I’m not sure what it is that draws me to the sea.  I think it’s useful to appreciate the contrasts and I get a similar feeling, standing here, to the one I get in Roath Park.  They’re both places I like to come and sit quietly alone, or with close friends, not talking much, just sharing time.  Roath is always warm and still when I’m there.  The lake is just there it doesn’t intrude or impose itself.  The air thrums with August warmth and insects are barely audible in the thick air.  The contrast here is movement, change, rhythmical progression.  The sea has a music I love as much as any other, it’s always the same and always fresh.  That as much as anything else draws me here.   I don’t want to stay here so long I become inured to it.  The pleasure I take in Roath is simple, lazy and relaxed, at the shore it’s complex, contrived and restless.

        Hi.

        I’m so startled out of my own thoughts, I’m struck by how unusually self absorbed I’ve been.  I didn’t notice her approach.

        Hello.

She sits down beside me.  She looks out to see and pauses, then looks straight at me.

        What are you writing?

I smile, shrug and put my notebook away.   She smiles and nods, OK.  I feel a little awkward, but that's OK, I not going to share my thoughts with anyone.

        Would you like some chocolate?

        Yes!  Thank you.

There’s something about her, her sincerity, the simplicity of complexity in her voice.  I wait, I’m good at that.   She waits too, she lies back propping herself on her elbows.

        I like it here.

        I never thought I’d feel like this…

She looks at me.  I look straight into her brown eyes.  

        …about the sea.

She looks away.  

        I love that sound…

I wanted to stop her, I didn’t want her to continue.  I didn’t want her to spoil it, with each word she echoed me, sharpening my feelings, I knew it became inevitable that with another word - snap - it would to gone.  She is silent.

        I love it too.

She smiles at me, we share something…

She unzipped her coat and pulled out a sketch pad.  She offers it to me.  I raise my eyebrows, but don't take it.  She prods me with it.  I accept.  I slowly open it and begin to turn the pages.  I look up and take in the sea before me, then I look down and read the truth of the impressions in the sketch book.

        They're really good.  I can't draw.

        I turn another page and then another.

        That's amazing.  I really like this one.
She sits up to see with one I have paused at.  She nods.

        That's my favourite.
After a short time I reach the end and then make my way back.  I nod my appreciation and hand back the book.  I don't think it would add anything saying how good they are.  I take out my pad and offer it to her, I think that she has more than earned it, just by offering first.  She just smiles.

        No it's OK.  I didn't show you for that.

        I know, I just want to now anyway.

She smiles again.  She takes my pad and begins to read.  I break another piece of chocolate from my bar and drop it between us close to her.  She helps herself without taking her eyes from the page.  I feel twitchy and self conscious.

        Hmmm...I'd be reluctant to share.  

She shakes her head in such a way that makes me hope that she might actually like it.  I know that nothing is going to happen and yet it does anyway.  Life is like that, just when you expect it least it surprises you most.

        I would like to invite you…

Something about her sudden gravity and tone makes me tense so much it must be perceptible to her.  I snap a look at her, questioning and cautious.  This cannot be happening.

        …to my mother’s house...to my bedroom

I cannot bear the silence and those penetrating eyes so I return;

        To play those old records we know all the words to?

Her eyes widen, it's her time to be taken aback.  She cannot now believe that she is quoting something I actually know.

        I would like to…

She pauses momentarily, probably just to torture me.
        …kiss me: to crush me to lick me: Till I beg you to stop…

        Till you drive me crazy: Till I want you to stop:

        Till you drive me crazy.

I look out to sea, it’s happening again.   A moment too strange and to perfect to exist in reality is forcing it’s way through.  The world is full of people like me who rarely find one another, not really believing it when we do.   That's all it takes: A subtle movement: That's all it takes  to make the program.

What happens now?  Does one of us over analyse it and kill it.  It will not be me.  I move openly, deliberately, looking straight at her.  She allows me to move and turns to me, she meets my urgent, searching expression and frown with a satisfied half smile.   I pause looking deep into the unfathomable depths of her eyes.  I reach out my hand and hers is outstretched to meet it.  What now?

She squeezes and I relax my hand and let her slowly slip her small hand from mine.  Now is the time, this is the point where everything turns.  This is the pivotal point in our relationship.

She gets to her feet.  I’m smiling, she can see that even though my head is turned forward, slightly down, beneath her.  Out of the corner of my eye I can see her slide her hands into her pockets.  That’s OK, this is enough, this is more than enough.  I can sense her gaze turning from me out to sea.  There is a long pause and she breathes a deep sigh.  I expect her to turn and walk away, but she stretches out her hand and pulls me to my feet.  She won’t let go of my hand.

As she turns and walks away she has to loop my arm over her head and her own across her chest and I’m pulled along beside and just behind her.  She places one foot on the promenade and swings around pulling me after her.  I step up and our hands come apart and she stops, I allow my to momentum to carry me forward.  I open my arms around her and feel hers encircle me to catch me and hold me.  She squeezes once and then spins away walking to the edge of the road.  I wait.

She stops looks both ways and then at me.  We look at one another.  She knows what I want and I’ve already given her what she needed.  I don’t think she is going to then she says simply

        Come with me.

The most perfect three words in the English language.  I cross to her and look both ways and then we cross the road together.  When we’re on the other side she takes my hand and gently pulls me to the right and then we’re walking, side-by-side, together.  She holds my hand all the way.

We arrive at a tall three story terrace.   She opens the gate and pulls me to the door.  She fishes a key from her pocket, I think I recognize the bottle shaped fob as she turns the key in the door, pushes with her fingers and replaces the key in her pocket.  She pushes the door with her foot, crosses inside and then, and only then, lets go of my hand.   I close the door as she leans against the balustrade.

She looks at me with her half smile and I stare.  Then she turns and walks down the hall.  She stops and pushes open the door to what must be a dining room.   There are quietly spoken greetings I can barely hear.  She opens her arms wide, but her only response is a broad, amused smile.  She enters and disappears, closing the door behind her.  I was right to wait.  She reappears more quickly that I expected, with a bottle of red wine in one hand, two glasses sticking out from between her fingers.  She holds up the bottle and raises her eyebrows.  I smile and nod, of course.  She looks at me, smiles broadly and then turns and stops, raises an eyebrow to whoever is in the room and pushes the door to.   Turning back to me, looks down slightly and shakes her head.  When our eyes meet I match her half smile for half smile.   She passes without looking at me, but the way she looks at me out of the corner of her eye, as she starts up the stairs, tells me to follow.

We go up to the third floor and she goes into the door on the right;  I  pause on the threshold.  Inside, opposite the door is a small square table, pushed into the corner.  She puts down the wine and the glasses and looks about for something.  Opposite the door is a bookcase, my eyesight is too poor to read the titles from here in this light.   She moves back into my line of vision, my heart is beating faster, I couldn’t speak even if I wanted to.  She uncorks the bottle smoothly, expertly.

She turns and looks at me as I lean against the door jam.  She takes three stiff steps towards me and stops.  I can hardly breath, I just wait, I’ll know just when it’s right for me.  She leans against the wall just inches from me. I notice for the first time that it isn’t just me whose breathing seems laboured.   I lift up my hand, apprehensively, but she doesn’t move.  I slide my hand along her jaw, across her mouth, into the hair behind her ear.  She tilts her head and lets my hand cradle it.  I move to kiss her and instead of backing away she moves to meet me and lifts her head and our lips meet.  Just once.

I move away and she sighs, her mouth open.  She opens her eyes, but now neither of us smile.  I can't tell if she is shaking because I am.  She takes both my hands and gently leads me into the room.  She turns me and leads me carefully, backwards until I feel something meet the back of my legs.

        Sit.  

I do as I'm told.  I look around her room.  I like it,  I think it’s perfect.  John Irving,  Heller, Tibor Fisher, Burgess, Irving Welsh.  She pours two glasses of wine.  I don’t say anything until she hands me my wine.

        Thank you.

My voice is quiet, gentle, smaller than I’d intended.  But I don’t mind.  She sits very close, next to me.  I can see that we are both trembling now.  I lean to one side and put my arm out, behind her for us both to lean on.  My face is next to her shoulder.  Our breathing is equally ragged.