‘Can we order?’ I said. ‘Because I’m famished and I need to soak up all the alcohol.’
‘In a minute,’ said Kal vaguely. She looked round the room too. Since everyone else was doing it, I joined in. The first people I saw were Dieter and Peterson. Followed by, of all people, Chief Farrell, looking a total knockout in a black suit, black shirt, and silver-grey tie. Wow!
‘Look!’ I said, cheerfully. I know, but the margaritas were beginning to kick in. ‘There’s some of our guys.’
I’m not bright.
‘Oh. What a surprise,’ said Helen. ‘So there are.’
‘Oh. Goodness me, you are right,’ said Kalinda. ‘Shall we ask them to join us?’
‘Why not?’ I said. ‘There’s plenty of room.’
Have I said I’m not bright?
Kal waved. They came over.
‘Good evening,’ said Dieter. ‘You all look very nice.’
‘Yes,’ said Farrell. ‘Very nice.’
Peterson rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, for God’s sake. Orange people stand aside for a minute. Watch and learn, guys.’ He pulled out three long-stemmed roses from behind his back.
‘First, a red rose for the love of my life, the beautiful Helen. A white rose for my partner, the Ice Princess, Kalinda. And a golden rose for my golden friend, the lovely Max.’ Five people stared at him. ‘And that, my orange friends, is how it’s done.’ He seated himself next to Helen and smiled at her. She blushed. Never thought I’d see the day.
Kal stood up. ‘Would you like to sit here, Chief? Then I can sit here.’ Nobody ruthlessly gets their way like Kalinda. In a flash, everyone was sitting down in their new places. I stared at my rose, which matched my dress. As did Helen’s. As did Kal’s. A solitary non-alcohol soaked neuron began to fire.
We ordered and ate. The cabaret started. I was very conscious of him sitting next to me. We watched the show and then the disco started, so after shouting pointlessly at each other for a few minutes, we got up to dance. The usual thing happened. Just as we arrived on the dance floor the good music stopped and they started with the smooch stuff.
We suffered the usual embarrassed indecision. What do you do? I got no clues from him, so I smiled and stepped forward. We could do distance dancing. It didn’t happen. I stepped forward into his arms. He took my hand and wrapped the other firmly around my waist. We danced. I stepped a little closer. He tightened his grip. Normally, I don’t like this sort of thing. I get panicky if held tightly, but this was – nice. He danced well. He smelled good too. He didn’t hum with the music. I rested my head on his shoulder. The music stopped. I looked up. And he kissed me.
My whole world stopped. Along with my breathing, my heart, my thought processes, and Time itself. And hundreds of fragments of glorious colour and light swirled and swept across the room. Oh no, sorry, that was the glitter ball.
I’m not completely without experience. There was a very nice boy in my last year at Thirsk, whose name I can’t remember; and another during my time in Europe, whose name I can’t remember either. Nothing serious. If truth be told, it was mainly curiosity – after my childhood, would I be able to – would I even want to? I felt nothing; nothing at all. Sex is a bit like scratching a rash – it’s nice when you stop.
I rested my forehead against his shoulder and tried to remember my name. He leaned forward and spoke into my ear. ‘I really, really need to speak to you. Tonight. In fact, now.’ He slid an arm around my waist and we left the room. I wondered what the protocol was for asking a senior officer to one’s room.
‘Would you feel safer in my room or yours?’ he asked.
‘Mine,’ I said firmly. ‘Three oh five,’ in case we got separated on the way. We headed for the lift.
My room was warm and dim – a bit like me really and he settled himself on the couch. I wandered aimlessly. Drink, confusion, high heels, all making significant contributions to my lack of grasp on current events. He said nothing and eventually I came to rest alongside him and assumed an attentive expression. I wondered again how two people who normally had no problems communicating when they wore blue and orange could become so tongue-tied when wearing black and gold. Wasn’t there some work done on using colours to induce certain states of mind? Like painting the home team’s dressing room a vigorous red and the visitors’ dressing room boring beige?
I re-focused to find him staring at me. ‘Where do you go?’ he demanded in exasperation. ‘I’m about to make the biggest speech of my life and you’re just not here!’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said defensively. ‘I was thinking about colour-induced moods.’
‘I’m not even going to ask. Focus!’