Reconcilible Differences
Part 22
by Mrs. Eyre
Abby thought it likely that after
tonight she would never be able to move again. Every bone,
muscle and ligament in her body ached. Well, a couple of
hours of riotous dancing with a crowd of drunken, boisterous
Croats would do that for you. She’d been twisted,
turned, spun, lifted from her feet, almost thrown from one
partner to the next, all the time trying to watch what the others
were doing and laughing until her face hurt. The heat and
the noise were immense, and she’d stared at herself appalled
in the mirror of the ladies’ room when she’d contrived
to escape for a few minutes. Sweat had smeared her mascara
into muddy smudges beneath her eyes and plastered her hair to her
forehead. Eyes bright, face flushed it occurred to her that
she looked like a woman in the aftermath of vigorous lovemaking.
She hadn’t danced with Luka other than
in the “round robin” partner swapping dances. He’d
said he’d be laughing and laughing he was.
“Had enough yet?”
”Not me, mister. Takes more than
a souped up hoe down to finish me off.”
”Just tell me when you’re ready to
admit defeat.”
”Never.”
”We’ll see.” In the end
she’s been rather glad when, for the second time, she’d
finished up on her backside. Her partner, who she’d
gathered was either an accountant or a vet, helped her to
her feet and she winced as she tried to straighten out. He
was calling for Luka she realised, who came now and put an arm
round her waist, steering her to a chair.
“Where does it hurt?”
”Everywhere. But then you know
that, don’t you?”
”Am I gloating? Am I?”
”Only with every fibre of your being.”
“Seriously, no damage done?”
”Only to my dignity. I have a
sore butt, weak and dizzy all over, my pulse is off the scale and
I can’t breath.”
”Yeah, well, pretty normal for the
circumstances.” He sat down beside her and she was
grateful because the grandmothers were eying her speculatively.
“I think they’re sizing me up.”
“Probably,” he said with a smile.
She couldn’t remember having seen him smile like this
before. Ever. It suited him. He too had worked
up a healthy glow from the dancing, his hair a little damp on his
forehead. He looked younger than she had ever seen him and she
wondered again about the person he’d been in his youth and
during his marriage. The person that he still was,
apparently, the person she wanted to know better, could have
known better had she tried.
One of Luka’s old ladies presented them
with a couple of glasses, one of which he took, but waved
the other one away, saying something which made the old woman
raise her eyebrows and ask a question, with a sidelong
glance at Abby. Luka laughed and shook his head, shooing
her away. A moment later she retuned with what looked like
ginger ale and passed it to Abby with a knowing look.
“What was that all about?”
”I told her you have a condition which
means that you can’t drink.”
”Nicely put. And what did she
say?”
”Oh, nothing.”
”No, come on, she did.” He
merely shook his head, trying to suppress a smile. “Oh, my
God, she thinks I’m pregnant!” He was grinning
now. “What did you tell her?”
”The truth of course!”
“She didn’t believe you, did she?”
”I don’t think so. Of course
she wouldn’t be smiling if you were a nice Croatian girl,
but American women, well …”
”No morals.”
”Exactly. Perhaps you should put
your feet up” he giggled, and took her hand.
“Funny. How long does this go on
for?” You’re holding my hand.
“Usually until the last guest falls
unconscious to the floor. But we can go any time you’re
ready. I think we’ve done our duty.”
“You can stay if you like. Just
put me in a cab, I’ll be fine.” Don’t let
go of my hand
“No, don’t be silly, I want to
make sure you get home and run a hot bath so you don’t seize
up.” He looked away from her then in response to
a call from one of the grandmothers.
“Duty calls. Will you be OK alone
for a minute?”
”Sure. I expect they all know I’m
expecting triplets by now, so I’ll be excused further abuse
on the dance floor.” Luka kissed the back of her hand
before releasing it and joining his old ladies. She watched
as one of them rummaged in a vast handbag and produced half a
dozen bottles of tablets which he proceeded to explain to her,
writing notes on a paper napkin for her to look at later. Abby
was glad now that she was already flushed because she could feel
her face burning. The woman who had brought their drinks
was looking at her and, when she caught Abby’s eye,
raised her glass to her and winked.
He hadn’t meant to take her hand, hadn’t
thought, but having taken it he couldn’t very well let it go
as though it were a mistake. She hadn’t seemed to
mind. He’d been conscious of the granddaughters
watching them and had seen the glances exchanged when he’d
kissed her hand. If his resolve to be simply a friend to
her had seemed straightforward in theory in was in practice
rather less so. He didn’t understand her. Sometimes
since Christmas the tone of her voice or a softness to her eyes
gave him pause and he’d caught his breath on more than one
occasion when he could have sworn that she was flirting
with him. He stole a surreptitious glance at her now. She
was talking to the priest, clearly doing her best, but at that
moment she looked up, searching the faces around her until she
found him and caught his gaze. There was a moment when they
looked at each other and he thought She knows.
And, astonishingly, he knew too. He was rather glad he was
sitting down. The moment passed. She smiled a little
desperately and he stood up to make his way over to her,
horrified to find, when he handed the notes he’d made back
to the grandmother, that his hands were shaking.
“Ready to go?”
”I think so, yes. If that’s
OK.”
”Sure. Give me a minute.”
As Luka said his goodbyes Abby tried very
hard to regain control of her breathing. What just
happened? How out of practice was she at reading him?
Hell, she’d never been in practice, and admitted, not for
the first time, that she hadn’t been paying attention at all
before. She began to panic a little now, and actually
considered leaving before he could get back. Don’t
be ridiculous
“I called a cab” he said returning
to her side, their coats in his arms. She couldn’t
look at him and so didn’t see that he was looking anywhere
but at her.
They waited outside for the cab in silence,
still not having looked at each other. The thought of
sitting next to her on the journey home was a kind of exquisite
torture to him. What to do, what to do. Well You could
try speaking to her, Luka, that always helps. Except
it didn’t always, did it? Take her hand again? Put
an arm around her shoulders maybe. But what if he’d
been wrong?
Jesus Christ.
Just take his hand, Abby. But what if
she’d been wrong? Look at me Luka. She
felt sure that if she could see his face she’d know what he
felt, see for certain what he’d worked out. Just
look at me.
“Did I tell you I’ll be going
home?”
”What?”
”July”
“For good?”
”What?”
”You’re going home to stay?”
She was fighting to keep the panic from her voice, not sure that
she was succeeding.
“No, no, of course not. Four
weeks.”
”It’s a long time.”
“Not really. It’s been
a while. I have to – I need to spend some time, you
know? There are some places I have to go.”
”I know.”
”Do you?” He was looking at
her now very intently, a little anxious. Now that she had
his full attention she wished he’d look away.
“I think so.”
“It’s just that --- I need
to see it clearly, not as my memory has kept it. I don’t
think I can explain.”
”I understand. You going to be
OK?”
”I don’t know,” he said,
candidly. “I think so.” She laid a hand on
his arm then and his eyes were fascinated by her fingers on his
sleeve.
“I think so too.” She said. Luka
opened his mouth to speak then but she beat him to it.
“Here’s our cab.”