The Undomestic Goddess

“Eddie, don’t start,” snaps Trish, shoving her mascara wand back in the tube. “We are going to this party and that’s final. Have you got the present?”

“And what happened?” I ask, trying to haul the conversation back on track. “With Nathaniel’s plans?”

Trish makes a small, regretful moue at herself in the mirror. “Well, his father passed away very suddenly, and there was all that dreadful business with the pubs. And he changed his mind. Never bought the land.” She gives herself another dissatisfied look. “Should I wear my pink suit?”

“No,” Eddie and I say in unison. I glance at Eddie’s exasperated face and stifle a laugh.

“You look lovely, Mrs. Geiger,” I say. “Really.”

Somehow, between us, Eddie and I manage to chivvy her away from the mirror, out the front door, and across the gravel to Eddie’s Porsche. Eddie’s right, it’s going to be a boiling day. The sky is already a translucent blue, the sun a dazzling ball.

“What time will you be back?” I ask as they get in.

“Not until late this evening,” says Trish. “Eddie, where’s the present? Ah, Nathaniel, here you are.”

I look over the top of the car. There he is, coming down the drive, in jeans and an old gray T-shirt, his rucksack over his shoulder. And here I am, in my dressing gown with my hair all over the place.

And still not sure how things have been left between us. Although certain bits of my body are already responding to the sight of him. They don’t seem to be in any confusion at all.

“Hi,” I say as he gets near.

“Hi.” Nathaniel’s eyes crinkle in a friendly way, but he doesn’t make any attempt to kiss me or even smile. Instead, he just comes to a halt. There’s something about his intent, purposeful gaze that makes me feel a bit wobbly around the legs.

“So.” I wrench my eyes away. “You’re … working hard today.”

“I could do with some help,” he says casually. “If you’re at a loose end. Mum told me you weren’t cooking today.”

I feel a huge leap of delight, which I attempt to hide with a cough.

“Right.” I shrug slightly, almost frowning. “Well … maybe.”

“Great.” He nods to the Geigers and saunters off toward the garden.

Trish has been watching this exchange in increasing dissatisfaction.

“You’re not very affectionate with each other, are you?” she says. “You know, in my experience—”

“Leave them alone, for God’s sake!” retorts Eddie, starting the engine. “Let’s get this bloody thing over with.”

“Eddie Geiger!” Trish shrills. “This is my sister’s party you’re talking about! Do you realize—”

Eddie revs the engine, drowning out her voice, and with a spattering of gravel the Porsche disappears out of the drive, leaving me alone in the silent, baking sunshine.

Right.

So … it’s just Nathaniel and me. Alone together. Until eight o’clock this evening. That’s the basic scenario.

A pulse is starting to thud somewhere deep inside me. Like a conductor setting the beat, like an introduction.

Deliberately nonchalant, I turn on the gravel and start to make my way back toward the house. As I pass a flower bed I even pause and study a random plant for a moment, holding the green leaves between my fingers.

I guess I could wander down and offer a helping hand. It would be polite.

I force myself not to rush. I take a shower and get dressed and have breakfast, consisting of half a cup of tea and an apple. Then I go upstairs and put on a little makeup.

I’ve dressed low-key. A T-shirt, a cotton skirt, and flip-flops. As I look in the mirror I feel almost shivery with anticipation. But other than that my mind is weirdly blank. I seem to have lost all my thought processes.

After the cool house, the garden feels scorching, the air still and almost shimmery. I keep to the shade, heading down the side path, not knowing where he’s working, where I’m heading. And then I see him, in the midst of a row of lavender and lilac-colored flowers, knotting a length of twine.

“Hi,” I say.

“Hi.” He looks up and wipes his brow. I’m half-expecting him to drop what he’s doing, come forward, and kiss me. But he doesn’t. He just carries on knotting, then cuts the twine off with a knife.

“I came to help,” I say after a pause. “What are we doing?”

“Tying up the sweet peas.” He gestures at the plants, which are growing up what look like cane wigwams. “They need support, otherwise they just flop.” He throws me a ball of twine. “Have a go. Just tie them gently.”