THE GIRL WITH NO NAME
By
Suzanne Readsmith
SMASHWORDS EDITION
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PUBLISHED BY:
Suzanne Readsmith on Smashwords
Copyright © 2012 Suzanne Readsmith
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Tom Grant manoeuvred his juggernaut neatly into a lay-by, beside which stood an antiquated transport café. In desperate need of some sleep, he looked forward to a good, hot breakfast before laying his head down in the cab for a couple of hours. With any luck the M1 would be clear and he’d be back up North by early afternoon.
He looked at the sky – so early in the morning yet already it was hot. As he walked towards the café, he noticed the scorched, parched grass crying for the need of a drink, just like himself. On entering the wooden shack he was quite surprised to find it brightly painted and welcoming, a complete contrast to the faded, peeling paintwork on the outside.
Each small, square table was nicely set with a clean, plastic chequered tablecloth. If the food met up to the set-up he’d use this place again. He sauntered up to the counter taking stock of the clientele – just two gypsy-like characters playing cards in the corner, who didn’t even look up to see the new customer. Tom wondered if one of them might be the owner as there was no one else about.
He tapped lightly on the counter, hoping to attract the attention of whoever was serving, but the two men carried on with their card game. He tapped again, concentrating on the long string of beads hanging from the doorjamb of an entrance to a back room behind the counter.
The entrance of the loveliest, most captivating girl he had ever set eyes on suddenly broke his concentration. She was absolutely stunning. Her hair was wispy and golden. Her eyes were also golden, reminding him of the sunrays shimmering across deep pools, their almond shape framed with long black lashes, which were wispy like her hair. She wore no make-up, having a natural blush, as did her lips, which were tinged with luscious dew.
He had never stammered, but he found himself doing so now as he tried to place his order with her. The girl was quite unperturbed by his stammering. Indeed, she seemed hardly to notice him, which alarmed him because he desperately wanted her to. Her thoughts seemed to be elsewhere as she handed him a large mug of strong tea. Still she hadn’t spoken and she didn’t now, simply nodding towards the table opposite the gypsies, a silent command for him to take a seat.
He settled happily into the corner because he knew he could watch her from there without being noticed. He looked at the shape of her body, hidden inside an oversized brown overall. He could tell by the movement within that it was good and, as she turned, he could see that her hair was much longer than it had first appeared. It was pulled untidily into a bunch at the nape of her long slender neck, which was swan-like, adding to her gracefulness. He couldn’t see her legs.
She was driving him crazy. Never had a woman affected him so totally and instantly before. It was unnerving. He wondered whether or not she’d call him over to the counter to collect his breakfast or carry it over to him. He longed to hear her voice. She did the latter, moving lazily and sexily towards him. She placed his breakfast before him and said just two words without meeting his eyes. “Thank you.”
As yet, she hadn’t smiled, but he’d caught a glimpse of her hands, which were ring free, and her legs, which were jean clad and long. Why did he envisage this woman being a major part of his life? Why did he have this sudden urge to buy her things, to give her money, to build her a home with his bare hands, but most of all to give her his love?
It was absolutely crazy. He was engaged to be married next year, but now he knew that he couldn’t marry Stephie because she’d never affected him this way. He realised that his love for Stephie was a comfortable, convenient love, but he felt a love for this girl, whom he did not know, with such an urgency, he felt he might burst with passion. Without doubt, it was love at first sight.
Like a child he craved her attention but she did not look at him or seem to want to. She was filling pepper pots and suddenly sneezed. He then witnessed the loveliest smile he had ever known, enhanced by a deep blush in the hollow of her neck and in her cheeks. She looked around, anxiously wondering if anyone had seen her, and she caught him staring at her. He took his opportunity. “Bless you!” She laughed and it was music to his ears. He wanted to hear that laugh again and again. He thought that he would melt and was beginning to feel a little silly because he needed to be nearer to her.
He wandered up to the counter holding his mug towards her on the pretence of needing a top up, uncaring about the consequences of his next words and actions. He leant casually against the counter. He felt tongue tied, nervous and stupid, but he decided to go ahead anyway. “Is this your place then?” She shook her head.
“I don’t need to own things, only to be a part of things.”
He pondered on her answer – she was deeper than Stephie. “So how long have you been part of all this, then?” He made a sweeping movement with his hands, taking in all the café as though it were Tiffany’s or something. She didn’t seem to consider that his questioning was of a personal nature, and she answered him easily.
“Oh, six months or so, but I’ll be moving on soon.”
For a moment he panicked. “So you are a traveller?”
She handed him his fresh mug of tea and while doing so, she took stock of the tall young man standing before her. He was interested in her, she could tell by his eyes. She wondered whether or not to play the game. He looked okay, his eyes were kind, his lips generous and kissable, so she decided to play.
“I’d say that I was, though my mother would call me a no-good lazy drop out. But that’s my mother for you.”
Tom was excited to meet a woman who was definitely free of the umbilical cord. He decided not to beat about the bush – she was obviously a woman who believed in straight talking.
“What’s your name?”
She replied quickly in a singing tone. “Mary Jane.” He joined in.
“And where do you live?”
She paused, teasingly. “Down the lane.”
They were on the same wavelength. They were about the same age. He didn’t want to be flip because he felt so very intense about her. The panic rose again and he spoke softly but urgently. “I’d like to be with you. Tonight, tomorrow, now, whenever, just name a time, date, but please say yes.”
She picked up a dishcloth and nonchalantly wiped an already scrupulously clean counter, her slender white hands just inches away from his. He longed to touch them. She seemed to be considering. Suddenly she threw back her head defiantly as though challenging him, and looked him straight in the eye. Her long direct stare made his heart beat erratically. It was as though his life were in his hands. She held him with her stare for what seemed like an age before she eventually answered him. “What’s your name? No, don’t tell me. Names don’t matter. I’ll choose my own for you. Meet me outside here at seven tonight.”
He made a quick calculation. By sacrificing the nap he’d promised himself he’d be home just after lunch – he could do it, he didn’t try to alter the time. Not wishing to act like the schoolboy he felt, he nodded casually and decided to make a move. The quicker he was on the road, the quicker he’d be back. “Okay. Seven it is.”
Although his legs were shaky he made it to the door, turning at the last minute to smile at her. She wasn’t looking. One of the gypsies had called her to their table. He felt jealous. How crazy – jealousy for a stranger with strangers. Outside he gulped in the thin summer air and wondered what the hell he was doing. Stephie was coming round for tea and they were supposed to be going out. He’d have to put her off somehow. He pushed aside his guilt to deal with later.
The drive home was a clear run. He felt so good – he sang loudly in his cab; he let everyone overtake him; he smiled at drivers and gave them thumbs up signs. The whole world was surely in on his happiness. As he neared his hometown even a song on the radio, which usually evoked sadness within him, failed to quell his joy. He felt a little disorientated. This time yesterday he had been in France, eager to get home to Stephie, thinking about getting started on knocking out the fireplace in the house they’d recently bought on Bank Top Lane. Was he being arrogant? He knew that he was, but he couldn’t stop himself. He arrived home and, after a quick shower, he phoned Stephie at work. She answered the call lovingly.
“Tom! You’re home safe! I’ve missed you so much, darling. Are you tired love? I’ve bought you a nice piece of steak ….”
He cut her words short. He couldn’t bear it a minute longer. His stomach was in a knot and everything suddenly seemed so very complicated. He wished that he hadn’t rung her. He should have left a message for her. He felt restrained by her love, and very trapped.
“Stephie, listen. I have to go on another long run this afternoon. I’m sorry, but there was no one else and I can’t afford to throw the money away.”
He waited for the moans, which came quickly.
“Oh, Tom. You’ve only just come back. You can’t have had enough rest. Do you have to go?”
He couldn’t take it. “I have to go, but I’ll be back tomorrow.” She was quiet for a second or two. He could almost feel her disappointment.
“Okay, Tom. See you tomorrow. I love you.”
For the first time since they’d started together he didn’t say “I love you, too.” Instead, he said flatly, “I’ll ring you when I’m back, Stephie. Take care.”
He replaced the receiver on her words. “You too.” He hadn’t heard them. He hadn’t wanted to hear them. By three-thirty that afternoon, he was back on the road, only this time he was in his Volvo. On his return journey he had mixed feelings. Stephie’s words were echoing in his thoughts as though she were shouting to him from the long end of a tunnel, her voice getting fainter and fainter. She was warning him not to leave her, calling him back. Eventually her voice faded to be replaced by the flashbacks of their engagement party, of the day they had decided to buy the house on Bank Top, of their near miss when they’d been reckless in their lovemaking and careless with their precautions, and they’d thought she was pregnant. Within days he’d grown used to the idea of a baby and days after that he’d had to get un-used to the idea, the scare over. He’d felt cheated. How had Stephie felt? He realised that he’d never asked her.
He arrived at the same lay-by he had parked in this morning. He had no plans. He had his wallet, he had the girl, and nothing else mattered. He was happy to see her standing beneath the neon light of the transport café, which was an eerie green. It flattered her, added to her mystery. He got out of the car and walked towards her, taken aback once again by her loveliness. He hungered for her. He couldn’t believe this was happening. He had heard of love at first sight but being what you might call a sensible lad with a good head on his shoulders he’d never believed it could happen. But now he knew he couldn’t live without her.
She wore her hair loose. Her dress was black, sleeveless, plain and tight Her shoes were also black and flat. Her legs were bare and brown. She wore no jewellery, no make-up, she carried no handbag. She stood simply waiting for him like a golden Princess awaiting her Prince. It was like a dream come true and, when she met his gaze, he wondered if perhaps he really was just dreaming. On reaching her she teasingly rushed away from him, heading for the car, climbing more casually into the passenger seat than Stephie had ever done. As she’d passed him he could smell her. Just her. She wore no scent. Her natural sexual scent was more powerful than any that could be purchased. He climbed back into the driving seat and didn’t ask her which way they should go, taking a guess. He just set off, trying not to be distracted by her legs. Her dress had ridden up a little and she pushed a CD into the player and laughed when she heard Country and Western.
“I ought to have known by your Levi’s and boots. A Rhinestone Cowboy.”
Was she laughing at him? “Don’t you like it?”
“It’s okay.”
She seemed neither interested nor disinterested. He couldn’t work her out. She did not feel the need to please him and he liked that but he wasn’t ready for her next question.
“Have you got a girl? A wife? I cannot believe that you haven’t and I can’t abide people who lie when there is no need.”
He was going to tell her anyway but welcomed the chance to get it out of the way. “Yes I have, she’s called …” She ushered him to stop.
“I don’t want to know about her.”
She still hadn’t asked him his name and he didn’t dare to ask her hers after this morning’s little rhyme. She seemed not to need to know anything about him and yet he wanted to tell her everything, but he held back. She took him to a crowded bar, where everyone wore black. The lighting complimented her and she shone like a lone star. He felt disadvantaged by her beauty. He noticed that everyone enjoyed looking at her and she seemed genuinely oblivious to this. She enjoyed cider – the more she drank, the happier she became. Still they had not touched. He ached to touch her. She suggested a pizza so they left the bar and, while passing though the saloon-type swing doors, she reached for his hand. When he joined hands with her he felt grateful that she had put an end to his aching. If he was to have no more than this it would be enough to last him a lifetime. But on her directions they arrived outside a tall, ugly building. She got out of the car and he followed her. It looked more like where she might live than a pizza parlour. He knew she’d live in the attic and she did.
The first room was her bedroom. It was warm, the walls were white, and everything else was a mixture of vibrant colours. Odd bits of silky materials were strewn loosely over cushions and chairs. Her large double bed was covered with cream satin sheets and covers with loose pieces of silk scattered all over the top, creating a bed that looked like a large remnant box of silky oddments, piled high, defying you not to be drawn into its silky nest of softness.
He felt protected by her and enticed. He didn’t want to leave this room, ever. She moved around lighting candles. In this flickering light he would feel happy to die. Explanations did not seem needed. It was as though they knew each other totally, their lives before meeting each other being mere detail.
He realised suddenly that she was not in the room. He looked around a corner into a strange, long, narrow room, which he supposed was a kitchen. She was whisking eggs in a bowl, happy not talking to him, happy in her home. At the end of the kitchen was a large old sofa placed squarely in front of an old gas fire, which she had lit. She created warmth wherever she walked. She nodded for him to sit, which he did, gratefully, just as he had done so that morning. Sitting beside each other on the large sofa, he heard the pitter-patter of raindrops on her roof. They ate omelettes and listened to her music. It was strange but he liked it. It had a lulling effect. She oozed peacefulness.
When they’d eaten she leaned against him as though she always had. He kissed the top of her head as though he always had. He felt very tired, but sleep was far from his thoughts. They started making love right there on the sofa. Being an uncomplicated girl she was quickly naked and soon beneath his hands. Her firmness caused him to moan. He carried her through to her large box of silk and laid her carefully on top, watching her while he undressed, enjoying looking upon her as much as he had touching her. The candles burned low. Afterwards, while falling into a deep sleep he asked her her name again. She whispered so quietly he almost didn’t hear her.
“I’ll tell you tomorrow.”
He stared at the ceiling and waited for her to ask him his. But she didn’t.
END
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Did you enjoy reading this story? You can read more …
‘Caught on the Hop’
What can a woman do but fight back when the concept of her marriage is blown wide apart?
‘Letting Him Stay’
The angst of a woman who learns about the precarious state of her marriage.
‘Wistful Thinking’
A marriage is at threat and a couple tread very carefully.
Writers like to know what their reader is thinking! By now you will know that I am very interested and intrigued about the twists and turns of life. Contact me at Twitter or directly review my work at the site you have chosen to download from. Alternatively via my email address at: suzanne.readsmith@virginmedia.com