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

by a fresh dusting of pure white snow. Beautiful, he thought. He turned to face the bed. He watched Nia, propped up on pillows sipping coffee.

“You look lovely,” he said. He wanted to tell Nia that she looked better naked in reality than she did in a nude scene he had watched in one of her DVD’s but then thought he might come across creepy. Nia put her coffee cup on the bedside table.

“Come back to bed,” Nia said and patted the space next to her. So he did.

The bedroom was light when they again woke. Tom went to shower, and Nia joined him. They washed each other, now intimately familiar with each other’s bodies. They dressed in last night’s clothes and checked out. The morning was cold, but they decided to walk rather than taxi out for brunch although neither was hungry. They wanted to have as much time together as possible. They walked arm in arm, hip to hip. A few streets brought them to a little local shopping area where they found a Pret A Manger. Nia liked the fact that Tom asked her what she wanted. Too many people in her life had always expected her to pay. She would describe herself as a rather loud feminist, but she liked a man that treated her like a gentleman would.

They sat side by side. Nia pointed to a middle-aged woman wearing a baggy sweatshirt that was emblazoned with the slogan ‘Proud fur baby mum’.

“That must have been a difficult delivery,” Nia whispered.

“Itchy,” Tom added.

Nia laughed hard. When had a man, anyone, made her laugh as much as this guy? Never. She thought for a moment, “Where are you staying?”

“Umm,” Tom stammered. “I don’t know. I did bring a go bag but I left it in the Land Rover. I wasn’t sure what would, what we, how the night would play out. I was thinking, if it didn’t… then I, if not too tired, would head home or find a hotel if tired.”

“And,” Nia asked. “How did it turn out, would you say?”

“It was the most, bloody marvellous, night of my life.”

Nia laughed and then realised he meant it and then she was aware that it was true for her too. Fuck, she thought, this is crazy. I’m in my forties but feel like a spotty teenager with a crush. But she knew that she had never actually crushed like this before. She buried that thought.

They took a couple of selfies together outside of the Pret as a light snow descended then took the Tube across the quiet city to pick up Tom’s go bag. Bag secured; they took the Tube back across the city to Westminster. They emerged from the Tube station to the iconic view of Elizabeth Tower and Big Ben. Tom pointed out where he was once stationed outside of the Houses of Parliament in the weeks after 9/11. He could still recall the excitement and fear of being on London’s streets with live ammunition in his rifle and his possessing of an innocence that was soon to be lost. They walked across Westminster Bridge and down to the London Eye, its usual queues absent. They almost had a gondola to themselves and they stood against the large curved plexiglass as Nia pointed out London’s skyline. She leant into him and he felt her warmth. They then proceeded back over the bridge and up to Trafalgar Square hand in hand. The city was surprisingly empty on a chilly Sunday afternoon. Both were wondering what they were doing but both were enjoying it. They stopped in a pub off the square to warm up and have a drink.

“On my God,” Nia whispered. “I can’t believe I’m wearing the same clothes as last night.”

“I’ve got a change of clothes in my bag, happy to share,” Tom said.

Nia laughed but couldn’t settle. She suggested Tom stay in the pub and she would find a shop to buy some fresh clothes. The speed of Nia’s departure worried Tom, he wondered whether she’d return. He was suddenly very aware of his surroundings. He didn’t really know what had happened, he’d had almost no time to process or reflect or plan. It had been a whirlwind of excitement and emotions. He checked his watch and wondering how long it would be before he would know whether she was returning, or not. The thought filled him with dread. He went up to the bar, chatted with the barman, a young Canadian. Tom liked Canadians, good soldiers. He had served with a tough bunch in Afghanistan. The bartender poured Tom a pint and a white wine for Nia. Tom returned to the table and had taken a gulp of his beer when Nia returned clutching a red and white striped thin plastic carrier bag.

Nia’s shopping expedition had been quick. She had simply popped into one of the area’s ubiquitous souvenir shops. She bought a T-shirt emblazoned with a red classic Mini with a union jack on its roof, white socks with Big Ben on them, a large sweatshirt bearing an Oxford University coat of arms, and a pair of novelty knickers, a thong with the slogan ‘Welcome to England’ written across the front. Classy, she thought, and grinned to herself, should really be ‘Croeso I Gymru’, Welcome to Wales.

Nia sat at the small pub table and sipped her wine. She was happy. She always liked feeling desired and enjoyed the confidence that had come with age and experience. Tom made her feel more than desired. He was a considerate lover. Gentle when he needed to be, firm and commanding when required.

“Okay,” she told Tom. “A change of clothes,” and held up the bag and then added as an afterthought, “and a toothbrush.”

“Nice bag,” Tom said. “Vuitton?”

Nia responded with her deep throaty laugh. They drank simultaneously and then held each other’s eyes.

“Hotel and