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

then some dinner?” she asked but it wasn’t really a question.

“Sounds like a fine plan,” Tom agreed.

Tom hailed a cab and Nia suggested a small European chain hotel. Tom guessed that she wasn’t comfortable enough to suggest her house and he was fine with that. He was simply enjoying being with her.

Tom checked in to the hotel as Nia waited in the small lobby, overly interested in a vending machine stocked with things tourists may need but had forgotten to pack. She tried to look natural while evading a possibility of being recognised. A small lift took them up to the second floor and a room that was about the size of a college dorm room.

“Whoops,” Nia said as they opened the door and stepped into the tiny room.

“Hey, I’m used to this,” Tom said. “I live on a narrowboat.”

Nia collapsed on the bed and took off her coat and shoes. She rubbed her feet, sore from a long walk, in boots designed for show rather than walking. Tom made a move as if to massage her feet. Nia pulled her legs up.

“Oh no, I’m sure they’re stinky,” she said. “I think I’ll have a long, hot shower, and change into my latest outfit.”

She moved to the bathroom door and turned to Tom, “Coming?” she asked, and she bit her bottom lip ever so slightly. Tom smiled and joined her as requested.

After, they lay in bed. Nia rested her head on Tom’s chest and absent-mindedly ran her fingers through his chest hair. She then ran her finger over the tattoo on his left shoulder. “Tell me about this?” she asked.

“Soldier thing,” Tom answered rather curtly. Nia read the signal and didn’t follow up, yet. There were parts of this Tom that were still closed off and that made him interesting but alarmed her a little. Tom wanted to lighten the mood.

“Getting hungry?” he asked.

“I could eat,” Nia replied. “If I remember rightly, there’s a good chippy not too far away.” Tom nodded his approval.

“But, before we head out, I need another shower,” Nia said with a smile and got out of bed.

Tom watched her as she moved to the bathroom, appreciating her nakedness. He found her confidence incredibly sexy. Tom dressed in his change of clothes from his go bag: Chelsea boots, jeans, shirt, and sweater.

Nia came from the bathroom looking fresh and radiant.

“Nice sweatshirt,” Tom said. “Had you down as a Cambridge girl.”

Nia laughed.

“University of hard knocks me,” she said.

Tom usually hated such expressions but guessed that in Nia’s situation it was partly true.

***

The early evening was Dickensian dark as they walked through a park square and through a few half-heartedly lit side streets to the fish and chip shop. Nia had remembered to point out a couple of interesting blue plaques along the way. The fish bar was small, about the size of a terraced house’s front room. It had two tiny bar tables each with two chairs hard against the glass front. Tom and Nia both ordered fish suppers from the Greek Cypriot owner who also owned an amazing moustache. They asked for cans of Diet Coke and sat at one of the tables. The window was greasy to the touch.

“Feels like a teenager’s date,” Tom said. “Most of mine were disastrous.”

“Oh, I can’t believe that, Tom. Smart, funny, and dashingly handsome.”

He blushed.

Nia smiled reassuringly.

“I thought soldiers were all gruff and tough. You’re an odd one Major Price.”

“Ah,” Tom said. “I’m not Major Price any more, you see. Just plain old Tom Price. Much less gruff and shouty.” He changed the subject quickly, “What about your teenage dates?”

“Um,” Nia said and looked through the window at their distorted reflections on the greasy film there. “Quite a few. Bad boys mostly. Guys with motorbikes, leather jackets, tattoos before they were cool, dead end jobs. Lads with no ambition only caring about beer, sex and rugby.”

“Skilful though, all three at the same time.”

“Especially in the back of a Ford Sierra,” Nia laughed.

Their food was ready.

“On my God,” Tom exclaimed after his first fork full. “This is incredible. How can anyone make fish and chips this good?”

“It’s all in the moustache,” Nia whispered.

***

They stopped off in a small pub on their way back to the hotel. It had an authentic bar, little changed from Victorian times. Lots of polished wood and brass and a small fireplace. It also had a lounge bar little changed from the mid-1990s, replete with a tiny karaoke stage with its own sound system. There were three other couples in the lounge, all in their fifties and sixties. A grumpy bar tender turned the system on and retreated behind the bar. Nia and Tom stepped back into the Victorian bar where they ordered pints of cider.

Karaoke music played from the lounge. One of the patrons began singing ‘How Deep is your Love’ in the style of the Bee Gees.

“Bloody Hell,” Nia exclaimed. “He’s good. C’mon, this may be fun.”

They grabbed their drinks and went into the lounge and sat at a table with one of the couples who introduced themselves as Glyn and Jayne. Jayne spelled out her name emphasising the “Y”. Jayne stared at Nia. Conversation between the four couples was surprisingly easy especially after songs were shared, rounds were bought and drunk. Nia watched Tom chatting with one of the men, a former old soldier, and she overheard some shared conversation about the army. She witnessed their immediate connection, their shared experience. There was so much to this kind, sweet man that she had yet to discover. Then she realised that she also shared an immediate connection to Tom, but she was troubled, was this just a mad, fun weekend type of fling or would she invest the time to push the connection deeper? She wasn’t