Remember Me (4 page)

On
the road home, Catlin could not help but be frustrated by the turn of events.
It had been unmistakable and unmissable, the connection between them. He had
wanted to kiss her almost as much as she wanted to kiss him, despite her
reservations about getting involved with another man until the day you could go
ice skating in Hell. Why had he pulled back from her? It had to have been as
obvious to him as it was to her? It was seriously tempting to spin the car
around and go back to ask him outright, but the instant she considered it,
Catlin thought again. How desperate would she look then? If she went back and
kicked up a dust storm over something that might well have been inevitable in
her own mind only, he’d be convinced she was a few sandwiches short of a picnic.
It was less than a week ago he’d found her in the middle of taking a shortcut to
the pavement via the rooftop. He’d be left in no doubt she was a crazy if she
went back demanding he kiss her at once! And perhaps what she had taken to be a
romantic interest was nothing more on his part than concern for her wellbeing
after the rooftop drama and she was reading more into his intentions than there
was.

Of
course, coming up with a rational explanation for what had happened did not
improve Catlin’s mood or diminish her annoyance one bit and she had barely
calmed down by the time she arrived back in her apartment. Inside, she caught
an unwelcome glimpse of herself in the mirror. No wonder Ben had retreated with
haste before they made contact! She was a wreck. Her hair, buffeted by the
elements had reverted to its pre-straightened state of waves and curls, many of
which had fled the teeth of her hair-clip and jutted out at every conceivable
angle. What little make-up she had put on that morning had faded to the point
of invisibility. Catlin forced herself to stand in front of the reflected image
and examined its features carefully.

Her
eyes were a rare shade of Celtic green, the one trait she had inherited from
the Irish side of the family and which had the fortune of being the one
solitary feature she truly liked, but they were out of place alongside the
darker skin tone and near black hair she had come to possess in a throwback to
the Spanish blood which was mixed in somewhere in the distant past.
Individually there was nothing wrong with any of them, but together they
combined to create a monstrous vision.

“God,
you are one ugly woman,” Catlin told the reflection. “What were you doing even
considering there might be a chance that a guy like him would be interested in
you in any way other than as a friend?” It was a justified remark. Not one of
her previous boyfriends had been drawn to her because of her ‘stunning looks’.
There had been no instant attraction or love at first sight. They had got to
know her over a period of weeks and months and found she was clever, funny,
kind and had a good heart. The trouble was no-one could
see
those
attributes, they had to be discovered with the passage of time and therefore
most people were left under the impression some half-human creature had just
been introduced to them upon meeting her for the first time. Had she not been
told more than once she was the girl beer goggles had been invented for?

The
problem Catlin had was that it was not merely her own vanity, pride, or a potential
date that was at stake this time. She liked Ben,
really
liked him, and
his being in her life, however briefly it might turn out to be for. She did not
want to jeopardise their newly started friendship for the sake of her own
romantic delusions. She made her decision there and then. However hard it might
be for her, she was going to put a stop to her flirting, unintentional or
otherwise. She’d not been looking for a relationship, let alone one that would
have to be held over a long distance once Ben went back to wherever it was he
came from. Like everything she wanted, it had been a daydream, with no more
substance to it than a cobweb. She would have to find a way to be happy to have
him as a friend, a true friend, something she was rather lacking. So, should
they happen to bump into each other for a third time, Catlin told herself she
was going to be the very essence of the word ‘platonic’.

Kicking
off her boots, Catlin unbundled her tangled bird’s nest of a hairstyle and made
for the shower, deliberately ignoring the flashing light on the answerphone,
which tried its hardest to gain her attention. It could wait whatever it was.
She wanted to rinse away the dust and dirt accumulated on her walk from her
hair and body and with it wash away any remaining illusions of what might have
been between her and Ben.

Her
shower was so delightfully refreshing that Catlin took longer than usual
pampering herself under it. As she washed her hair she visualised the daydreams
of her and Ben as a couple around her, being crushed as she dismissed then one
by one, rendering them to dust before rinsing the whole lot down the drain. It
was good therapy, a method she had used on more than one occasion and as hard
as it was initially to accept that something you wanted so much was never going
to be, the practise did help – with one door firmly shut it was easier to take
the one that remained open. She might be bothered by a twinge of ‘if only’ from
time to time, her feelings for Ben being the strongest she had ever
experienced, but that was her problem. She felt things far too deeply, cared
too much and loved to intensely, but this way she would at least be able to
keep his friendship and having him in her life one way or another was better to
not having him there at all. The result of her compromise was that by the end
of her water tank draining shower Catlin’s mood was brighter.

She
got dressed but decided to leave her hair to dry naturally with the evening
being as warm as it was. She picked up the book she had been endeavouring to
read for more than a fortnight off her bedside table and went on through to the
lounge, thinking about what she was going to have for her dinner. She screamed,
loudly too, upon entering the series of open plan rooms, jumping a fair few
feet backwards as she did so.

“In
the name of Heaven!” she gasped, her heart racing at three times its normal
rate. “Where the bloody hell did you materialise from?” she shouted at Ben who
was waiting by the dining table.

The
shock of unexpectedly finding a man, albeit one she was familiar with, in her
apartment subsided and gave way to embarrassment at the extremely hysterical
scream she’d given before turning to relief and laughter, mainly because Ben,
who had been obviously startled by her yell and jumped almost as much as Catlin
had, was close to tears, finding their reactions absolutely hilarious.

“Does
the Banshee you pinched that scream from realise what you’re doing with it? Did
I startle you that much?”

“What
do you think?” Catlin growled, hitting him with her book. “I thought I’d got
burglars.”

“So
did I, and you’re lucky not to have. Your door was wide open when I arrived,
hence my having been able to get in.”

“Strange.
I’m sure I shut it behind me.”

“Probably
didn’t quite catch and a draught from one of the windows was enough to swing it
open.” There was no other explanation Catlin could think of, but it was the
first time since she moved in that it had happened.

“I
like the curls.” Catlin hadn’t a clue as to what Ben was on about until he pointed
to his hair and she remembered the mass of damp locks which were hanging about
her shoulders. “They suit you.”

“Wait
until they dry out – it’s more frizz than waves then.”

Catlin
crossed into the kitchen, dropping her book on the table as she passed by.

“It’s
nice to see you again and all, but what are you doing here?”

“You
did say to call by if I found myself at a loose end, but if I’m bothering you…”

“Did
I say so? It’s just that I’d have thought you’d have had infinitely more
exciting things to do with your evenings than waste them here. Are you hungry?
I’m about to put something in the oven.”

“No
thanks. I ate a while ago.”

“Drink?”

“No,
I’m good, but you go ahead.”

“Have
no fear – I’m going to.” She rummaged about in the fridge and freezer, finally
settling on a veggie burger. She wasn’t especially hungry, but if she left it
any later she would pick at snacks for the rest of the night.

“You’re
a veggie?” Ben asked peering over her shoulder, and chewing on a leaf of fresh
mint he had helped himself to from the herbs she grew in a window box. His
being so very close sent a ripple of energy rushing through her every nerve.

“Yes,
but don’t think for one minute about lecturing me on the error of my ways. I’ve
heard all before.”

“Wouldn’t
dream of it. I’m one myself as it happens.”

Another
link in the chain of things they had in common. Catlin was beginning to think
things were too good to be true. Could they really be that similar in so many
ways? She set the burger cooking, shut the oven door and propped herself up on
the unit next to it and folded her arms.

“Honestly?
I find that hard to believe. You look like a man who enjoys a steak more than a
nut cutlet.” Ben saw the suspicion in her mind and moved over to where she was,
placed his arm on the counter top by hers, leaning in close.

“Are
you calling me a liar?” Catlin reduced the gap separating them further,
ignoring the voice which politely pointed out she was in danger of breaking her
no flirting rule.

“Maybe.
Or perhaps lying would be too strong a term. You might be trying to worm your
way into my good books for purposes yet known to yourself alone and to try and
gain my favour are not being, shall we say, entirely truthful on certain
subjects.”

They
were so close now Catlin could almost taste the mint on his breath as she
breathed in. It was there again, the same desire for him to reach over and kiss
her. The heat building between them was so consuming she began to waver in her
already shaky conviction about where their relationship was heading. As if to
aid her in keeping her promise, at that moment the picture of how she had
looked after their walk popped into her mind’s eye and she wondered how much
more of a mess she’d look without any make-up on and her hair bearing an
uncanny resemblance to so many rat’s tails. With one side barricaded off by his
arm, she slipped out of his reach by taking the other and got out of the danger
zone. “Or do you have a better explanation for your apparently being into the
very same things I am?”

Ben
straightened up his stance, but remained fixed to the spot he was stood on.

“Well,
I suppose it is possible I might be after getting into your good books. And it
could be just as likely that I’m out to impress you, or of course, and I
understand I’m playing the wild card here, it might be that I’m telling you the
truth.” Catlin eyed him cautiously. She wasn’t used to people telling her the
truth – it happened so rarely. Ben returned the gesture – putting on a faux
expression of careful scrutiny, which was deliberately comical, but Catlin
managed to keep her poise and did not crack.

“Wow!
So serious,” Ben whistled when a minute had gone by without a reaction. “Remind
me never to play cards with you. Okay, I’ll make it easy for you shall I?
Anything I have said to you so far is true, and while the fact we have so many
likes and dislikes in common is suspicious to you, to me it is more
serendipitous.”

“Big
word,” Catlin replied, but Ben had broken down her last reservations and she
too smiled. “I guess I’ll have to take your word. For the time being, but be
warned – I’m on to you and will be watching your every move.”

“Lucky
me,” Ben teased, giving her a wink. Catlin rolled her eyes in resignation.

“Go
sit down, before I change my mind about asking you to stay.”

“You’ve
not asked me yet.”

“No,
and if you don’t get out of my way the only thing I will be doing is showing
you the door.”

“If
you think it’s that easy to get rid of me, you’re going to be disappointed.”

Placing
her hands on his shoulders, Catlin did her best to shove Ben out of the kitchen
and into the lounge, but he resisted, using his full weight to push back
against her meaning they could not move until he permitted it.

“Look
at this,” he muttered as, inch by inch, they slowly worked their way out of the
kitchen, “I’ve barely met her and here she is using physical violence to make
me do what she wants!”

“You
wait, I’ll make you pay for this,” Catlin declared putting every ounce of
strength into her next push.

Without
warning, Ben gave up his resistance, sending the pair of them hurtling into the
lounge where they tumbled into the sofa.

“Is
that so? Sounds like a challenge to me. It’s fair I warn you, I take no
prisoners and will fight back by any means at my disposal.”

“No,
stop it. No don’t,” Catlin squealed amid fits of the giggles. Ben had found her
weak spot – being tickled. No matter how she tried to disentangle herself from
his hold escape was impossible so long as his fingers were at work. By the time
she could stand it no more and begged for a truce she was exhausted.

“I’ll
agree to a ceasefire on the condition you say you believe everything I’ve told
you so far.” She didn’t have the strength to refuse and gazed up at him as he
sat above her.

“Deal.
I believe you.” The muscles around her ribcage ached and she stretched out to
work the kinks knots out of them.

“Blimey,
who needs a gym membership with a workout like that available?”

“What
the heck do you need with a gym?” Ben saw immediately he had said the wrong
thing. Catlin’s face lost all its cheer and she forced her way into a seated
position with such determination that she almost head-butted him and Ben made
no attempt to prevent her moving away from him.

“Very
funny. I think we need to make the terms of our truce more clear cut. I might
have conceded to take your word until this point as truth, but as far as the
one you just made goes, you’ll not be able to convince me that you’re being
serious or genuine this side of the world ending.” She ducked around his arm
and went to check on her burger, the old familiar feeling of resentment and
bitterness resurfacing. Somehow he had managed to get her to break her vow of
being ‘just friends’ but far worse he had, however unintentionally, reminded
her of all the insults that had been thrown at her in relation to her looks, or
lack of them.

It
had been at an unusually young age Catlin had discovered she was sadly short in
the looks department. If she didn’t draw remarks about her resembling a
nightmarish spectre she was not noticed at all, was invisible to all intents and
purposes. Her height and muscular build did not help either. Back home, she
towered above most of the men she met when in flat shoes and the difference in
stature was absurd to say the least once she put heels on. A former friend had
kindly told her she looked more like a bloke in drag on a stag do than a woman
at times. He had not done it on purpose, but with one careless comment Ben had
managed to remind her of every single reason why it was that he would be unable
to view her as anything but a friend. She twiddled the temperature dial as a
distraction.

“Did
I say something wrong?”

“Why
should you think that?”

It
did not need the deductive powers of a genius detective to surmise Catlin was
being far from truthful.

“And
you said
I
was a liar.”

“Well,
you proved yourself to be one.”

“How
exactly may I ask?”

Catlin
ground her teeth together, less than impressed the game currently being played.

“Listen,
you might not understand why, but your joke is not that funny to me.”

“I
don’t recall making a joke.”

“I’m
not going to argue over it, Ben. Let’s get this one thing straight – I prefer
honesty over false or well-intended but phoney compliments. Keep that in mind
and we’ll get on fine, okay?” Whether he understood or not, Ben went along with
Catlin’s request for the sake of peace, throwing his hands up in an exasperated
surrender.

“Fine.
Whatever you say.”

They
remained in their relative fall-back positions, neither daring to be the one
who made the next move. Ben ran his hand across his face, scanning the room for
something to use as a means for getting the conversation going again. He found
it, though it wasn’t exactly what he had been looking for. A few pages of
Catlin’s scribblings lay on the coffee table and he reached for them, pausing
mid-flow as it occurred to him that Catlin might not want her work viewed until
it was finished.

“May
I?” Catlin had no objection. It would have to out into the unforgiving public
domain at sooner or later and she was happier to have someone she liked and
whose opinion she valued read it before the critics tore it apart. Not wanting
to appear anxious as to his thoughts, Catlin took the opportunity to sneak off
to her bedroom and put her hair into some sort of order. By the time she’d be
respectable her burger would be cooked and Ben should have finished what bit of
her book there was to be read.

She
was partly right – her burger was ready, but Ben was still absorbed in her
writings. He had left the sofa and was sat at the chair by her work desk,
totally lost in whatever he was reading and failed to notice her entering the
room.

“It
can’t be so bad that it requires several readings?” As she arrived at the desk
it became obvious it was not her latest book which had Ben so enthralled, but
her book of poems. A streak of lightning-like fury shot through her, but it was
not aimed at Ben. It was her own fault he had happened upon the notebook she
used for writing her poetry in. She had left it out on the desk a few nights
before and not bothered to put it back in the draw where it was usually kept,
secret and out of sight. She had grown so accustomed to the lack of callers she
had dared to leave it with the rest of her writing. She should have remembered
and locked it away in another room the instant Ben sat down.