Lilian Kendrick - Always Something There To Remind Me

‘What got into you tonight?’ I asked, on the way home in my car. ‘I’ve never seen you like that before.’

‘The truth? I was a bit … er … embarrassed by all that stuff. You know … the sex talk. I couldn’t write a sex scene if my life depended on it. I’m not even sure I want to.’

I almost laughed, but a sideways glance at Des revealed that he was deadly serious.

‘So, what happens next week when we have to share our own efforts with the rest of them? Are you going to chicken out?’

He shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. ‘I guess so. I can’t do it, Lyd.’

‘Nonsense! You just need a little help, that’s all.’

‘Talking of help, I was thinking about your list.’ He was changing the subject with no subtlety whatsoever. ‘If you’re going to go on a talent show, you should get some practice in first. You know, they have a karaoke night at the pub every Saturday?’

‘Really? I suppose it wouldn’t be a bad idea. I haven’t sung in public since I was twelve, and that was only a school concert. Let me think about it.’

‘Well, you don’t have long before the auditions for Stargazing start. In fact, I downloaded a backing track for you today… just to try out. We can have a run-through now, if you like. That’s if you want to come in for a cuppa.’

I’d just pulled to a halt outside the rather swish-looking building where Des lived.

‘Which song did you get? Nothing too difficult I hope.’

‘ Hopelessly Devoted – I think it’s perfect for you.’

In his study, we put it to the test. He was right; the song was OK for me. I could reach all the notes and I didn’t sound too squeaky. I went through it twice and Des applauded; bless his heart.

‘Do you think I sound OK?’ I unplugged the microphone and handed it back to him. He’s very careful with all his gadgets.

‘It’s a good start. We’ll practise again before Saturday and you’ll knock ‘em for six.’ Of course, he was just being nice, but sometimes that’s all you need, isn’t it?

‘Hey, I haven’t said I’ll do it yet!’

‘No, but you will, won’t you?’ There was that smile again …

‘Well, we’ll see. Now it’s your turn.’

‘I’m not the one who wants to be a singer.’

‘I don’t mean singing, you daft sod. You’ve helped me, now let me help you. You want to be a writer, so let me help you write your scene for next week. It’s easy once you get started.’

‘Are you going to write it for me? That’s the only way this could work.’

‘I won’t write it for you; you’re more than capable of doing that for yourself. But I’ll help you. Now, tell me, why is it so difficult? You can write about all your other life experiences, so why not sex? I mean, you have experienced it, haven’t you?’

He laughed. ‘Not for a long time, Lyd. Since Alice left I’ve been a born-again virgin.’

This was a surprising confession. I’d always assumed that Des was pretty active in that area. I don’t know why; we’d never really talked about it before, but he was an attractive bloke with a great sense of humour and he seemed to ooze self-confidence. In fact, throughout the time I’d known him, I’d often wondered why someone with such an amazing personality was friends with a boring old frump like me.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, I finally persuaded him to let me help with his writing demon. I left him with strict instructions to be at my place the following evening with the first draft of his sex scene.

Chapter 5: The Accident

‘That’s not possible, Lyd. I’m sorry, but you’re just making excuses now.’

I had the distinct impression that Trudi was cross with me. Well, probably disappointed would be a better word. I couldn’t respond, to tell you the truth, as I was more than a little disappointed myself. I knew it shouldn’t have happened, but it had; I couldn’t explain it to myself, let alone to anyone else. Perhaps I shouldn’t have told her, but I needed to … confess, I suppose; to rationalise it somehow. In an ideal world I would have talked it over with Des, but things were far from ideal and I couldn’t quite bring myself to call him. Besides, he hadn’t called me today, either.

‘I didn’t plan it or anything.’ That sounded lame even to my ears. ‘It was accidental.’

‘I’m dying to know how something like that could happen by accident!’ I could hear the laughter in her voice now. Confession wasn’t going to be so difficult after all. ‘You’d better start at the beginning; just give me time to get a drink.’ The phone went silent for a few minutes and I used the time to snuggle more comfortably on the sofa. ‘Go on, then – tell me everything.’

‘Well, you know it was writing group on Thursday …’ I began.

* * * * *

‘This is going to be embarrassing.’ Des inserted his memory stick into the USB port of my laptop. ‘You have to promise you won’t laugh, or I’m not going to show you.’

‘What are you like? I offered to help you, Des; I’m hardly going to make fun of your efforts, am I? Just load up the file and let’s see how you got on.’

I perched the laptop on the arm of the sofa and spent the next ten minutes reading Des’s story while he popped out to the off-licence to get some wine. It wasn’t as bad as I’d been led to expect – certainly nothing that couldn’t be ‘fixed’ with a bit of editing – but there was something I couldn’t quite put my finger on that made me feel uncomfortable, if that’s the right word. I could sense the difficulty he’d had with the piece.

He returned with the wine and plonked himself beside me.

‘Well? What’s the verdict? Total crap, or what?’

‘Not at all. I kinda liked it.’

‘Now I’m truly damned with faint praise.’ He raised his hand to his forehead in a gesture of theatrical distress. ‘I told you I was no good at this. Tell me where I’m going wrong.’

This was an improvement. Suddenly, he wanted to try to get it right, so we drank wine and worked on it together, changing a few words here and there, and reading aloud to test the sense of it. Finally we reached the stumbling point. I stopped reading.

‘This is where it doesn’t quite work for me,’ I said. ‘You’ve built up this great atmosphere of sexual tension, but when you get down to describing the act itself the mechanics don’t work.’

‘I don’t get it.’

‘No, and you wouldn’t “get it” in the position you’ve described.’ I felt a little warm and tipsy from the wine, and I couldn’t help giggling as I continued. ‘It’s impossible, unless you’re a contortionist.’

Confused and also slightly tipsy, Des reread the paragraph, murmuring, ‘Impossible? Are you sure about that? Seems OK to me.’ It was the first time all evening he’d disagreed with me and I was a bit put out.

‘Trust me, Desmond. It just wouldn’t work. If they made a blue movie with that scene, they’d have to call it Position Impossible .’

‘ Position Impossible – I love it,’ Des chuckled. ‘But I still don’t believe you. I think it’s quite … erotic.’

‘More like erratic.’ I laughed and stood up to stretch my back. We’d been leaning over the laptop for an hour and a half. Des stood up too and flexed his shoulders.

‘I’m so stiff,’ he said, and we both giggled like teenagers at the unintended innuendo.

‘Do you want me to give you a massage?’ I offered, only vaguely aware that I was flirting with him … and then … somehow … he was kissing me. Don’t ask me how; I’ve no idea. His lips were firm and warm and his tongue gently teased the roof of my mouth. I found myself responding as he put his arms around my waist and pulled me closer.