Along with pretty much everyone else, Daina had made Lammie the butt of many jokes. He was sort of odd looking in a mr Bean way, his dad dropped him off at Uni every day at 8:55am, he tended to miss the point of most jokes, and as far as anyone could tell, had never been out with a girl before in his life. Him proposing to Daina, who was independent, extremely attractive, had had a few boyfriends… and often made wise cracks ( often at his expense ) just seemed, well, laughable. And she knew it.

But in the months leading up to her birthday, she seemed more and more consumed by Amanda’s wedding - and several times half joked about becoming an old spinster. Could it be that she was so desperate to get married… to anyone…because she was terrified of being “left on the shelf”? The possibility she’d go that far was there, but I really didn’t have her down as that screwed up and irrational.

I thought about it more though, and I started to look back on all the things leading up to it. I soon formulated the theory that she had actually been lining me up for the job of husband. It scared me to think just how early this might have started. I began rewinding the tape, and shuddered as I looked back at things she’d said and done - that I’d said and done - in that context. I wondered if that was what I saw in her eyes that very first time she looked at me in the corridor… that look that made my knees shake, and my pulse race. I had totally misread it. The look was desperation.

Out of all the guys that had asked her out, all the guys who’d given her the eye at the gym, all the buffed third year boys so hot for her, not one had even mentioned marriage. She must have held high hopes for Ewan… until she mentioned the “M” word just six weeks after their first date - forcing him to flee in terror . I wonder if she was disappointed that none of them had gone down on bended knee within a week of meeting her - as her fantasy dictated. She probably thought things were going well with me too… that she was getting somewhere… but at some point, something changed her mind. Either she just gave up on me, or she discovered the picture of my tenuously held girlfriend in my wallet as she “handled” my possessions one day at lunch. I’ll never know the reason.

As her new religion drew her in deeper and deeper, she became even more cut off from the mainstream - and must have watched in fear as her pool of potential suitors dwindled. Before long, guys considered her just too weird and moody to bother with - which probably added to her isolation. But amongst all that was one person who worshiped her. One person who she could impose her will upon, impart her personality on, a raw canvas. She knew he would follow her anywhere - into the flock, and under her God - just to be by her side. She knew women wouldn’t throw themselves at him, and he wouldn’t stray. He’d believe every word she said. She knew she was the best he could ever have dreamed for. Marrying Lammie wasn’t the logical choice for Daina. It was the only choice.

Weeks drifted by, and Daina’s self imposed exile ensured I saw very little of her. I carried on with my work, and my life, but felt the weight of the situation at home keenly without the distraction she provided. It must have been two months later when one day, she suddenly walked up to our circle in the corner, and plopped herself down on one of the low chairs. She didn’t speak, just quietly sighed as she sat down, and stared blankly at the middle of the table, sipping her chicken noodle cup-o-soup. We carried on with our conversation.

It centered around a TV docco many of us had watched the night before, about climate change, and the possibility of the Earth’s magnetic poles shifting. It also covered cataclysmic events, and mass extinctions - evidence of which had been found in rock strata. We were a fair way into the conversation when Daina suddenly looked up, and spoke.

“Except it’s impossible” She said, with a sense of authority.

Well. She must have felt the collective weight of 5 sets of eyes upon her, as they sought her insight into the topic. Perhaps she’d found an alternative explanation for fluctuations in the earth’s magnetic field - or that mass extinctions took longer than expected, or were caused by other more subtle and complex factors. We also assumed she’d watched the documentary. We all paused, and waited for her to speak.

“I mean”, and she raised her eyebrows, “dinosaurs? Pffffft!”

Mr Blonde pulled a quizzical expression. “Yes, dinosaurs. What… you don’t like them?”

“I like them. Doesn’t mean I have to believe in them”, she countered.

Shane glared across the table at her.

“You… don’t believe in them?”, he asked, himself in disbelief.

“There’s no evidence” Daina replied, flippantly, and began peeling a banana.

We all just sat silent for a moment, trying to take what she’d said on board. She chomped the top off her banana.

“So fossil records”, Mr Blonde went on, “are they fake then?”

“No” she replied, “just not as old as they say”.

“Oh. Right” replied Mr Blonde, sitting up, folding his arms behind his head and leaning back into the chair.

“So what are you suggesting?”, I asked, weighing in, “That carbon dating doesn’t work?”

Daina shrugged her shoulders and stuck out her bottom lip. I couldn’t drop it.

“So in determining the relative rate of decay of carbon isotopes, and basic several major geological and biological theories on it, and all of science has made a grave mistake? Is that what you’re trying to say?” I posed.

“Maybe” Daina offered.

“So, let me get this straight… are you suggesting carbon dating doesn’t work?” I replied.

“I’m saying they’re just theories. All of it is just theories”. She bit her banana again.

“Aha” I nodded. “Theories. Like molecules… or atoms or light or gravity”

“Yep” she said, affirmatively.

“Right. So how about the theories you use in your thesis? What about the equipment you use to measure and observe your experiments. Things like the Mass spec and the GC ( Gas chromatograph ) - what makes you so sure they aren’t like carbon dating?”

And Daina looked at me, and frowned a bit. And I felt nothing.

“They work. You can verify results from one with the other” she pointed out.

“Yep. You can. But not always, right?” I challenged.

“No, not always” she replied.

“And many other techniques have been used to cross correlate carbon dating, so why doesn’t that work?”

Daina started to look a bit fidgety.

“Those bones aren’t millions of years old”, she retorted.

I was flabbergasted. I really couldn’t think of anything to say. Here was this person, who was two thirds of the way through her PhD, supposedly in the top half of one percent of the population in terms of smartness - who was able to randomly question some theories - the ones that didn’t fit in with her belief system - but wholly accept those that did. I found it disturbing… more than any of the other weird things I discovered about her.

It made me question the nature of what intelligence was, or more to the point, it’s relationship to education. In that moment, I formed the opinion that Daina was educated, that she had been a fine receptacle for all the facts that were drummed into her. She had learnt well - she had taken on board all that she was tald by her parents, her teachers, her Lecturers, her Professors, and most recently, her preacher. And she’d never questioned any of it. She was educated. She was smart. She’d learnt plenty… but she knew little.

That was the instant I saw Daina for what she was. A naive, scared, self centered, irrational, little girl in the body of a spectacular adult woman. It seemed such a waste to both of them. I knew, in that moment, that she could never look at me that way again - that I could never feel that chemistry, that tension, that borderline obsession I once did. That drug would never work on me ever again. The spell was broken.

I just stood up, turned, and walked out of the lunchroom. I didn’t say a word. As I walked away, my mind drifted back to the times I had wanted her so badly, and just how disasterous it would have been had she let me have her. When she said she thought I understood her, that I “got”her, she could not have been more mistaken. I could never understand her. I would never fathom how her mind worked, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to really know anymore. I started to wonder how much of the common ground we shared was real… and how much was fabricated in her mind… or my mind. I questioned everything that had happened to me over the previous 18 months, in a way that she never could. I wondered what it all meant, and if it had a point. I concluded it probably did. I just hoped I’d figure it out someday.

I knocked off early, and went out to my car. I found the CD - Spiders, by Space, and selected the track. This song was about her. Every girl I’ve ever fallen for has one. As I pulled out of the carpark I sang along with the verse for the last time.

And drove home to sort out my life.

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I tried to make less and less of my visits down toward that end of the building, and was forming the opinion that I really should avoid Daina. Keep it civil by all means, even friendly - but not go out of my way to go and see her. This plan worked for a while, until one departmental barbecue. I’d exchanged niceties with her, but made a point of not getting absorbed in conversation. As the crowd slowly thinned I had less and less other people to talk to, and I suddenly found myself, purely by accident, seated next to her.

One of the physics guys had been handling music, and a particular song came on ( which I will not name, out of sheer embarrassment ), selected at random from his mix tape. It was several years old, and a surprise to hear it, and all of a sudden Daina piped up. “Oh my god!” she exclaimed, “I absolutely love this song”.

I’m sure my jaw visibly dropped.

“You like this?” I said, staring at her in disbelief.

“Well… yeah! This is awesome! That whole album is awesome!” she replied, and started bopping along to it. I had no idea. This was right out of left field. It was also one of my favourite songs. I reluctantly admitted it to her, and suddenly she started firing off other songs at random… and several other bands… and albums I liked or owned. I was actually a bit shocked.

A long, excited conversation followed, her eyes flashing as she remembered particular moments, the two of us just rambling and jumping from one “oh my god!” to the next. After about 45 minutes something prompted me to look around and I suddenly realised everyone else had gone… we’d just been too absorbed to notice. I suggested we better go, and she agreed, and we headed back into the big building and up the stairs. At the top she chuckled, and half mockingly sang one of the lines of the extremely daggy song, cracking both of us up at how sad it was we both liked it. As we neared the door to her lab, she stopped, and gave me one of those looks again. Yes, that look.

“you know…”, she started, “some people you meet you just… I dunno…’ she paused. “…get you. Understand you… know what I mean?”

I nodded in agreement. “And a lot don’t?” I added, attempting to clarify her comment.

“Exactly!” she exclaimed.

“I don’t know a lot of people who get me… “.

“Ahhh” I offered.

“But you do”, she said.

I just smiled, and didn’t say anything. Suddenly we were both distracted as a nondescript bespectacled lab technician came rumbling down the corridor with a fully laden trolley - forcing us to separate as he wheeled it between us - and abruptly ending the conversation. I bid Daina farewell, and headed back to my office feeling all aglow, and whimsical about everything again.

Now at this point, you could be forgiven for thinking I was blind to Daina’s faults, or wishy washy and too easily won over by her strange take on “charm”. And you’d be absolutely right - but at that particular time, my head wasn’t in particularly good space.

The year before I’d left a job - a good job, with people I really respected and really liked. We worked hard and we played hard, but in the end I was working too hard and not seeing the reward for my effort. Leaving was difficult - but 3 months into the new job I was so convinced I’d made a major mistake I very nearly accepted an offer to go back to the old one. The new people I worked with were all 15 - 20 years older than me, and while nice enough, were utter dead shits. They didn’t go out, they didn’t party… in fact, they didn’t do anything. If that wasn’t bad enough, the job itself was mind-numbingly dull, and we worked within an environment and with technology frozen in time around 1972. Fortunately, I struck up a few friendships with the postgrad students who were much nearer my age, and started to find my feet toward the end of my first year. That’s when Chris died.

As my oldest friend, and just a few months younger than me in age, his death under sudden and under tragic circumstances hit me pretty hard. I was all too aware just how easily it could have been me, him looking on with sadness as my mum and dad aged ten years in 3 months. The funeral didn’t really help me, and with his final wishes somewhat ambiguous ( that’s sooooo him ) his ashes were scattered in a national park where we all spent many hours. But I no longer felt any sense of him being anywhere… inside or outside the park… and this added to my sense of loss. There wasn’t even a grave I could visit - just a wreath by the side of the road where he took his last breath.

Three months later I discovered the affair, or more specifically, the note that uncovered the affair. It started while I was in the old job - trying to get ahead, and working too hard - and not being home very much. The irony of me working so hard to save up for a deposit on a house to secure our future - ultimately leading to us not having one, wasn’t lost on me.

So all up it had been a shit year, and I had spent a good deal of it in utter misery. I was already pretty low and feeling unneeded, so it wasn’t hard to suspend the reality of my sad life and fantasize about a better one with Daina. She became my drug of choice - filling the gap nicely between waking up dry mouthed and hungover from the alcohol - and using it again to dull the pain and knock myself out at night. I had to see her every day, to smell her, to be near her. While I didn’t love her, I developed a dependency on her, my entire sense of happiness on a day to day basis centered entirely around her. I was totally addicted, physically and mentally. And that’s how I survived.

But then it started getting weird. I’d pass her in the corridor, and I’d smile, or nod, but she’d completely ignore me. Or she’d come into the lunchroom, not even look into the corner where I was sitting, fill up her cup with hot water, and disappear out the door. The next day she’d bound up to me, all excited about something - or squeal my name as I walked into the lunchroom. She started to blow so hot and cold it was ridiculous, and could change in that matter of one hour. I started to wonder if it was just me, so I cornered Ewan to see if he, as an ex, could shed some light.

Daina had remained friendly with Ewan, and it did her no harm. He was good looking and popular, and had plenty of friends - and I suspected she still hung on to the idea of him… despite the reality. But he said he’d noticed the same as me - that she had suddenly seemed to start ignoring him one day, then being all over him the next. We both concluded that something was up, and pulled Stylemaster Shane, who occupied the lab next door to hers, into the discussion.

Shane had absolutely no doubt as to why she had become standoffish, and temperamental.

“It’s that churchy stuff they’re all into”, he said, matter of factly.

“She’s been getting weirder and weirder - telling people off for swearing, lecturing me about drinking, like she needs to save us all”, he recalled.

“From ourselves, no doubt”, I added.

“No, from Satan. All this is because Satan has made bid for my soul. Apparently”, he said sarcastically.

“jeeezus” I said, rolling my eyes.

“uh aaah” Shane warned, shaking his head and waving a finger in mock judgment, “We’ll have none of that in here! I’ll thank you not to speak of your savior in that way!”

He went on to say that most people down his end of the building were getting pretty fed up with her overzealous Christian doctrine, except for Lammie.

“She’s got Lammie now”, he advised.

“he goes along to church with all of them, and he now looks all wide eyed and can’t hold a normal conversation. Shame… he was a nice kid. Boring as bat’s piss, but a nice kid”, Shane lamented.

So it seemed Daina had slowly become more and more consumed by the bizarre, secretive and cliquey branch of Christianity they’d joined - slowly cutting herself off from people outside “the flock”. Drawing Lammie into it would have been the easiest conversion ever - he already followed Daina everywhere, and had also laid his cards on the table. I’d heard of people who’d adopted a new religion to align with their partner’s, but it seemed to me Lammie was making a pretty big leap of assumption. It wasn’t as if they were even going out.

Over the next few months Daina would mostly ignore me, but occasionally acknowledged me… and I sort of accepted that this was how it would end up. I really didn’t see much of her anyway, and I never ventured down to her lab. I was, after all, a non-believer, and therefore inherently evil. Her birthday rolled by, and I never paid it any notice… but I had to fight the urge. In the days following a rumour started - that Lammie had proposed to her on her birthday - over a candle lit dinner. I couldn’t believe it - wouldn’t believe it - and nor could anyone else.

About a week later I came across her and Amanda in the lunchroom. They hadn’t seen me, so I snuck up behind them - and suddenly lunged onto the low chair next to Daina. I grabbed her hand, and held it out in front of me.

“Oh my god!” I exclaimed, seeing the small diamond embedded in the band of gold on her finger for the first time.

“I don’t believe it!”, and I looked at her face for the first time in months.

“Lammie?” I asked, incredulously.

I am convinced I heard the slightest snort as Daina exhaled through her nose. Suddenly she stood up.

“Why doesn’t anyone say ‘congratulations’?” she complained, “everyone just says something stupid. Why doesn’t anyone believe it?”, and she stormed out of the room.

But the truth was, she knew exactly why no-one believed it.

(… to be continued)

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To be perfectly honest, I was pretty cynical about the whole marriage deal - and was starting to form the opinion that is was hopelessly idealistic. I watched Amanda and Daina get soooo absorbed in it - like it was their raison d’être - but wondered how it would all pan out once the initial euphoria had subsided and the drudgery of the day to day sunk in. I had first hand evidence… I knew it got hard enough without being married… and that temptation was never far away.

Not only that, but tearoom conversations of late involving Daina had really unnerved me - first the weird one about Muslims, and then the giggly schoolyard one about the pendant. There were other things she’d said too, that started to make me wonder just what went on in her head.

And then there was the issue of the pendant itself.

I wracked my brains trying to think of anyone I knew who might have declared their undying lust for her on Valentine’s day. I knew Ewan was no longer interested, so the next most likely suspect then, was one of the third years. She was generally regarded as hot property among them, and several had asked her out - but she turned them down. She undoubtedly could have shagged her way through every hot guy in third year had she so desired - but her morals prevented it. While she loved the attention, and would go on and on about how buffed some of them were, she knew that they weren’t serious. None of them could be the one.

I still suspected one hopeful had decided to give it a go anyway, and without direct access to Daina’s office, had enlisted the aid of either Lammie, or Boris, the intensely dull 3rd Year PhD Postgrad who also shared their lab. Sooner or later, I expected, one of these would be suitors would step out from a cloud of magician’ smoke and reveal themselves to Daina - upon whence she’d gently reject them. In the meantime, I couldn’t go near her… not as long as she was convinced it was me who slipped the pendant into her drawer.

So once again I consumed my hours pretending to be busy, ripping off MP3’s with Ewan in his lab, planning pub crawls, or lengthly games of rolled up masking tape cricket with Andrew and Mr Blonde in the far, forbidden corridor. I’d catch glimpses of Daina wandering up and down stairs, or lurking in Amanda’s lab for hours, no doubt planning Amanda’s wedding. I stayed well away, never venturing into the lunchroom or even down that end of the building for almost a week. One afternoon I was around at Ewan’s Lab, and Shane the stytlemaster dropped by.

I didn’t know him that well, but he was a bloody funny guy and it turned out we had a bit in common. What was interesting to me though, was his rather low opinion of Daina. I bit my tongue, but he hinted that he thought she really “wasn’t that bright”, and said how her and Amanda’s religious fervor was driving him absolutely insane. This was something she seemed to have kept from me, or perhaps I was blind to it - I don’t know. Part of me sort of wanted to hear what they all talked about in private, their secret society, and part of me really didn’t. I also wondered if Shane had heard them say anything about the pendant - so I tried to steer the conversation in that direction.

“Ohhh yeah, that friggen pendant” Shane whined.

I went straight in.

“So did Daina ever find out who put it in her drawer?” I asked.

“Oh, yeah, it was Lammie, obviously”, Shane advised. I sort of chuckled, suspecting as much.

“Oh gawd,” I said, clicking my tongue “so I wonder who put him up to it? One of her third year spunkrats, I bet!”

And Shane just looked at me, and said, “No, it was Lammie”.

“What?” I was confused, so was Ewan, obviously, judging by the look on his face. His eyes suddenly widened.

“Bullshit!”, Ewan exclaimed.

“No Way!… so Lammie wants to go the linear lambada with Daina!”, and he looked skyward. “Ha!”

“Seriously?” I asked in disbelief.

“Yeah… dead set” Shane confirmed.

I just stood there for a second, thinking about it. How sad it was. Then I looked up and did one of those half cough- laughs.

“Poor Lammie” I said. “He’ll be crushed. And he’s stuck in their with her for another 8 months”

And this thought made us all shake our heads and laugh. Poor Lammie, he really was punching above his weight with Daina, but still, good on him for having a go. It wasn’t surprising he’d become infatuated with her, spending hours by her side in the lab every day, running errands for her… worshipping the very ground she walked on. She’d let him down gently, surely.

But Shane went on.

“Yeah, Poor Lammie alright. Daina’s been all over him ever since”.

Ewan shook his head, and walked away, then turned back laughing.

“Thanks for that vision, Shane” he said, and did one of those mock shudders and made that “uuhhuhhuhhu” sound.

Shane just laughed, and said it was so bad that he was tempted to throw a bucket of water over the two of them, earlier that day.

“They can’t keep their friggen hands off each other” he re-iterated.

I found this all a bit hard to believe, and I wondered if perhaps Daina was just fooling around with Lammie. I’d seen her get him in a half-nelson before, so I knew she was no stranger to playfighting. I also decided that now the Secret Admirer’s identity had been revealed, it was once again safe for me to venture down that end of the building… you know… just in case there was anything to do down there.

The next day I walked past, deliberately slowing my pace as I got with range of the open door. I peeped in and saw Lammie beavering away, but didn’t spot Daina. He caught my eye and waved, but I kept walking. I nearly got to the staircase when I heard Daina call out from the doorway. She’d been back in one of the corners of the lab somewhere, invisible from the door way. She followed me out and essentially bailed me up by the stairwell.

“Where have you been?” she asked, like a little girl would.

And I lied and said I’d been really busy and there were lots of equipment breakdowns and such. Then she did something that sort of annoyed me. She put on this baby voice, tipped her head forward, looked at me from beneath her eyelids, and said,

“I fort wu didn’t wike me anymore”, lower lip in full pout mode.

What the fuck is that all about? I mused. Then I got it together.

“Noooo, noooo” I said apologetically, “it’s just this last week, and… well.. y’know… reeeeeally busy” I added unconvincingly, rocking back and forth on the balls of me feet.

“you’re still coming down to see us though, aren’t you?” she asked.

I said yeah, sure, I would still come down and see her.

I had absolutely no idea why.

(… to be continued )

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And so I began to form the opinion that Daina’s attitude to marriage, relationships and sex was, it you’ll pardon the pun, rooted in religion somehow. I needed to know if it was an arbitrary opinion, or based on living a sheltered life, or conditioning, or based on morals dictated by her faith. I could respect whatever the reason and the rationale right away. Understanding it though, would take me a little longer…

It wasn’t long before I had my answer though, and it came, as did many great revelations, in the tearoom one afternoon. I walked in, and when she spotted me at the urn, Daina called my name across the room - drawing out the middle vowel of my name and giving it a long sound. A bit like you would greet a favourite pet when you got home from work. So I joined her, and the soon to be wed Amanda, and the quiet Chemist Gillian, for a quick catch up.

As we sat talking, I noticed Daina looked a bit distracted, and seemed to be staring at one of the third year overseas students as she heated up some food in the microwave. She gestured to Amanda.

“Amanda” she called, sotto voce, “is that her?“.

Amanda turned and looked back over her shoulder, then looked back and leaned in.

“uhhhh… I think so” and she quickly looked over her shoulder again. “I can’t tell”

Daina looked up again, and watched as the young student removed her lunch from the microwave and disappeared back out of the tearoom.

“What’s with that veil thing they wear?” Daina asked, “why do they have to wear that?”.

I wasn’t sure if it was a rhetorical question or not, but I weighed in.

“They don’t have to wear it”, I offered.”It’s a personal choice”.

Daina frowned. I knew she was from the country, but I’d assumed she’d come across women in scarves before. Perhaps not…

“Many muslim women choose to wear the veil, but no-one forces them to do it… at least not in this country”, I offered.

Suddenly I felt three pairs of eyes boring into me.

Amada recoiled, and made a face a bit like a spoilt child might.

“Pfffft” she said. “The men force them to do it. That’s why “

This seemed really arrogant, and I was surprised at Amanda for saying something hinting at biggotism. I assumed she was joking.

She went on.

“… and they do all that weird wailing, and kneeling toward that place… ummm… in the Middle East”

“Mecca?”, I said, baiting her, “is that the place?”

“Oh maybe… I don’t care. They do all sorts of nasty stuff there.” She said dismissively. “… they’re all weird”

Well. This was a surprise. I had suspected Amanda and Gil were a bit religious, but being an atheist, I’d never gone there.

“weird?” I asked, playing dumb, and channeling a well known and great Aussie promoter of multiculturalism, asked, “please explain?”

“All that chanting and stuff to, ummm, allah, and whipping themselves with branches… and chopping peoples hands off for stealing a loaf of bread” She said with an air of authority, making a chopping gesture. Gillian and Daina made aggreable “Mmmm”s and nodded their heads.

“they’re like most other religions. There’s moderates, fundamentalists… and extremists. Except moderates aren’t very newsworthy”.

“They are weird”, Daina said, looking sideways.

“Oh right”, I said, “weird? … like all that speaking in tongues all those Baptist freaks do… rolling around on the floor babbling… like… that’s not weird?”

And in a black comedic moment I’m unlikely to ever forget, Amanda looked at me deadpan, and said,

“Not everyone can speak in tongues”.

Oh dear. It seemed I had put my foot squarely in it. There was nothing left for me in the conversation. My sweeping generalisation had been no more well informed than hers, possibly just as ignorant. But I made the statement based on the assumption I wasn’t talking to people of that inclination. I failed to judge my audience… severely, it appeared.

I took my leave shortly after, and wandered off to ponder life, the universe, and everything, and exactly how Daina percieved it. I also wondered just how badly Amanda and Gil had gotten to Daina - and if she had surrendered her will to the same “higher force” they had. I sincerely hoped not.

Distraction from the whole Daina situation came when Valentine’s day rolled around.

For me, it was all rather mixed up, and hollow - given the situation I faced at home. I didn’t catch Daina in the morning, but I was a bit preoccupied anyway. My part-time partner and I decided to acknowledge the day, me arranging to meet her in town for a late lunch. As we sat, we talked about pretty much anything but the things couples would usually talk about on Valentine’s day. I smelt the alcohol on her breath when she kissed me as I got off the bus, and I knew I was the second appointment for the day. I wondered what he bought for her… and what she bought for him. I wondered if they’d held hands under the table, or gazed into each others eyes the way we used to… or if they made any sort of pledge to each other. I didn’t eat much of my lunch. Neither did she.

The next day I was pretty down, and really didn’t feel a lot like talking to anyone. I sat over in the corner on my own at morning tea, but my plan to indulge in self pitying solitude soon came unstuck as Andrew came in, bid me a hearty welcome, and sat down with me. Soon Ewan arrived, then the statuesque Kelly-Marie, then Mr Blonde, and about 5 minutes later, Daina. As she entered the room, she looked sideways and flashed me a smile from the doorway as whe walked toward the urn. God, that look. Every time I almost forgot about how devastating it was - how she could ignite me in that way - she’d do it again.

I regained my composure, and acted all absorbed in my paper when she came over and sat down opposite me, next to Amanda. I could tell by her tone she was all bouncy - excited about something. She pulled down her collar and turned to Amanda.

“Look at it! It’s gorgeous!”. Daina exclamined.

Amanda gasped and agreed as she gently handled the pendant, while I inconspicuously peered over the top of my paper.

“So you don’t know who gave it to you?” Amanda asked.

“Nope. Apparently, it’s from a secret admirer” Daina gushed.

Amanada turned to her fiance.

“She found it in the top drawer of her desk yesterday!” she explained. Andrew nodded and raised his eyebrows.

“It Could be anyone” Daina speculated, and flashed me the quickest of smiles, so quick no-one else would notice.

“Someone in this building… maybe even someone at this table…”

Suddenly I felt the blood drain from my head. And in a second the shakes that I thought I had conquered were upon me again.

“Who?” Amanda asked, sitting upright and staring at Daina. “You know, don’t you!”, her tone changing. “Who is it!?”

“Not Ewan?”, and they looked toward Ewan expectantly, who in classic Ewan style, replied,
“Nup… been there, done that… got a tee-shirt”.

And they both resumed fondling the pendant, “ooohing” and “aaaahing”, and wondering, and eliminating suspects… then Daina smirked at me again. Just for a split second.

She was sure, now.

In her mind, she imagined me sneaking into her office early on Valentine’s day and placing it in the top drawer of her desk, with a note. She’d been given a sign, a statement - a symbol that she meant a bit more than a freind. Something of myself that she could pick up and massage with her fingers, anytime she liked, and not have to hand back like a set of carkeys.

This was how it began - her getting swept off her feet - the man of her dreams, declaring his intentions, with a small gift. Soon it would be an engagement ring.

Yes, the man who gave her that pendant would one day marry her.

And it wouldn’t be me…

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And so I faced somewhat of a dilemma.

I couldn’t tell if Daina wanted to go further without pressing the matter, but the very act of doing so jeopardized any chance of getting things resolved at home. Not that things were really going anywhere there - she hadn’t left me, but it was mutually accepted that the affair continued. She’d come home late, and I’d know where she’d been. And she’d know I knew. It was horrible.

There weren’t many people at Uni who knew I even had a partner though, Daina included, and I didn’t speak to anyone about what was happening. I considered the risky strategy of deciding to burn my bridges, just hitting Daina up with it - telling all - but decided against it. Instead, I decided I needed some more facts.

Toward the end of the previous year I befriended Ewan, a fellow PhD student and good mate of Mr. Blonde’s. Ewan had actually gone out with Daina before they started Honours, but it hadn’t lasted long by all reports. One night out at the Uni bar, I started oh-so subtly drilling Ewan for information.

“Well mate, it’s obvious”, he said, once we got down to it and I asked him why they broke up after a couple of months.

“She won’t get jiggy ’till she’s got a ring on her finger”.

“What?” I wondered, “you mean engaged?”, and Ewan lowered his brow and just looked at me earnestly.

“Oh god”, I said, realising what he actually meant. “So she’s…”

“In showroom condition?” he confirmed, “Yep”.

“She’s saving herself”, he went on.

“For what? For whom?” I pleaded.

Ewan just shrugged his shoulders, tilted his head and stuck out his lower lip.

“Dunno mate”

I must admit this was a bit of a revelation. At 22, she’d seemed pretty together, fairly outgoing, and I knew for a fact she’d had a few boyfriends. I wondered if perhaps he’d got the wrong end of the stick, or if there had been more to it than I knew. I had to figure out a way of asking… without asking. Tricky. I still went on seeing her down in her lab, although I’d also found out she didn’t drink - so that ruled out loosening her tongue one night out at the pub.

The changing of the guard was happening, and new honours students were getting their first taste of postgrad life. In Daina’s lab, the newest recruit was Lammie. He was a nice enough guy, of strict Greek parents and softly spoken, a straight A student, very studious and focused. Physically he looked a bit odd though - jet black curly hair, a bit of a monobrow, looby lips, and an unusually large poop chute that stuck out like J-Lo. Especially for a guy.

Daina loved having an underling, and wasted no time getting Lammie to do all the dull, menial tasks in the lab - like washing beakers, stocktaking, or booking out items from the store. It was sort of a Mother Goose / gosling relationship, and was the source of much mirth among the other students. Wherever Daina went, Lammie would follow - the nickname for his birth name, Lamros, seeming all the more amusing.

One day in February Daina and I had arranged to go and grab some lunch at Pasta Palace. We’d arranged to meet in the top carpark and take her car, and I wandered out around 12:30. A short time later, she pulled up in front of me, leaned over and unlocked the passenger side door. I looked toward the back seat, and there was Lammie, sitting there. I must say I was a tad pissed off - but I played it cool.

“Heeeeey, Lammie”. I said, looking at him like he was a labrador in the back seat wagging his tail, then turning toward Daina. “Look Daina!” I added in a way that concealed my sarcasm, “Lammies coming!”

And with that we drove off. The lunch actually wasn’t so bad, I kinda wrote it off as a “date” as such, but we still had plenty of laughs. There was much flirting when Daina sent Lammie up to get drinks and order for her, and that made the trip worthwhile. When we got back and she dropped me off, I thanked her and said, pointedly, “let’s do this again next week Daina”, without looking at Lammie.

The next week the department had a BBQ at lunch, and everyone quickly fell into their designated groups. Bearded, sandle wearing Physists sat neatly in a circle, eyes cast downward, the third year Chem girls we called the “Heathers”, after the movie of the same name, reclined in various bohemian aspects, and us - the smug in betweeners, just lolled about under a large, cool tree. Amongst out group were the usual suspects: Mr Blonde, Ewan, the recently engaged Andrew and Amanda, Gillian, Kelly-Marie, Marcus, Imran, Andrew2, Daina, and me.

Oh… and Lammie.

At some point I overheard some sort of conversation between Gil, Amanda and Daina - all excited and frothing over Amanda’s forthcoming nuptials. They went on and on about it, repeatedly sqealing with delight at the description of some additional, essential accessory. Toward the end of lunch the crowd dwindled, and at 1:30 I suddenly found myself with just Mr Blonde, Daina…. and Lammie. They both decided to go almost simultanously, leaving just Daina and I under the tree. Finally.

She changed the topic back to Andrew and Amanda’s wedding, and started talking about it excitedly again - almost like she was getting married vicariously, through Amanda. Once she’d settled down a bit, I tried to broaden the topic - and to see if I could get closer to understanding the whole “saving myself” thing - and to maybe find out if it was true. I thought I’d use Amanda as the angle.

“So, what’s the deal with Amanda?” I piped up. “The virgin bride” I said in a slightly mocking tone.

“Yeah, it’s great, isn’t it?” Daina replied, with genuine glee.

“What’s great?” I asked. “That Amanda’s whole life has been leading up to shagging Andrew? Poor guy… it must be killing him!”

“Well… no” she went on. “Andrew is really happy about it”.

“Oh yeah… I bet!”, I said sarcastically, “But he’ll be much happier once he’s, y’know…”, raising my eyebrows, winking, and making that “click click” sound with my tounge.

“But I think it’s great - the emphasis in their relationship is on Love, not on sex”.

“Mmmm. Maybe” I offer. “For Amanda it is”.

I pressed.

“But what about if Andrew is a dud root?”

Daina looked confused.

“what do you mean dud root?“, she asked.

“well… y’know… I mean… how would Amanda know? How would Andrew know? She might be frigid!” I suggested. “Or he might be…” and I held my hand up and waved my little pinky.

“He might never be able to have sex with her… but he doesn’t know it yet” I added. “And once they’re married, well… that’s it”.

Daina started to look awkard, and the tone of her voice changed.

“They love each other. That’s all that matters.” She said, seeming to believe it would close the topic.

“Is it?” I retaliated.

Daina looked at her watch.

“We should get going”, and she started to get up. I got up too, and dusted the grass of her back, and she turned around and looked at me. I’d forgotten she could do that. Just look at me like that.

“I know, when I meet the right guy, it will all work out”, she said. “I just know”.

(… to be continued)

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With the reason for daily visits no longer applicable, I didn’t see much of Daina over the next week… in fact I didn’t see her at all until Friday. She was just walking into the tea room with her mug, as I was walking into the corner to sit down.

I greeted her with a cheery “Hi Daina”, and got a barely audible reply. In fact, she didn’t even look up… just shuffled over to the urn, poured herself a cup of hot water, added 1 spoon of instant coffee, and quickly ducked out of the room.

“Hmmm…” I thought… “bad day maybe, or busy”.

Over the next week I decided that maybe I’d leave her alone, and I was pretty busy as it turned out anyway. I passed her once in the corridor, and I smiled, but she looked right past me… like I was invisible. Once again, I thought, “bad week maybe”.

Monday morning tea I was sitting in the corner on my own, absorbed in the morning paper when I suddenly felt the cushion on the recliner subside. It was her. She bodily leaned into me, and sort of nudged me with her shoulder.

“I thought about you on the weekend” she blurted out.

I just sat there, I think my jaw may even have dropped. All I could do was sit and wait for what she said next. She paused for effect, and looked me right in the eye, right in my personal space. And I didn’t mind it one bit.

“I was in Coles, in the chocky aisle, and I thought, hmmmm…. what sort of chocky would you like?”

I was still confused. And obviously looked it.

“I was gonna buy you a block of chokkie. As a thankyou for letting me use your paper. But I didn’t know what sort.”

And suddenly that warm fuzzy thing came over me, that tickle deep down in the tummy, the glow.

“Ahhhh” I said, matter of factly.

Then I stroked my chin in mock consideration, and looked at some imaginary space between the top of the wall and the ceiling.

“I know… that new one” I offered.

“What new one?” She asked.

“The tropical fruit filling one. I can’t remember what it’s called” I mused.

“Ahhhh… I know it! That’s Yummy! OK, that’s what I’ll get then”, and she said it with a huge grin and her eyes flashing.

“But you’ll have to wait until I go shopping again.”

And with that she leapt up, and dashed out of the tearoom again, leaving me sitting there, alone again, all vague and floaty but still sort of unsure what it all meant. Or if it meant anything at all.

Monday came, and Daina duly produced the block of chocolate at morning tea. The guys from my office were all mystified as to why this attractive young scientist was giving me chocolate, but then she reminded them of her daily visits to the office and the penny dropped. I opened it up right away and offered her some, and she delicately broke off a row, which she broke in half - handing me back the other two pieces. I also offered the guys at the table some, but they politely declined.

The next day I was sitting there at morning tea, and Daina shuffles up to me.

“Chokkieeeeeeeee!” She exclaimed, eyeing off the open wrapper on the tea room table.

So I extended my arm out toward her with the two end rows exposed, and again she broke off one row, broke it in half, and handed me the other two pieces.

This ritual continued daily until the end of the week, when the rather sizeable block of soft centered chocolate was finally consumed. I offered her the last piece… and she took it with some hesitation. But she took it.

By this stage I was getting to know her a bit, and we were chatting on and off most days. The trembly knees had subsided, and I felt I could relax a bit more, as some of the mystery surrounding her gently eroded with the conversation. I still kept a bit of a distance though, and adopted a cautious approach to what I considered to be a blossoming friendship.

As I got to know her better I also started to notice some idiosyncrasies, many of which I found profoundly attractive, if a little eccentric. One such tendency was to always pick up something of mine, if she was sharing the lunch table with our small group. She would pick up my paper, and look at it - but not really read it - or my car keys, and sort of massage them. She seemed to do this unconsciously, often maintaining a conversation with someone else and not really looking at the object - but feeling the need to touch it in some way. I found this a bit of a turn on, but at the same time, I simply did not know what to make of it.

Over summer I frequently popped in and said hi if I was walking past her lab, and soon found myself making excuses to head over to that end of the building. Over time the conversations got longer, and deeper - and I really looked forward to talking with her every day. At times we got pretty philosophical, but other times we just joked around. One day I wandered past to hear this loud, ridiculous falsetto, singing along with the radio. I yanked open the door, to find her imitating Morton Harket to the classic eighties tune Take on me, upon which she grabbed me and forced me to sing along to the chorus with her. At the end she just collapsed, holding her stomach and laughing so hard. She looked fantastic.

Away from the uni and Daina’s laughter though, things were not so great - and I was on a knife edge as to whether I should tell her. You see, while you may have thought I was a bit slow on the uptake, that I should have gone for it with her weeks before, that I was definitely “in”, there was one slight complication.
I was seeing someone else.

Now when I say seeing, I actually mean living with. And sleeping with. And paying bills and rent with. And had been for 5 years. You could say I was as good as married - certainly in a legal sense it was considered so. In the event of a breakup, there was every likelihood that it could end up in court - with our stuff being split down the middle - just like a “real” divorce.

But it was more complicated than that.

I’d recently discovered she was having an affair with her 45 year old project manager, complete with wife and two teenage kids.

(… to be continued )

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That night I went home and thought about all the biro art, and what it meant… or if it meant anything. I swung between “it means nothing” to “it’s a deep insight into her psyche… a symbol… a sign she wants to let you in”. I eventually concluded I was imagining something that simply wasn’t there, got a grip, and eventually got to sleep.

I was sitting at my desk next day when I heard the door open at around 9:30 in the morning. Since the door often opened around that time, I didn’t look up, and carried on bludging while maintaining the facade of a dedicated, hard working government employee. Then I heard that voice again.

“Hi” she said.

I suddenly felt the blood pumping again, I could feel it in my head, I could feel my face going red, and the shakes starting again. Luckily I was sitting down this time.

“oh… sorry… you’re busy… I was… ahhh”, and she stumbled.

“No, no!, were you after the paper?” I asked, knowing full well that’s exactly what she was after. I reached across the desk and passed it to her.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, surprised. “Thankyou!”.

I expected she’d wander off with it, and bring it back when she was finished, which was perfectly ok with me - half of the third floor had borrowed my newspaper at one time or another. But instead, she opened it up there and then, and started scanning the rental property page. It was then I looked at her, as she stood there reading the paper, probably the first time I really looked at her, and tried to take it in.

By any measure she was pretty. She stood inches from me, around 5′8″, with light brown hair that rolled down over her shoulders, and fairish skin. I was close enough to see some small freckles on her arms, and on back of her delicate hands as she read the paper. I traced a line along her neck, up to her ears, and down her cheekbones, to her lips. I photographed it in my mind for later. I watched as her pointed, painted fingernail worked its way down the columns, across, back up to the top, and then slowly down again, occasionally pausing when she found something interesting.

Suddenly she looked up, apologetically.

“I hope this ok!” she said, fixing her gaze on me, and biting her lip. I had seen that look before. It should have rang alarm bells there and then… but instead it triggered something primal that happens to all men when attractive women do… that.

We dissolve into blabbering, blathering idiots.

“Y..yy.yy yes..o..o…of course”, I blurted, “anytime… I mean… you know where to find me… I’m always here… at my desk… with my paper… I mean working… not reading the paper… so you can borrow it coz I’m not always reading it… when I’m working I mean…”

And she sort of pursed her lips and suppressed a giggle.

And I sat there in stunned disbelief at how big a bloody dill I must have looked.

Over the next few weeks it became a sort of a routine, Daina would wander in around 9:30 - 10ish, and I’d already have the paper sitting on the left hand side of the desk for her. Sometimes I’d be out, downstairs in one of the labs or
up the hall downloading MP3’s with Mr Blonde on the Uni’s academic tab. But she always left the paper in some way that indicated she’d been there. Sometimes she’d mark some of the properties, other days she’d underline phone numbers in the ads with my pen, or put the paper back somewhere different to where I left it. It was almost like she wanted me to know she’d been there. I liked that feeling.

One day I came back after being out doing the rounds to find the paper exactly as I’d left it. I opened it up, but found no doodles, no underlined phone numbers, no boxes drawn around ads. I looked up, and called to Robert.

“Hey Robert?”

He shuffled around and looked over his shoulder.

“Yes?”, he asked.

“Have you seen Daina today?”

Robert shook his head. “Nope” he said.

So I figured she just hadn’t come in that day, maybe she was sick, or at a conference… or something. At morning tea I shuffled into the tea room, to find Daina standing at the microwave. I sidled up to her.

“Hi” I said, raising my eyebrows.

And she looked up.

“oh… hi.” she said, and turned back to the microwave to remove her pasta and stir it.

“I… uhhh… paper… if you need it”, and to illustrate the point I waved the paper in the air, pointlessly.

“thanks” she said, blankly, and stuck her pasta back in the microwave and pressed “LOW”, and then “4″, “5″, and “START”.

“but I don’t need it anymore”

And suddenly I had a feeling of dread, realising the morning visits I had gotten so used to had come to an abrupt end. The tonic, the buzz, the pleasure of knowing she’d been there, would be there, was no more.

“ahhhhh” I said, disappointed.

“I found a flat!”, she said.

“ohhh, that’s great” I offered, my enthusiasm utterly unconvincing.

“when are you moving in?” I asked.

“two weeks.” She said.

“great.” I said.

(… to be continued )

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I couldn’t tell you the first moment I saw her - but I could tell you the first moment I noticed her.

I was walking back to my office at the end of lunch, and I was sort of absorbed in what I was working on. About 10m from my door on the right I realised someone was standing there, outside the office door across the corridor waiting. I looked up, and there was that face… looking right at me… looking through me. She had no expression, her face was blank… it was impossible to tell what she was thinking. She didn’t smile…. or frown… just looked. Those green eyes… looking right at me.

My gaze was frozen for what seemed like 30 seconds… although at best it would have been only two. Who was she?. I quickly looked away, and turned right into my office, and sat down at my desk. My heart was pounding, and my legs were shaking. I picked up a pen and tried to write… but couldn’t… as the adrenalin pumped through my veins. Who was she? Why did she look at me like that? Had she mistaken me for someone else? Did she want something? Then why didn’t she say anything? Why did she just… stare?

A couple of days went by, and I sort of forgot the whole thing. I really had no idea what came over me, and was actually pretty embarrassed for myself. Then it happened again. I was standing by the urn, pouring out some boiling water for my cup of Earl Grey tea. I turned to walk away… and there she was… standing right next to me with her mug… just looking. I locked eyes with her again, and I opened my mouth… but nothing happened. I was unable to form a single word… I could hardly breathe…. and then I felt my legs start to give way again. I looked awkwardly at the floor, then dashed off toward the table with my smoko buddies… and sat down. I jiggled my knee, I twitched, I sipped my tea… and didn’t dare look up.

What the hell was wrong with me? What was this all about? This just didn’t happen to me. I didn’t want to think about what this might have been the start of. It felt like I was back in high school for christ sake.

Weeks went by, and on and off I would catch glimpses of her - going in to her lab, coming out of the tea room, or heading off to run a tute or a prac for the third years. It was always her hair I saw first - sandy coloured, and draped over her shoulders - and never tied back. But I rarely saw her head on, that was until one day in January.

I was at the lunchtime desk with friends, and I was absorbed in conversation when someone put a lunchbox and some keys on the edge of the table. I momentarily looked up… to see her at the urn pouring a cup of tea. I looked around the table in a panic… and saw just one vacant seat… directly opposite me. I simply couldn’t look. I picked up my paper, and pretended to be absorbed… and tried not to think of what might happen if she sat down with us. A moment later I heard her cup go “bonk” on the table, and Andrew spoke to her.

“How’s it going Daina?”

“Good” she replied.

This was the first word I ever heard her say. Good. All at once, I heard the timbre of her voice, the tone and the weight. That one word sounded absolutely beautiful. I wanted more.

A few others at the table greeted her, and now I knew her name - Daina. I realised I’d heard it before, I just didn’t know who they were talking about. They all carried on chatting, and I tried to regain some of my composure. My hands still shook as I tried to read the paper, but I gradually settled down. I pretended to read… but I was listening for the gaps in the conversation her soft voice might fill.

I didn’t hear the question, but I heard her reply… something about a flat… and how none she’d seen were that good. Andrew asked her if she was checking the paper regularly, and she said she always forgot to buy one. And then it came.

“What about <insert my real name here>? He always buys a paper!”

I looked up, and they were both looking across the table at me, expectantly. I played dumb, despite knowing exactly what was coming next. There were those eyes again, looking right at me. Green eyes, with thin sandy brows above them, and long lashes circling them. But this time I could not escape.

“Can Daina borrow your paper?” Andrew asked.

“Uhhh… sure…” I replied with all the nonchalance I could muster, and I folded it in half and reached across the desk to hand it to her. She stretched out her arm, with a bracelet wrapped around a dainty wrist - and took the paper from me. Now I couldn’t even hide behind my paper and pretend she wasn’t there. She was holding something, something of mine, something that she would hand back to me. I lingered on that thought.

Just then Mr Blonde wandered in, and came up behind me. “Hey <insert my real name here>, sorry to bug you at lunch”

“Wassup?” I ask.

“Having a weird thing with my rig. Wanna come down for a look after lunch? It’s just that I don’t know how long it will do it for” he said.

“Sure… hey, I’m done anyway… let’s go!”.

And with that I got up, and trundled off to the labs downstairs where the scientists ran their experiments.

A couple of hours later, I returned to my office, after being fully absorbed in problem solving and fault finding. I put my keys down on my desk - and then saw the paper folded neatly, and placed on my seat. Just then Robert called to me from the other side of the office.

“Some girl was here for you”, he said.

“Oh…. right”, I said, non-committally. I knew it was her.

“She brought your paper back”, he added. “She left it on your desk, I think”.

“Thanks, Robert”.

And I picked up the paper, and unfolded it. I opened it up, and I found the rental page. Suddenly I noticed there were doodles drawn all over it in black pen. Little swirls, and triangles, arrows, clouds… and concentric patterns. They were all over the page, all around the edge where there was no print. I stared, and marveled at the intricacy of it - the complexity of it - like a spider’s web.

I knew it was her work.

(… to be continued)

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