me. I hoped he didn’t think I’d done it
deliberately - for him.
But then, he seemed to like it…
I smiled to myself as I followed him inside:
he’d been waiting for me. Actually waiting.
So maybe he didn’t see me as a burden after
all.
<><><>
It turned out that I was hopeless at darts.
Useless. While Luke seemed to be able to manipulate his darts into doing exactly what he wanted, mine wouldn’t obeyme at
all. It was as if the target and darts were fitted with magnets of the same
pole: they just repelled each other. I would aim at the board and they would
start off fine, but somewhere in mid-flight they always managed to veer off,
missing the spot completely and slamming into the walls instead.
In the end, I was so frustrated that I
forgot to be shy. “It’s not my fault,”
I complained. “I’ve still got numb hands from being out in the cold. I can’t
even feel my finger ends yet.”
Luke shook his head, laughing at my
excuses. “Let’s have a look, then,” he sighed dramatically, moving closer and taking
both my hands in his, a tiny shock of electricity crackling down my spine at
his touch.
“Actually, they are a bit cold,” he said.
“See,” I cried. “You can’t expect me to
throw darts properly when I’ve practically got frostbite.”
“ Frostbite ?”
He raised one eyebrow at me and grinned. “Getting worse by the minute isn’t it?”
Bringing my hands together, he enveloped them
in his own which were large and warm. And then he began to rub. His fingers
were rough and dry, and made a slight sandpapery sound as they chafed against
my skin. And despite the cold in my fingers, I felt a warmth spreading through
my body.
“Right,” he said after a few moments, “let’s
see what you can do now .”
But it was no good. I was still hopeless.
Taking aim for my final shot, I huffed and
puffed, resigned to failure. But before I could throw it, Luke moved in behind
my right shoulder. Leaning forward, his face down at my level, he wrapped his
hand gently around mine as it held the dart.
I stopped breathing, all my senses alert. He
was so close that I could feel his body heat, and the tickle of his breath as
he whispered next to my ear.
“Now, eyes on where you want it to go.” He began
rocking my arm backwards and forwards, rhythmically, in a smooth, gentle arc. “And
…go…”
I watched as the dart left my hand and flew
through the air, straight at the board… only to hit it with a mighty thud and
fall to the ground.
I heard a snigger next to my right ear. “I
don’t think that was frostbite, you know,” Luke said, letting my hand drop. “I
think you’re just rubbish at darts.”
Then, laughing at my squeal of outrage, he
strolled over to the bar where he poured us a Coke each and threw me a bag of
crisps.
And so for a while I sat at the bar, quietly
picking at my snack, watching him as he practised some shots on his own.
It was a peaceful-enough scene, but inside,
my mind was in turmoil. What was going on? We had been so tinglingly close, and
yet now he was acting as if nothing had happened.
Had he not felt it too?
And what about our understanding? Our
connection? Wasn’t he aware of that either?
But no - he had been aware of it. I’d heard it in the tone of his voice. Seen
it in the look in his eye. I was sure of it.
So what had gone wrong? Was it that, after only
an hour in my company, he was already bored? Had I failed to meet his expectations?
As the silence lengthened, I began to feel more
and more uncomfortable, like I should say something, fill the void. But
everything I could think of sounded dull. Then I remembered what I’d heard in
the market. About how someone had had an accident. Someone whose mum had been
the waitress before Sandy. I wondered if that was the same Sandy I knew. The
waitress at the pub.
“Luke…” I began.
“Mm?” He was concentrating, aiming for the bull’s-eye.
“How long has Sandy worked
deliberately - for him.
But then, he seemed to like it…
I smiled to myself as I followed him inside:
he’d been waiting for me. Actually waiting.
So maybe he didn’t see me as a burden after
all.
<><><>
It turned out that I was hopeless at darts.
Useless. While Luke seemed to be able to manipulate his darts into doing exactly what he wanted, mine wouldn’t obeyme at
all. It was as if the target and darts were fitted with magnets of the same
pole: they just repelled each other. I would aim at the board and they would
start off fine, but somewhere in mid-flight they always managed to veer off,
missing the spot completely and slamming into the walls instead.
In the end, I was so frustrated that I
forgot to be shy. “It’s not my fault,”
I complained. “I’ve still got numb hands from being out in the cold. I can’t
even feel my finger ends yet.”
Luke shook his head, laughing at my
excuses. “Let’s have a look, then,” he sighed dramatically, moving closer and taking
both my hands in his, a tiny shock of electricity crackling down my spine at
his touch.
“Actually, they are a bit cold,” he said.
“See,” I cried. “You can’t expect me to
throw darts properly when I’ve practically got frostbite.”
“ Frostbite ?”
He raised one eyebrow at me and grinned. “Getting worse by the minute isn’t it?”
Bringing my hands together, he enveloped them
in his own which were large and warm. And then he began to rub. His fingers
were rough and dry, and made a slight sandpapery sound as they chafed against
my skin. And despite the cold in my fingers, I felt a warmth spreading through
my body.
“Right,” he said after a few moments, “let’s
see what you can do now .”
But it was no good. I was still hopeless.
Taking aim for my final shot, I huffed and
puffed, resigned to failure. But before I could throw it, Luke moved in behind
my right shoulder. Leaning forward, his face down at my level, he wrapped his
hand gently around mine as it held the dart.
I stopped breathing, all my senses alert. He
was so close that I could feel his body heat, and the tickle of his breath as
he whispered next to my ear.
“Now, eyes on where you want it to go.” He began
rocking my arm backwards and forwards, rhythmically, in a smooth, gentle arc. “And
…go…”
I watched as the dart left my hand and flew
through the air, straight at the board… only to hit it with a mighty thud and
fall to the ground.
I heard a snigger next to my right ear. “I
don’t think that was frostbite, you know,” Luke said, letting my hand drop. “I
think you’re just rubbish at darts.”
Then, laughing at my squeal of outrage, he
strolled over to the bar where he poured us a Coke each and threw me a bag of
crisps.
And so for a while I sat at the bar, quietly
picking at my snack, watching him as he practised some shots on his own.
It was a peaceful-enough scene, but inside,
my mind was in turmoil. What was going on? We had been so tinglingly close, and
yet now he was acting as if nothing had happened.
Had he not felt it too?
And what about our understanding? Our
connection? Wasn’t he aware of that either?
But no - he had been aware of it. I’d heard it in the tone of his voice. Seen
it in the look in his eye. I was sure of it.
So what had gone wrong? Was it that, after only
an hour in my company, he was already bored? Had I failed to meet his expectations?
As the silence lengthened, I began to feel more
and more uncomfortable, like I should say something, fill the void. But
everything I could think of sounded dull. Then I remembered what I’d heard in
the market. About how someone had had an accident. Someone whose mum had been
the waitress before Sandy. I wondered if that was the same Sandy I knew. The
waitress at the pub.
“Luke…” I began.
“Mm?” He was concentrating, aiming for the bull’s-eye.
“How long has Sandy worked
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