chapter forty-eight, Monday:18thnovember2013 – what now?
My heels re verb around the cavernous space that is the 'hall’, not sure what to expect when I get there so in a pensive mood I head to my studio upstairs. Heading my way with a huge smile on his face is Newton with a large steaming cup of tea for me, I am so grateful, small acts of kindness please everyone, especially if they're in a crap mood.
“Hope your brother is OK Tharie, Mike and I were at the gig, we are huge fans!” I manage a thanks between gulping longingly at my tea.
“Thank you Newton,” I tell him sincerely, “he’ll be fine, he only had to cancel the Apollo gig, the rest are fine.” Newton shakes his head and smiles, happy his hero is fine. I offer him one of my chocolate buttons.
“No thank you Tharie,” he pats his tummy, well what there is of it, “he tells me I’m putting on weight” and rolls his eyes. Sounds like he's been speaking to someone's Mum!
“Have you considered being vegetarian?” Recalling how he eats bacon sandwiches, two of them every day for breakfast. “Would help with the fat intake, not to mention cholesterol.”
“Can't,” he smiles, “I like eating sausage too much.” He winks at me. I asked for that didn't I? Bet you do, is all I can think of, so I simply smile.
My phone vibrates, it’s Daniel.
DP: “Stop talking, and come.” contact!
TC: “Don’t be so bossy” playful, yet true.
DP: “I am the boss.” true, he is.
TC: “Don't I know it?” playful, but tasteful I think.
DP: “Now please” nice. My insides flutter like hundreds of butterflies are in there. Hope I think that is, or wind.
TC: “Wait” too much?
DP: “Tharie” stern voice, nice.
Daniel appears in my doorway, he looks incredibly handsome, and makes me feel twice as bad. His shirt is open at the collar and his tie is loose, he wears slim black tux trousers to the ankle with Chelsea boots. His shirt sleeves are rolled and he looks incredibly hot. His hair is mussed and floppy, I’m remembering what he smells like and feels like, I shudder and look at my hands, wishing someone would text me as a distraction.
He just stands there, eyes looking directly at me, those beautiful soft grey green eyes, a relaxed and casual stance. His breathing normal, mine? Erratic.
“Baby,” he speaks low as a whisper, my heart catches fire at the sound of my nickname, the name he calls me by, consuming me from the inside, I have missed him. I feel light all of a sudden, buoyant hopeful.
“Tharie.” The bubble bursts and I float back down to earth, he uses my name. “Please trust me,” he rakes his hands through the tangled quiff looking at his feet.
“Daniel?” I beg him.
“Please.” He raises his hand palm outward to stop any further conversation, and he spins round and leaves. A man of many words Mr Daniel Pearce.
OK.
More tea? Too bloody right.