Nicola Barker - Love Your Enemies

Stephanie nodded. ‘Socks.’

She was silent for a moment. In her mind she outlined what she was going to say and felt her stomach contract with the extremity of it. She thought momentarily of not telling and then knew that she must tell. She tried a different approach. ‘Do you ever have that feeling sometimes when everything feels sort of, strong, like soup or evaporated milk, sort of condensed, as though some things just must happen in a specific way, like a recipe …?’

Jane looked uncomprehending, ‘Like what? No, I don’t think so.’

Stephanie frowned. ‘Like when you first fell in love with Mitch, like when you first decided to have your hair cut, or the feeling you get when you want to dive into a pool but know that the water is cold, but you want to dive in anyway.’

Jane sipped her lager and watched as one of the men at the bar walked over and put some money into the juke box. Doris Day started singing ‘Move Over Darling’. She tapped her foot in time and tried to respond appropriately to what Stephanie was saying.

‘I don’t know what you mean. Did you go swimming after all? Why all this talk about swimming all of a sudden?’

Stephanie looked crestfallen. She knew that she was already losing Jane’s sympathy. ‘That was a simile. Remember? Like Gerard Manley Hopkins or someone. I was trying to explain a feeling.’

Jane rolled her eyes. ‘Just tell me what you mean . What about that skinhead, the shoplifter. Did you catch him?’

Stephanie nodded. ‘Yes, I caught him.’

‘And then?’ Jane drained her glass of lager and placed it decisively down on a beermat. Stephanie studied her own glass, watched the condensation on the exterior of its bowl and around its base. The glass left a ring of moisture on the surface of the table when she picked it up. She took a sip and replaced it, but in a different place so that she could study the damp ring on the table’s surface, moisten her finger in the dampness and then draw on the polished wood. She drew another circle. ‘I walked over to him and told him that I knew he had placed some socks inside his jacket. I asked whether he intended to pay for them.’

‘What did he say? Didn’t you try and call the store detective? I would have.’

Stephanie drew two dots inside the circle and then a straight line. The circle was now a face, a round, rather simple but glum-looking face. ‘No, I didn’t call the store detective. It was almost twenty-to-six. I didn’t want the hassle.’

‘Weren’t you frightened?’

She nodded. ‘I suppose so. He was tall. At first he just stared at me. Then he turned, as if he was going to walk away.’

‘And then?’

‘I put out my hand and grabbed his arm. He had one of those weird jackets on, a puffy green jacket. He must’ve been almost six feet tall. Mean-looking.’

Jane stopped tapping her foot as the Doris Day song finished on the juke box. She looked over to see if the two young men at the bar were going to put another song on but they had recently been joined by a third man and were deep in conversation. Stephanie smiled at her. ‘Can I get you another drink yet?’

Jane shook her head. ‘Not yet. Wait a while. So what happened then?’

Stephanie looked down at the table again, at the face she had drawn, which was already evaporating. She picked up some more moistness from the ring left by the glass and cut across the face with several rapaid strokes. ‘I took hold of his arm and said, “You can’t leave here until you put those socks back.” He grinned at me and said, “Which socks? I haven’t got any.”’

‘Did he pull his arm away?’

Stephanie looked disconcerted. ‘Um. No. I don’t think he pulled his arm away. It was all very quick. The aisle was empty. The whole shop seemed empty.’

‘What did you say then?’

Stephanie took another sip of her drink. ‘I said, “You have got socks there, I saw you pick them up. I’m not stupid. Please just put them back and I’ll leave you alone.”’

‘And did he?’

She shook her head. ‘No. He looked down at my hand on his arm and started to smile. He said, “I haven’t got any socks, only on my feet.” I said, “I know you’ve got them,” and indicated with my other hand towards a bulge in his jacket where I’d seen him put the socks.’

‘Why didn’t you call one of the store detectives? I’m surprised they didn’t notice him come in. Probably on a tea break.’

Jane created her own scenarios; scrupulous and disapproving. Stephanie shrugged. ‘I don’t know where they were. Anyway, I could handle it. He didn’t turn nasty. I think he was surprised. I wouldn’t let him go.’

Jane smiled. ‘You’re small but ferocious, like a terrier. Did he give you the socks?’

Stephanie tried to smile back. ‘After a while, yes. He put his hand inside his jacket and produced the socks. He threw them on to the nearest shelf. The shop seemed so quiet. He was still smiling at me.’

Jane wrinkled up her nose. ‘Yuk. Creepy.’

Stephanie continued, ‘And then he started to apologize. I don’t know why. I hadn’t expected him to. He started to apologize like he’d offended me somehow. It was strange.’

Jane nodded. ‘At least he had some manners. Did you let him go? I would’ve called the store detectives. I suppose it was too late by then though, but he shouldn’t have got away with it. Did he just leave?’

Stephanie took a deep breath. ‘Well, while he was apologizing I realized that I still had my hand on his arm. We sort of realized at the same time. And then, and then …’

Jane raised her eyebrows, ‘And then?’

Stephanie bit her lip. ‘Then we, sort of, kissed.’

Jane looked so shocked that Stephanie wanted to laugh, but couldn’t quite bring herself to.

‘What? A proper kiss? A kiss?’

Stephanie nodded. ‘It just happened.’

Jane fought down two competing impulses in her gut, the first of total disapproval, the second of total fascination. Stephanie watched this conflict translate itself on to Jane’s face and said, ‘It didn’t mean anything.’

Finally Jane asked, ‘What sort of a kiss? A French kiss? What did you say after?’

Stephanie blushed. ‘A French kiss. His mouth tasted of cough sweets and smoke. We didn’t really say anything. If he did say something, it was only to apologize about the socks again.’

Jane frowned. ‘So what did you do? After?’

Stephanie shrugged. ‘I … I suppose I put my hand under his shirt. He was wearing a T-shirt.’

‘You were looking for more socks? You were, weren’t you?’

Stephanie burst out laughing. She had recovered from her earlier embarrassment. ‘No. By then I had forgotten about the socks. I was feeling his stomach and his chest. His chest was hairless, but surprisingly firm.’

Jane was silent for a moment, trying to understand what this situation meant. Stephanie had never been a promiscuous person. She stared at her face across the table and looked for any perceptible signs of distress. There were none. After a while she said, ‘Why did it happen? You’ve never done this sort of thing before. I thought you were faithful to Chris. I don’t understand you.’

Stephanie sighed. ‘I was trying to explain earlier. Of course I’ve never done anything like this before. It was strange, as though … like a compulsion. Inevitable. Dangerous but compulsive. I don’t know. I can’t understand it myself. It’s not as though we were immediately physically attracted. It was more the situation itself, the differences between us …’

Jane interrupted. ‘I suppose it was only a kiss. Maybe it was just mutual attraction.’

Stephanie looked momentarily indecisive and then said, ‘No, that’s the whole point. It wasn’t just a kiss. We had sex.’