understating.
"Oh, he is. He's a lovely man, he's just..." At that point we
were interrupted by the entrance of Ivan, Josh, Leo and a
small dark girl who was introduced as "my daughter Emma".
We sat down to eat, leaving me fretting about the potential
end of Isabelle's sentence. He's just... Just what? Just
psychotic? Just got a half-inch willy? Just gay?
The conversation went on around Leo and me. We were
seated opposite one another which gave me the maximum of
opportunities to stare at him. Although a carelessly placed jug
of water cut off most of my view from midchest down, I'd
already noted that he was wearing a black T-shirt and close-
fitting black jeans. His dark hair was long in an I've-been-too-
busy-to-get-to-the-barber's way, curling around the back of
his neck and wisping down over his forehead. He had short
nails, slightly bitten, and his face was stubbled with a couple
of days' growth. All in all, desirable.
"It's bad news about The Star, Alys, I'm afraid." Isabelle
ladled me another helping of stew. "Fully booked."
"Oh." Damn, blast and bugger. "Well, if you can give me a
lift to somewhere, I can get the bus. I'll find somewhere to
stay in Exeter. Or go back tonight."
61
Slightly Foxed
by Jane Lovering
Everyone exchanged a smile. Even Leo. Perhaps this was
the moment that someone said, "Oh, you can't go out after
dark. Not round these parts."
"There won't be a bus back to Exeter until tomorrow
morning," Josh explained. "Trains up to York stop running at
eleven. It's nearly nine now."
There was a short pause then Leo, with his eyes fixed
firmly on his stew, mumbled something.
"Oh that would be wonderful," Isabelle said. "That will save
Alys a lot of bother."
I smiled brightly. Leo looked up and caught my eye.
Although he seemed a bit panicked, he managed to give me a
small grin. I wondered what he'd suggested. I drained my
glass of wine and hoped he hadn't offered to post me home in
a Jiffy bag.
[Back to Table of Contents]
62
Slightly Foxed
by Jane Lovering
Chapter Nine
The evening petered slowly to a close, helped to its
conclusion by a steamed treacle pudding which Isabelle bore
triumphantly from the kitchen accompanied by a jug of
custard. I hadn't seen so many calories on display since I
caught sight of some illustrations in The Lard Modellers
Handbook . Eventually everyone pushed back chairs and
emptied glasses, looking at watches and making noises about
how late it was getting.
I helped Isabelle clear the table in the hope that she'd drop
some hints about what Leo had suggested for me.
"Um. Alys. Later. Well, it's not that we're not delighted
that he's taken to you but—if you could be a little bit careful
about what you mention. Only, there's the poetry, obviously ,
and it might be best if you didn't mention his wife either. Still
a bit of a sore spot. If he asks anything about school just bluff
it. I said that you left after a year to go and live in South
Africa, so he shouldn't."
"What if he asks something about South Africa?"
Isabelle slammed the dishwasher shut. "Oh. I never
thought of that. What do you know about South Africa?"
"Um. Apartheid. Nelson Mandela. That's it, I'm afraid."
Leo walked into the kitchen and stood by the Aga, his arms
full of lengths of rope. He was tying and untying knots in
them, but every now and again his eyes would flicker up and
rest on me for a moment. I pretended to be busy swilling out
some pots and not noticing, but I could feel it each time his
63
Slightly Foxed
by Jane Lovering
gaze landed on me almost as though it had physical weight.
Once I turned and looked over my shoulder, addressing a
remark to Isabelle, and his eyes caught mine. He looked away
after a second but—had I imagined it?—a blush crossed his
face as he glanced back down at the twisted rope in his
hands.
When the kitchen was tidy, I stood awkwardly. Leo bid his
sister goodnight and the pair of them looked at me.
"Oh, he is. He's a lovely man, he's just..." At that point we
were interrupted by the entrance of Ivan, Josh, Leo and a
small dark girl who was introduced as "my daughter Emma".
We sat down to eat, leaving me fretting about the potential
end of Isabelle's sentence. He's just... Just what? Just
psychotic? Just got a half-inch willy? Just gay?
The conversation went on around Leo and me. We were
seated opposite one another which gave me the maximum of
opportunities to stare at him. Although a carelessly placed jug
of water cut off most of my view from midchest down, I'd
already noted that he was wearing a black T-shirt and close-
fitting black jeans. His dark hair was long in an I've-been-too-
busy-to-get-to-the-barber's way, curling around the back of
his neck and wisping down over his forehead. He had short
nails, slightly bitten, and his face was stubbled with a couple
of days' growth. All in all, desirable.
"It's bad news about The Star, Alys, I'm afraid." Isabelle
ladled me another helping of stew. "Fully booked."
"Oh." Damn, blast and bugger. "Well, if you can give me a
lift to somewhere, I can get the bus. I'll find somewhere to
stay in Exeter. Or go back tonight."
61
Slightly Foxed
by Jane Lovering
Everyone exchanged a smile. Even Leo. Perhaps this was
the moment that someone said, "Oh, you can't go out after
dark. Not round these parts."
"There won't be a bus back to Exeter until tomorrow
morning," Josh explained. "Trains up to York stop running at
eleven. It's nearly nine now."
There was a short pause then Leo, with his eyes fixed
firmly on his stew, mumbled something.
"Oh that would be wonderful," Isabelle said. "That will save
Alys a lot of bother."
I smiled brightly. Leo looked up and caught my eye.
Although he seemed a bit panicked, he managed to give me a
small grin. I wondered what he'd suggested. I drained my
glass of wine and hoped he hadn't offered to post me home in
a Jiffy bag.
[Back to Table of Contents]
62
Slightly Foxed
by Jane Lovering
Chapter Nine
The evening petered slowly to a close, helped to its
conclusion by a steamed treacle pudding which Isabelle bore
triumphantly from the kitchen accompanied by a jug of
custard. I hadn't seen so many calories on display since I
caught sight of some illustrations in The Lard Modellers
Handbook . Eventually everyone pushed back chairs and
emptied glasses, looking at watches and making noises about
how late it was getting.
I helped Isabelle clear the table in the hope that she'd drop
some hints about what Leo had suggested for me.
"Um. Alys. Later. Well, it's not that we're not delighted
that he's taken to you but—if you could be a little bit careful
about what you mention. Only, there's the poetry, obviously ,
and it might be best if you didn't mention his wife either. Still
a bit of a sore spot. If he asks anything about school just bluff
it. I said that you left after a year to go and live in South
Africa, so he shouldn't."
"What if he asks something about South Africa?"
Isabelle slammed the dishwasher shut. "Oh. I never
thought of that. What do you know about South Africa?"
"Um. Apartheid. Nelson Mandela. That's it, I'm afraid."
Leo walked into the kitchen and stood by the Aga, his arms
full of lengths of rope. He was tying and untying knots in
them, but every now and again his eyes would flicker up and
rest on me for a moment. I pretended to be busy swilling out
some pots and not noticing, but I could feel it each time his
63
Slightly Foxed
by Jane Lovering
gaze landed on me almost as though it had physical weight.
Once I turned and looked over my shoulder, addressing a
remark to Isabelle, and his eyes caught mine. He looked away
after a second but—had I imagined it?—a blush crossed his
face as he glanced back down at the twisted rope in his
hands.
When the kitchen was tidy, I stood awkwardly. Leo bid his
sister goodnight and the pair of them looked at me.
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