Part 3 (1/2)
”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.”