Fit For Purpose by Julian Parrott (scary books to read .TXT) 📗

There had been moments in the past like this; new guy, romantic dinner, flush with wine and anticipation, when Nia realised that her date wanted to be with ‘Our Nia’ or the ‘Welsh Spitfire’ not the real Nia. She had been hurt too many times.

“Seriously, you don’t have to do this,” Tom said earnestly.

“But I want to.”

She took another gulp of wine.

“I grew up hard. I left home when I was seventeen. I feel as if I’ve really been on my own ever since. My parents were too busy fighting each other to even notice I was gone. By my late teens I was working regularly and had some decent money, a car, my own flat. I thought myself worldly and wise,” she smiled, really to herself. “All at a time when lots of people make poor decisions. And, boy, did I make a few bad decisions. I took some bad jobs and turned down good ones, dropped out of drama school, and there were some drugs, booze, and there were men of course. Quite a few men.” She rolled her eyes and waited for him to respond. He didn’t. “And, a lot of my bad decisions were played out in public.”

She took another sip of her wine. “I learnt some tough lessons on being taken advantage of and of being lied to. My bloody dad asked for handouts after I made a film or two. This from a man who only paid attention to me when he wanted a new sparring partner after my Mam was too bruised, or when he wanted the money I earned, from a weekend job at the make-up counter in Boots. He even sold some family stories when the press was going through the ‘Our Nia’ phase. Which I hated, by the way.”

He nodded and she captured his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said knowing it wasn’t enough.

“No one hurts you as much as family,” she continued, eyes beginning to swim with tears. “Or those we love. Some people can be so callous and calculating and it took me a few heartbreaks and a couple of marriages, and a whole lot of hurt to realise that. You have to understand that the level of self-absorption in my profession is at a different level.” She held a hand above her head. “Stratospheric levels. Or…” she moved her hand down, “Or, people play games to see what they can get out of other people. There is quite a bit of poison in this profession. It took me some growing to recognise all this shit and find a way to deal with it. So, you see, I have a hard time trusting anyone.” She stared hard into Tom’s eyes.

He was sitting back in his chair. He wasn’t sure if she wanted him to respond or whether she was daring him to leave. He decided to just listen. He watched her eyes. She looked down and he noticed her face soften.

“I, after the second marriage, I didn’t want to get hurt again. I kind of shut myself down. I think I may have become too cold, too, too less open to feeling. My bloody profession had left me emotionally stunted. I wanted armour that was impervious.”

She took a big drink of her wine and refilled her glass. Tom noticed the tears welling in her eyes.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” she half smiled and gave a slight shrug of her shoulders. “But I feel we have a connection.”

Tom nodded his agreement.

“I want to let you know that I’m not easy to be with,” Nia continued. “I’m bloody minded and difficult.” Nia laughed. She sat back in her chair and smiled coyly. “Some first date eh?”

Tom felt a sense of panic, worried the next thing she would say would be that there was no room for him in her life.

Nia leaned forward, “But I’d like to take a chance. I’d like to get to know you,” she paused, and reached across the table for his hand. “Now, you know everything about me,” she lied, “But I don’t know anything about you.”

Tom’s relief was manifest, he felt his face flush. He smiled shyly.

“Okay. I grew up in Manchester. Mum, Dad, elder sister. Close to my sister, Rachel, great taste in music. Went to school, then uni at Manchester, followed by the army. A bad but mercifully quick marriage, then semi-retirement on the canals. A dog name Jack. A little writing here and there. And, I’d like to get to know you, too.”

“Nice try,” she said with a laugh. “But, not good enough. I’m an actor, remember, you’ll need to tell me something with a little drama. Like… tell me about the love of your life.”

He sat back and stared at her. She grinned back at him. He told her of his love for the Periwinkle and for Jack. She laughed.

“Still not good enough,” Nia said. “What about your ex-wife?”

“Ah, her,” Tom said “I’m not sure, looking back, if what I felt for her was love, real love. I’m not sure I’ve ever really had a love of my life,” Tom stated. He told Nia that his wife had been pretty and fun, that there was romance but he was sure that she hadn’t really loved him. That she had been in love with a kind of ideal. That she had enjoyed the army life and that she didn’t mind his absences when he was posted because she filled her time with civic activities which had included numerous affairs. In the end he hadn’t any problems letting go. It now felt like a distant, embarrassing memory; he didn’t tell her that there were other memories more real, more vivid, more hurtful.

“So,” she said. “We’ve had three marriages between us, and they’ve all been rubbish.” Nia drained the last of her wine. “Where do we go from here?”