled Story (More from the last post)
Tim Harvey


Waiting rooms always seem to be cold. I don't know why they seem this way. It is probably because of the white walls. The absolute lack of decoration on the walls. I look above the curly purple-rinsed hair of several rows of elderly women to the stark walls. The walls go up and up forever. The ceiling is white and the seam between it and the walls is almost invisible.
I absent-mindedly reach out and grasp for Jeff's hand. My eyes are fixed to the cold sterile abyss above me, but Jeff's hand warms mine. My eyes drift to his face. I wonder how he can be so warm. He looks as white as the walls. I squeeze his hand tightly.
Three days have passed since the morning of the book launch. Since the morning I found out. I still can't say it properly. Not until we find out for sure. I reach out to hold my stomach with my other hand, but it glides straight over. Drawn to Jeff's hand like a magnet.
Our flights are booked. That's something else to warm my freezing body. We leave for Tahiti in two weeks. We have two weeks booked at a resort. It's a good one, Jeff says. His brother and sister-in-law went there for their honeymoon. I want to recharge.
We didn't get return flights. We're going to Singapore after and moving through Asia. We have a few things booked. Some things we're going to take as they come. We are going to Europe after that. We haven't booked anything for Europe yet. Take it as it comes. This is our adventure. Our honeymoon will be at home. Whatever that means.
'Ms... Harwood?' She wears a white coat. I can barely make her out standing there in front of the wall.
'Yes?' I reply. Jeff squeezes my hand and stifles a cough as he shifts his body in the chair.
'Sarah? You can come through now.' I smile and nod. I pull Jeff with me. He moves slowly, but he follows along. His bug hasn't gone away. We are sure it was the chicken dinner. I didn't have any. Jeff's Dad said he felt crook the next morning too. He had the chicken.
I'm groggy. I haven't had much sleep lately. These last few days have been horrible. The last of the nicotine is gone from my system, but I still crave it. Jeff has been sleeping well though. We have been keeping each other up, but he is exhausted, and I can't sleep. I watch him roll over, panting heavily. He is out like a light.
'Okay.' The doctor has me in the chair.
I wander the apartment at night. I have made up a scrap book already. There is nothing to put in it. I've never made a scrapbook before. I don't know why I made this one. It opens with photos from Jeff's launch. There is a copy of the invite there.
On the next page I have stuck printed pictures of the travel websites. The book is large, huge. It has a red leather cover. It's fake leather. I like the feel of running my fingers across the cover. The texture is captivating in some way.
'Congratulations,' she says.
I forget where I got that book from. I've had it for ages, I know that. Where did I get that book from? I ask Jeff, but he is focussed on something else. I think it might have been a gift. I feel my face warm, finally.
Yes, it was a gift. My Aunt gave it to me after my High-School graduation. I remember now. She told me; “Sarah, you'll know when to use this.” I don't know when to use it. I think it should be used for our adventure.
Jeff holds something in front of my eyes. I can't see it. It is blurred and out of focus. I think we should make sure to get lots of photos for the scrapbook. Everything is digital these days. I wish we had an old-style film camera. I should ask Jeff if he can get us one. Where would we get the photos developed?
'It is developed Sarah.' He holds the thing closer.
I wipe my eyes.
'We can put this in the scrapbook,' Jeff smiles. His eyes are red, but his face is still grey. I see sweat on his brow.
'I guess.' I turn my head away. The scrapbook if for us.

I sit in the waiting room. It is still cold. Jeff isn't here, the doctor wanted to have a word with him about his cough. I think they are talking about me. I don't care. We're both healthy. I don't think we'll be coming back here, when we have to get our shots.
I think we need to get a malaria shot. I'm not sure. We need some shots though, I'm certain of it. Maybe not for Tahiti, but definitely for Asia. We're not supposed to drink the local water either. I know that. We'll have to get bottled water.
There is so much to plan. I wonder if we should have thought it through a bit more. No, this is good. Jeff says it is good. He is taking his time with the doctor though. I feel my face redden. What must she think of me? I pull the small black-and-white photograph from my bag.
There is a tiny shape in the blurry sonar lines. Pressing my hand to my stomach, I try to feel it. For the last few days I was certain there was nothing there. I can feel something now. Wiping tears from my eyes, I check the time again.
They have been in there for twenty minutes. I am about to stand when I see Jeff walk out from the office. He smiles at me weakly. I move to him and place my hand on his chest.
There is a bandage on his arm. 'Just some blood tests.'
Jeff takes me by the hand and we leave the doctor's.

Days pass by quickly. I flick through the scrapbook. There are a few more travel pictures. I have dedicated a page to the photo. I can say it now.
There is a page dedicated to the baby.
Jeff is feeling better. The doctor will ring us with his results soon. But he is doing much better. Jeff doesn't tell me what he spoke to the doctor about. I don't ask. If they were talking about me I don't want to know. I feel much better.
During the day we sit on the sofa that Jeff has pulled across the living room to the balcony door. We open the door and let the warm winds blow through the room, washing us clean. I lie in his arms and we watch the sun move across the sky. Everything has stopped. We watch the sun for days and it feels like it doesn't move.
He kisses my neck and I know something is wrong. We are waiting for something. Jeff doesn't do anything. He wants to hold me. I feel that time will remain still until we get that phone call. I don't want to ask what they spoke about. It feels like Jeff is trying to have our adventure now.
I don't like it.

'Yes. No, I will. Yep... As soon as possible. Monday... Okay. Thank you.' Jeff takes the call. He looks so much better. He is eating, and we are staying up very late. We are both sleeping afterwards. I look at the photo of our baby daily. My fingers glide across the image and I try to trace the same pattern on my bare stomach.
'What's the verdict?' There is a knot in my stomach.
Jeff wanders around the living room, drifting towards the sofa where I sit. 'More tests.'
I have to ask now. 'What did the doctor say Jeff?'
He slumps down next to me and places his arm around my shoulder. I watch as he traces his finger around the photograph, pasted into the scrapbook on my lap. His eyes are distant and foggy. We are so close, but there is something holding him back. Something is stopping him from speaking. I watch his finger move in circles around the small grey blob in the photo.
He flicks his eyes up to mine and inhales. He tries his best to be casual, but he fails when his voice cracks. 'She said I might have cancer.'
I laugh, instantly throwing my hand to my mouth. He smiles and brushes hair from my eyes. He waits patiently.
'Wait,' I say. 'Cancer?' I repeat.
'She said my sickness was unusual and could be the symptoms of something worse.' He strokes my cheek. 'I didn't tell you, but there was blood in my uh... In my sick.' He looks away.
'Are you serious?' The giggles are gone.
'Well, she wants to do more tests. It's a worst-case-scenario.' He looks so much better. The colour has returned to his face.
I feel angry. I don't know why. Because he didn't tell me he was throwing up blood? Because he picked the worst time – I stop myself. The anger is so strong. I feel a strange pressure, just behind my nose, and tears begin to well up. This week has been all tears.
'Sarah,' he strokes my cheek so gently it's as if he isn't touching me at all. His voice is so quiet and calm. 'It's okay.'
I feel my eyebrows pull tightly together. My face is burning. I cannot look at him.
'It's going to be okay.'
I fall into his chest and he clasps his arms tightly around me. I feel him rocking gently and stroking my hair.
'What cancer? How?' I mumble into his chest.
'She thinks bowel. I've got a family history. I'm going to a specialist on Monday.' He didn't mention this to me before. I feel the anger burning up inside me again. Would I have let him into my life with a history like that? No, I don't think so. Everything isn't going to be okay. I can feel it so deeply and so surely in my gut. Nothing is going to be okay.
'Hey,' he whispers. 'If this happens. If this is going to happen –' His voice cracks. 'I'm not giving up on you.'
The icy shards of pain that had stabbed holes in my stomach begin to melt slowly.
'I'm not going anywhere.' His voice warms me. There is no hint of deception in his tone. He really believes that. And now so do I.
My eyes droop as Jeff rocks me gently back and forth. The warm sun on my face pulls layers of warmth over me like a fluffy quilt.

A young man stands before me. He has short cropped dark hair. His shirt is slightly baggy and I notice a small scratch on his razor-burnt face. I cannot help but smile at his awkwardness.
He raises a clammy hand to me, 'Miss Harwood?'
I take it, despite the sweat, 'Sarah, please.'
'Sorry,' his face is so red. I thought the razor-burn was bad, but now his face is redder than I could have imagined.
'Jeff, right?' I say, releasing his hand.
'Yeah,' so awkward. He's not bad looking though. I catch myself. So soon Sarah?
'Jeff can I ask you something?' I have to know.
'Sure,' he is confused.
'Do you have a driver's licence, Jeff?'
'Sure,' still confused.
'Can I see it?' I know what I'll see.
He fumbles with the wallet in his back pocket. He even drops it on the floor. I can't believe that he actually dropped it. When he stands, offering me the card, I am trying my best not to laugh.
I take the card and nod, 'I knew it.' His face is bright red. 'You look better with the beard Jeff.' I hand him his licence back.
He smiles and returns the licence to his wallet. Rubbing his cheek, that looks like it is on fire, he cocks an eyebrow at me. 'Got a thing for beards, Sarah?'
I am taken completely off guard. This guy that was so awkward only a few seconds ago had managed to stop me in my tracks. I stand there watching him. His smile widens. He knows that he got me.
'You look better without the razor-burn,' I smile and watch his cheeks flush again. You won't get me that easy, Jeff. 'Follow me.'
I lead him through the offices to a small meeting room. He follows along eagerly. I cast a quick glance over my shoulder to check that he is still there. His eyes are darting around the office. His tie is adorable. Nobody here wears a tie.
When we reach the meeting room, he quickly pulls his tie over his head and puts it into his bag. He flicks his eyes up to me, 'I just thought – You know?'
'It's no problem,' I assure him. 'So you know what we're all about here?'
'No idea,' he smiles as he takes a seat at the table. I feel myself frown. I have only been here for a few months myself. I barely know what was going on. And, I have more important things to worry about than taking care of the new-guy. Namely, taking care of myself.
'Well, you'll be working with me. Basically it's phone sales. What experience do you have?'
'I have an Arts degree.'
I cannot contain my laughter at the way he says “Arts degree.” He knows what that means in the real world. He knows exactly what that means.
'Yeah, me too.' I say it with the same lack of pride that he showed. He smiles at this. 'It's not all bad. Did you just graduate?'
'Yeah, last semester.' He is warm and confident now. I notice his body is relaxed. Besides the razor-burn his face is a normal colour.
'I graduated mid-year,' I say freely. We can get to work later.
'Oh cool. So you're... What? Twenty-two?' He leans on the table, moving towards me.
'Close, twenty-three. You?' I feel myself leaning in slightly too.
'Same.' He says it easily, and I know I am frowning slightly because he looks much younger. But, I feel at ease around him. I haven't had a normal conversation with anyone here since I started. Everyone else working here is much older and it feels good to be sitting across the table from someone my own age.
Something in my stomach moves. I inhale deeply as I feel a strange stabbing pain in my abdomen. I look down and see nothing. When I look up, Jeff looks different. He has a pained expression on his face. He looks older. His hair is longer, and there are slight lines on his face. His razor-burn is gone, replaced by a light dusting of stubble.
He seems familiar but I don't recognise him. He tilts his head to the side, and his eyes become glazed and distant. I notice his skin has a yellow tint to it.
'Jeff?' What is wrong with him? He doesn't answer. His eyes are lifeless and hollow. His hair is longer, but it is thinning on the top. His skin looks rough. I watch as he takes in a deep breath, not conscious that I am even in the room.
His cheeks are drawn in and shallow. His face, so round only moments ago, is hollow and skeletal. I cannot help but hold my hand to my mouth. Jeff's jaw drops slightly and I see that he is missing several teeth. His gums are a horrible yellowish grey.
He looks around the room distantly. Strands of hair fall from his head. As he looks at the door, I notice he is bald on the back. When he looks back to me his eyes are sunken and dead. Grey and terrible. I feel sick.
Out of nowhere I feel an immense pressure in my stomach. Something is growing in there. Pain rips through my torso. Horrible searing pain. I look down and see that my stomach has expanded with the pressure.
'Jeff! Help me!' I look up and hear a terrible scream when I see the rotten corpse slumped on the table across from me.

'I'm here.' The words are distant. 'Sarah, wake up.'
I have to blink several times to clear the image from my mind. I look out of the balcony door and see the moon full and high in the sky. I look up and Jeff is cradling me in his arms. He looks healthy. He looks so much better.
'You were having a bad dream,' he whispers gently. I feel that strange pressure behind my nose again and wait for the tears.
'It's okay. I'm not going anywhere.'
His words make the pressure build and the tears flow feely down my cheeks. 'Promise me Jeff. Promise me,' I whisper groggily into his chest.
He hesitates and I feel a rush of pain in my chest. I hold my breath until he finally speaks, 'I promise.'
I don't know. I don't know what is going to happen. I just don't know.
Jeff takes my hand and we go into the bedroom. We slide under the satin sheets and he kisses me gently on the lips. I have a terrible taste in my mouth, but I kiss him back. I roll over and he holds me tight until the morning. He eventually falls asleep, but I can't.

**

I slide out of bed, leaving Jeff to sleep. The early morning sun seeps in through a crack in the curtains and I feel a strange energy coming from the light. As I move around the bed and through the streaming sunlight it is as if I have moved through some kind of forcefield. The carpet is soft and my feet sink into it's comforting embrace. I take a step back into the forcefield. It is so warm.
Jeff rolls over on the bed and I want him to feel what I feel. My hand reaches out and swings the curtain open so that the light and warmth bathes the whole room. I blink and hear Jeff groan on the bed. The curtain gently swings back as I release it, causing the room to dim again.
When my feet hit the bathroom tiles they miss the carpet. I step into the shower and turn the chrome tap. Droplets of crystal clear water erupt from the shower head. They expand and glide towards my face, caught in gravity's trap. I feel my eyelids become heavy and they close before the droplets can hit me.
Waiting rooms are always so cold. I wait for the warm water. When my eyes open I can see the droplets moving slowly towards me. They are intricate sculptures and beads of glass. Their movement is frozen, but they look as if they are warm. I want the warmth to wash over me.
When they finally hit my face I inhale sharply. The breath has caused time to resume its usual course and the water flows quickly over me. I get the feeling that all the clocks in the apartment have just sprung into life. Hands moving freely after the slightest moment of peace. It feels good to take a break.
My head drops, and I let the water rush down onto me. I let the breath out and inhale warm cleansing steam. Hair falls into my face, and through the twisting dripping mass of blonde I watch my body. It will change, I think. But time has returned to normal now. The last week has been a blur, but I feel as if time will no longer get away from me. It is a good feeling.
The stomach before me is flat and as I let my hands glide smoothly over the wet skin, I can clearly see the months ahead being long. I inhale again and feel myself smiling. The rush, the urgency, the fears of blowing up seem to have faded. The months ahead are, for the first time, in perspective.
I turn around, letting the water run down my back. The smile will not go away. My hand rests over my mouth and I allow myself a few tears. They are good tears. Something finally feels good. I can't quite understand it. Last night I felt terrible, so terrible that I didn't sleep at all. But now I feel as if everything is in perspective. I can't skip ahead, nothing is blurry anymore. I hope this lasts. I lather up soap and shampoo and enjoy a long, long shower.

Jeff steps into the bathroom. I can see him through the foggy glass. He pops his head around the screen to find me sitting on the floor of the shower. I give him a wide smile and he smiles back.
'What are you doing down there?' He looks confused but calm.
'Wasting water,' I reply. My hands are held up in front of me and I watch as my cupped fingers fill with the crystal liquid.
'Will there be any left for me?' His smile is so childish, I cannot help but feel my face flush.
I hold my hand out for him and watch as he slides his underwear off before taking it. I smile as he slips a little and groans as he sits down next to me.
'How are you doing?' He asks. His arms are wrapped around me. The words are just whispers but we are so close I can hear him perfectly.
'I'm good,' I say back.
'Good,' he repeats. We sit in silence for a while and he strokes my back with his soft hand, pushing the flowing water around.
I look up at him and gently brush his hair from his face, slicking it back over his head. 'How are you doing?'
Jeff looks down at me and I can see activity behind his eyes. I can tell he doesn't want to upset me. There is a look he gets when he wants to say something, but can't. His eyes begin to glaze over and he looks down. Our legs are intertwined and spread out on the floor of the shower.
I lean in, cup my hand around his jaw and lightly kiss his cheek. 'Talk to me Jeff.'
His eyes blink furiously and I watch as his face contorts. I can see, and feel, him let out an enormous breath. His head swings down and I wrap my arms around his body, pulling him tightly to me. I stroke his back and give him time.
It feels like overnight our roles had reversed. Last night he was comforting me as a wave of pain forced me down under the ocean. A wave of uncertainty. Now I hold onto him as the wave finally hits. It worries me that a good night's sleep did nothing for him, and staying up has caused me to feel so fresh and alive. It doesn't make sense, but then again, not much has been making sense recently.
'What if it is cancer?' He says finally. I think over his question. It seems simple to me now, but I know the question will become more complex the longer I spend trying to work it out. I feel it is better to give Jeff the simple answer right now. It is what he needs.
'Then we'll deal with it.' The simple answer.
'But the baby, and you?' Jeff chokes. 'What will you do if –'
I cut him off right there, 'Shh.' That is another wave that I can see growing on the horizon. I put no thought into that ending, and I don't need that wave hitting me right now. Not while Jeff is feeling the first one.
I offer simple optimisms, 'It might not even be cancer. Besides,' I stroke his face, which is now resting on my shoulder, 'We can do it.'
I hear him do that strange laugh that people manage when they are crying. My mind drifts back to Jeff's book launch. We did that. We can do this. I feel the wave getting closer. The book was easy. This won't be so easy.
'Got a name yet?' I hear Jeff mutter as he strokes my stomach. There is a hint of humour in his tone, but I let him continue. 'We should call her “Hope”.'
I laugh and slap him on the back. 'That is awful,' I say between giggles.
'No, no,' he looks up and smiles. 'It's completely appropriate.'
I feel my smile fade. It's the first joke that I have heard Jeff make since the morning after the launch. 'We're not calling her “Hope”,' I say. 'Anyway, we don't know if it's a girl or a boy.'
'True,' Jeff says, deep in thought. 'What about Ingrid?'
I slap him on the back again.
'Astrid?'
'Do you want our little girl growing up thinking she's a witch?' I say after containing my giggles.
'Our little girl,' Jeff repeats. I place my hand over his on my stomach and we sit in silence for a while.
'Daddy wants you to be a witch,' I whisper down at my stomach with a smile.

We eat breakfast in silence, but I feel we are still communicating. I watch Jeff as I spoon cereal into my mouth. When he looks up at me he smiles and I nudge him on the arm. I watch his face go red and he returns to reading the paper. He is such a big kid, I think. He acts like a teenager going out on his first date.
I lean over and brush his hair out of his eyes and he looks up at me with a grin. I raise my eyebrows and smile, chewing on the cereal. His mouth is full of cereal too. I watch him point to the paper and he slides it across the counter to me.
I shrug, not knowing what article he was pointing to. He nudges my arm with a smile and points to a travel article. The headline reads; “Flights cancelled?” I look to him and he shrugs as if he is asking me the question.
A political headline on the next page reads; “Will the Government pull through on their election promises? We'll see.” I lay my arm over the headline and tell Jeff that “We'll see.”
He laughs and almost chokes on his cereal. I pat him on the back as he coughs.
He raises his hand and gives me the thumbs-up, coughing slightly. 'Good work,' he says once his throat is clear. I laugh.

We spend most of the day lounging around on the sofa, watching the sun move across the sky. Boredom builds up quickly and we have spent the last few days indoors. I suggest that we go for a walk and Jeff agrees. He normally likes hanging around the apartment, but he can see that I need some fresh air. I need to get outside and feel that warm sun.
We wander through the city, hand in hand. As the sun begins to set through the buildings I try to keep us in its warming glow. Taking different streets according to where the most light is shining, we wander aimlessly through the town. In one fateful turning we come across a restaurant that we had never been to.
I always pride myself on knowing the best eating spots in the city. I'm not really a social nut, always knowing what's going on in the social scene, but I do like to eat at nice places. Jeff always loves when I take him to a new restaurant. I think it's because he hates cooking so much. I do too.
The place has a small front that opens up when you get inside. Modern black and white décor and furniture are arranged neatly throughout the open space. I cannot tell what type of restaurant it is. It could easily be both Japanese and French. Everything is squares. The tables are square, the chairs are square. There is a water feature made of layers of black ceramic. They are all squares.
One thing catches my eye though. There is a large piece of art hanging on the far wall. It appears to be some sort of centrepiece to the whole place. It sticks out of the wall a few inches and is the shape of an enormous kidney bean. The thing is painted with bright greens and blues, and the rough thick paint gives the impression that it is made of water. There is a heavy glaze over the paint that reflects the light and makes the thing shimmer.
I decide that the colours really aren't that bright as we take a seat near the centrepiece. It only looks so bright because of the glaze and the fact that any colour at all is such a contrast to the rest of the décor. I make sure to take the seat facing the piece.
'What do you think of that?' I ask Jeff, my eyes fixed on the establishment.
'Well now,' Jeff begins with his best fake British accent. 'Rather droll, wouldn't you say?'
I laugh quietly. I feel anything more would ruin the evening for the sparse diners.
'I don't know,' Jeff adds seriously. 'It's nice.'
I smile, it is nice.

It turns out the restaurant was actually both Japanese and French. Some sort of post-modern fusion the chef tried to explain after our meals. It was quite incredible. I nudge Jeff and tell him that I knew it was Japanese and French. He smiles and jokes that he thought it was a burger joint.
On our way home I notice that Jeff is no longer at my side. I turn to see what he is looking at and watch as he stares longingly into the window of a liquor store. Jeff has always enjoyed a social drink, for as long as I have know him. I've seen him completely drunk on a few occasions and it never really bothered me. He always drank when he was enjoying himself, or to celebrate something or other. Watching him stare so melancholic through the window makes me feel uncomfortable.
He could have had his face pressed against the glass like a kid at a toy store, by the way he was looking. I make my way back to him, hands pressed into the pockets of my coat.
'Go on,' I say, nudging him with my elbow.
'No,' he begins, his eyes turning to me. 'No, I was just...' He trails off and his eyes turn back to the window.
'Hey,' I nudge him again. 'It's okay.'
He smiles at me and goes into the store. I wait outside and look at all the wine I won't be able to taste for the better part of the rest of the year. I sigh. I will miss a good glass of red on a quiet rainy night.
Jeff returns with a bottle wrapped in a paper bag.
'What'd you get?' I inquire. The bag looks like it is pressed against the shape of a square bottle. Definitely not wine.
He sheepishly pulls the bag down to reveal a bottle of scotch. I never really liked scotch, but Jeff loves the stuff. It wasn't bad with lemonade, I remember.
'I won't go through all of this,' Jeff assures me. I'm still worried that he is drinking out of depression for the first time since I have known him. Come to think of it, I haven't known Jeff to ever be depressed. I went through a rough patch when my Grandpa died, and Jeff was very supportive. But I was looking at the brighter side of life within a few weeks. This whole thing will take much longer than that.
'Should've got some rum,' I say as we are walking back towards home.
'Why?'
'I don't know if we'll be lounging around on the beach any time soon.' My answer seems to halt Jeff for a moment. He loses his step and hurries to correct his mistake. Was there something in the way I said it? I hope he doesn't think I was blaming him for ruining our adventure.
Ruining our adventure? But, it is ruined now, isn't it? My head swims with unanswerable questions all the way back to the apartment.

Jeff fills has glass with ice from the ice-maker in the fridge, and I watch very carefully as he measures out the scotch in his shot glass before pouring it over the ice. The is a nice cracking sound as the ice breaks in the glass.
Jeff smiles at me, reading my mind, 'Love that sound.'
He reaches up into the cupboard above the sink and pulls out an old crystal decanter. Carefully he pours the bottle in and rests the decanter on the counter. I sit on a stool, elbows planted on the counter top.
'What's with the decanter?' I ask.
'Gotta be fancy with a scotch like this,' Jeff glides around the bench and sits next to me on a stool. 'Gotta be a little bit posh with the expensive stuff.' He takes a sip and holds his head back pretending as if he is in heaven.
'How much was it?' It doesn't matter.
'A hundred and fifty bucks,' Jeff says casually.
'Give me a sip of that.' I have to know what one hundred and fifty dollar scotch tastes like.
Jeff hesitates before handing me the glass,'Just a sip, okay?'
'Sure,' I nod before letting the warm liquid hit my lips.
I roll the dribble of scotch around in my mouth before swallowing. 'Tastes just like the thirty dollar stuff,' I say truthfully.
Jeff mocks an expression of shock,' That, my dear, is because you are not as cultured as me.'
I laugh and poke him in the ribs. 'Not cultured? Hey, I was the one who knew it was a French/Japanese fusion restaurant, or whatever.'
'True, true,' Jeff smiles at me and takes another sip.
After a moment of silence I ask, 'Can I have a smoke?'
Jeff turns his head to me with a look of concern. 'Why are you asking me?' He knows why. He knows that I won't do anything to upset him.
I lean up against him and tell him, 'Because I love you.'
'Well in that case, you may have one.' Jeff smiles and rests his head on my shoulder. I like the way he says that I “may” have one. I go to my bag and get a cigarette. The packet sits heavily in my hand and I walk over to the bin to throw the rest away.
'Wait,' Jeff says. 'Give me one too.'
I hand him a cigarette and throw the rest away. 'Jeff you don't even smoke.'
'One won't kill me,' he says with a weak smile. We both don't want to think about it.
I go and pull the balcony door open and slump down in the sofa. Jeff comes and wraps his arm around my shoulders.
He already looks drunk and I wonder if this is going to be a long night.



I have a whole pile of ideas for where this will go and at present I'm thinking of making it into a novel. But we'll have to see. I'm having great fun writing the characters, and the roller-coaster ride of emotions they are going through. When I write a particularly depressing part I feel like I must give them a happy part. So the story is being fuelled by that at the moment. The next bit will have to be depressing however, to keep the pace and tone in balance.