Tony was a good mate, and over the winter I subsidised my “full time” study by rennovating his classic 60’s car - along with a couple of others owned by freinds. I’d pop in after a lecture and do a few hours work during the day, a few times a week. Abby had recently moved in with Tony, and often while I was around there working she would be leaving for, or arriving home from, work. She’d always stop by and have a quick chat while my head was buried in an engine bay, and she always seemed upbeat and happy - genuinely interested in other people.
There was plenty to like about her.
Abby’s maternal Dutch heritage had afforded her honey blonde hair and smooth, blemish free skin that always looked lightly tanned. Her small frame and attractive curves came from the women on her father’s side, with the unexpected addition of a thick and surprisingly endeering Yorkshire accent. It sounded so oldy-worldy and quaint coming from someone that looked like her, especially when she peppered lively conversation with words you’re more used to hearing from your mum.
Some months later Tony was telling me how his lease was soon up and him and Abby would have to find a new place. As it so happened, the other half of the maisonette I was sharing with C, my girlfreind at the time, had just become available. A few weeks later we’d talked the landlord ’round to the idea, and Tony and Abby moved in next door. Over that summer we all went out quite a bit together and I got to know Abby better, and I came to know her remarkable abilities in the area of flirting.
It wasn’t unusual for guys to come up to her when we were out, and this often happened if Tony turned his back even for a minute. But far from brushing them off and sending “get lost” vibes, Abby had this way of pulling them in and pushing them away at the same time. After observing it many times I concluded that she liked the game - it was a bit of harmless fun for her. She was confident and funny, and extremely quick with a comeback or put-down if required - always delivered with a cheeky smile. It was fun to watch.
Into spring I continued working on Tony’s car during the day, while he was out at work. By this stage Abby was working as a concierge for one of the ritzy hotels in town - a near perfect job given her looks, personality and people skills. Her shifts were all over the place, and sometimes she’d come home around the same time as I would following a morning lecture. She’d often ask me in for a cup of tea, offering “coopa cha, loove?” if she caught me outside. Over those warm, sunny days, we’d sip Earl Grey and chat about everything and nothing - but always maintaining a respectable distance. Abby and C had now become freinds too, and often went to Gym together on Sunday mornings. Sometimes the four of us - C, Abby, Tony and me would spend the afternoon on the couch watching Black Adder, Ripping Yarns, or The Comic Strip videos - the girls swilling bubbly while Tony and I chugged mugs of cider. We were fast becoming a suburban Freinds rip off.
That summer we all hatched plans for a big New Year’s bash at ours. By that stage we had a large overlapping circle of freinds, as well as our own seperate groups - who all expressed enthusiasm for the idea. By the time the last hot balmy evening of the year finally came ’round, we were in a party mood, and a 70 strong crowd descended on the two seperately open sides of the large 1930’s bungalow we all shared. The music pumped, the alcohol flowed, and the hijinks ensued.
At the stroke of midnight, couples established recently and not so recently entwined and celebrated, and then the polite hugs and pecks on the cheek that follow commenced. It was during this interlude that I suddenly was met by a smiling Abby, who had sidled up to me as I opened a fresh beer.
“Don’t I get a kiss then?” she asked, mock pouting as she did so.
“Of course Abby! Happy new year!” I smiled, giving her a big bearhug and a cousin-like kiss on the lips.
I unwrapped my arms from her, and she put her hands on her hips.
“that’s not a proper kiss” she complained.
I suddenly became a bit confused, and obviously looked it.
“Now give me a proper one this time” she asked, like you’d ask a little kid.
I looked around awkwardly.
“I think C is just over there… maybe she needs a hand”. Abby turned and looked off to her left, then quickly turned back.
“She’s not even looking. Coom on! A proper woon!”.
So I half heartedly moved toward her expecting to get away with maybe just opening my mouth a bit further, or perhaps maintaining contact for one second more than I did before. It didn’t work. Abby opened her mouth wider and brushed her toungue past my upper lip, then sucked it for a moment as I tried to part in the most polite way I could - like a stuttering vicar might in one of those dreadful english movies from the 1960’s. I took a step back and she just looked at me, maintaining a smug girly grin. “That’s better” she giggled. And with that she turned and floated off into the crowd.
I was left feeling a bit weirded out for the rest of the night, but I took care of that with several shots of Tequila. I didn’t talk to Abby again that night, and also didn’t see her in the dry mouthed, red eyed haze of the day that followed. It turned out a week would pass before I’d bump into her again. In the meantime I had thought about it quite a bit… and I put it down to a bit of drunken over exuberance. I didn’t read anymore into it, and I convinced myself that Abby was probably terribly embarrased and regretful in hindsight. I looked forward to telling her it was OK… that I found it pretty funny if a tad embarassing. That I didn’t think less of her for it.
But in the weeks that followed she barely spoke a word to me. If I heard her come home from work during the day she’d either quickly go back out again, or put on music and disappear inside. The first time we all went out togther in the new year, she was polite - but avoided any conversation that didn’t involve anyone else - and then she would focus on them. After a couple of months I realised the four of us had not been togther on the couch once since. Tony and I were still great mates and carried on the same as we always had, but Abby would never speak directly to me again.
By winter Abby had moved out, and I remember Tony relating how they just seemed to fight all the time. She soon severed ties with most of the people in our shared circle. He blamed their split on his lack of commitment - that he wasn’t yet ready to talk about anything as serious as getting engaged.
Years later I never told Tony about what happened, or at the time, C either. It bothered me that I perhaps I made an error of judgment, and that they’d see me as somehow inviting Abby’s drunken advance. And I never figured out what to make of that either… whether she did it purely out of mischief, or a ploy to make Tony jealous and perhaps offer her some more serious form of commitment. Had she laughed it off and things slowly gone back to normal, I would have soon dismissed it. But to never speak to me again, well, that was just weird.
It still bugs me. One day I’ll get drunk with Tony and tell him.
Yep. One day.
Maybe…
Tags: TOS, general by admin
8 Comments »
