The Wheeling Dipping Seagull, Brian Doswell [learn to read books TXT] 📗

saw him pressing the towel to his face as though he were breathing my perfume on the soft cloth. His car was parked just a few spaces from mine and we changed into shorts and t-shirts in our respective cars before meeting again on the pathway. I had worn my bikini instead of a bra and pants under my shorts and vest but now the catch on my bikini top was distinctly dodgy and I decided to leave it in the car; not my normal style but this was not a normal day.

We sat in the sunshine and ordered coffee. I ordered a croissant and then wished that I hadn’t when those inevitable loose flakes of pastry fell into my braless cleavage. I brushed some crumbs onto the floor and a seagull wandered by, grubbing at the debris. It looked like the one that I had just seen on the beach but then all seagulls look the same to me. It was just that this one was a little too close to my ankles and I suddenly felt as though it was more likely to peck at me rather than the pastry.

We chatted about all sorts of trivia and I began to genuinely like this man. He was indeed a few years older than me but he had a kind face and he really seemed to like me, which was a feeling that I was beginning to enjoy. I could feel my loneliness drifting away. I smiled as much as I could and twitched at my cotton vest. In my mind I could still hear auntie’s voice repeating, almost audibly, ‘Teeth and tits, Dear, teeth and tits’.


+++++

We changed in the privacy of our cars before meeting again on the nearby path. I remember rushing to be changed first so that she would not have to wait for me, and then going back to fold my lost towel neatly to preserve the Factor 5 for as long as possible.

We sat at a white marble top table in the sunshine outside a beach café. I ordered coffee and she asked for a croissant. I had one too. We did not talk much at first, just little inoffensive sparring questions. “Do you live nearby?” “Do you come here often?” Did I really say that? Flakes of golden brown pastry broke from her croissant and nestled enticingly between her breasts. I longed to brush them away and struggled to stop my gaze following them down into her t-shirt.

Her eyes flicked down to the wedding ring that I still wear. I pretended not to notice but answered her unspoken question anyway by explaining that I was widowed and that I lived alone just a few minutes outside the town. I wanted to tell her more but it was too much, too soon. She did not wear a ring nor did she volunteer her side of that coin. I did not ask, but I did gather that none of yesterday’s children were hers.

We sat together through an hour of rambling conversation, exchanging a multitude of trivia, titbits of information, nothing significant, nothing important, nothing that either of us might later regret. I loved the way her teeth sparkled when she smiled and her casual way of throwing her shoulders back that stretched the soft fabric of her t-shit across her nipples.

A waiter drifted by and asked if we would like the lunch menu. I said yes, perhaps too quickly, hoping to commit her to another hour with me. I was beginning to enjoy her company and found myself desperately wanting her to stay. She agreed, perhaps too quickly, and we both relaxed as if this was the start of our first deliberately intentional meeting, a sort of date, if people still use that expression.

We ordered salads with a pichet of chilled rosé. We drank the wine but neither of us finished our food; we were talking too much. Our conversation was still at a cocktail party level but it seemed more and more as though our voices were providing the medium for an intimate contact that we dared not otherwise attempt in public.

When the bill arrived we both reached for it at the same time, her hand landed on top of mine. There was just the slightest hint of unnecessary pressure in her fingers, not a familiar squeeze but enough to tell me that she was not about to run away. I used a salt cellar as a paper-weight to hold some notes on top of the bill in its little tin tray and we left.


ooooo

Coffee became lunch and by the time we had finished lunch we were chatting like old friends, it seemed so natural to reach for his hand as we strolled back along the path to the car park. I thanked him for lunch, I didn’t want the day to end there but my confidence was thin, I desperately needed some feedback from him. My fingers entwined with his, rubbing inadvertently against his wedding ring. I thought about his loss and instantly regretted having touched the gold band. I felt a stiffness in his fingers and our hands fell apart.


+++++

We walked slowly, side by side, with nowhere to go and in no hurry to get there. A few steps further along the sea front path her fingers linked into mine.

“Thank you for lunch”, her voice soft and feminine, her face half turned away from me as though she wanted to hide any sign of emotion. I squeezed the entwined fingers; it seemed an equally meaningful answer. Our hands stayed linked for a few more steps and then parted. Our conversation dried, maybe we did not need words, maybe just being together was enough.

A large white seagull sat on the wall that divided our path from the beach. It was as though she was waiting for me. When she saw us together she leapt majestically into the air and swooped repeatedly over us as we walked, slowly, wordlessly towards the car park, neither touching nor apart. I was sure that this was the same bird that had been with me on the sand and I looked for that raised, admonishing eyebrow. Was she actually following me around?


ooooo

The seagull reappeared, swooping in front of us as we walked, as though it was trying to shoo me away. When we got to my car the gull was there too. It dipped once more and he put his hand up to protect us from the beating wings. Sunlight reflected off the gold ring on his finger and I sensed this was the end of my adventure.


+++++

I knew it was a wasted gesture but at least I tried to scare away the persistent bird. I flailed an arm at the thing and it turned its head enough for me to see a pure white face; no quizzical eyebrow, no familiar markings, just another seaside pest.

For a brief instant our faces came close and I wondered?

She seemed to hesitate. Doubt clouded her eyes as she ducked into her car and started the engine. I watched her reverse out of the space and turn her car towards the exit.

I lifted my right arm to wave goodbye - right arm - right hand - no ring. I realised that I did not know her name. I needed to catch her before she left. I sprinted towards the exit where she was waiting for the automatic barrier to lift. Breathless, I banged a fist on the side of her car and she rolled down her window.

“Will you have dinner with me tonight? Somewhere up in the hills, away from these bloody seagulls.”


ooooo

“I’d love to.” I thought he’d never ask. “I’ll meet you here at 7:30, I know a smashing place ‘up in the hills’. Trust me, there’s not a seagull in sight, you’ll love it. And, you can call me Sylvie, if you tell me your name.”


+++++

“David.”

I watched her little Clio race away along the beach road. I had not dared hope for her answer and now, “I’d love to.” rang in my ears like sweet music.

I repeated the name Sylvie over and over, as I turned back towards my car, fighting down the urge to punch the air and yell something meaningless at the top of my voice. The car park was almost empty, my car sat alone and obvious in its space as though all of the other cars had sidled away from the one with the enormous white seagull-splat on the front windscreen.

I was polished up, car washed and parked at 7:15; too soon really. Too much time to wait and ponder on life - love - and all that stuff. She must be at least fifteen years younger than me; surely this was just going to be a pleasant evening and farewell. I glanced in the rear-view mirror at the grey wings in my hair, had I overdone the aftershave? Behind me in the reflected panorama, the wide expanse of blue Mediterranean Sea was masked by a brand-new, slow-running white splat on the rear window.


ooooo

All the available men in my world are either gay or divorced. David, nice name David, very biblical, a bit on the older side, but interesting, and seems to come without too much baggage. I’ve got most of the afternoon to pamper myself; I’ll start with a long lazy bath, and do my legs. Aunt Jen used to tell me that a girl should spend as much time on herself as she can, because if she doesn’t, no one else will. I’m sure she was right but then, I can’t really imagine anyone else wanting to do my legs anyway.

For me, hot foamy bathwater is always a bit soporific and I tend to drift off into dreamland when I get the chance. Actually, I get too many chances these days since I no longer have a job to go to. Today I fancy communing with Aunt Jen. What would she say to me if we were sitting together over a cup of tea? Head says, decide where you want to go before you start out, but that horse usually falls at the first fence. Heart says go with the flow - perhaps a bit too bold on the first date?

I must remember to do the other leg before I nod off.

Oh God, its half past six and I haven’t decided what to wear.


+++++

There’s a cloth in the boot, plenty of time to clean the back window before she arrives.

The cloth is as dry as dust and stiff as a board. I try the rear screen washer but it just spreads the white stuff further round. Now, it’s drying into great ridges that just won’t budge.


ooooo

My strappy floral print with the full floaty skirt will have to do, at least it’s ironed. Matching bra and pants, I always feel good in posh undies. Strappy