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Chapter 21
I end up telling Jasper about the Scrabble game and the wood chopping. He’s flirting with me, the sun is shining and the rosé tastes delicious. Somehow sharing my childish fantasy feels part of the script for this ideal date we’re on. Jasper claps his hands together, as though accepting the challenge to make my fantasy a reality. There is only pre-chopped wood for the cabin’s log burner and no axe, so he ends up trying to hack at pieces of kindling with a bread knife, all whilst shirtless and trying to flex his abs in my direction. His performance makes me cry with laughter, though it is the least erotic thing I’ve ever seen.
‘Right, Scrabble. Unusual, but I like a girl with highbrow sexual interests. I think we have a set somewhere,’ he says.
With his shirt still unbuttoned, Jasper searches the depths of a dusty games chest, and manages to find an old travel Scrabble at the bottom. He sets up the board on the driftwood coffee table.
I don’t know where I got the idea that playing board games was sexy in any way. In my fantasy, I’d lay down some brilliant word like ‘quixotic’ or ‘oxyphenbutazone’, and the man I’m with would instantly fall in love with my brain as well as my body. In reality, I keep picking out Ps and can’t put down anything more impressive than ‘pop’, ‘pip’ or ‘pap’ (which Jasper says is slang, so I can’t even have it). After the fourth time Jasper asks, ‘Is this turning you on yet?’ I upend the board in faux petulance. He catches my gaze with his, his eyes growing wide, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk, and then he leans in towards me.
‘Is this OK?’ he says in a low whisper, our faces inches apart.
I nod.
Jasper presses his lips to mine, one hand reaching up to cup my face. His lips are warm and soft; it’s a good kiss, the right balance of assertive but respectful. Would I have movie sex with Jasper, I wonder? There’s something slightly schoolboyish about him: his public-school brand of humour, the brown deck shoes – I’m not sure how wild a man who wears deck shoes would ever be in bed. All of these thoughts run through my mind during our kiss. I cannot believe how well this is all going. He’s making me laugh, he’s got a great body (that wasn’t on my list, but it doesn’t hurt), he’s got impeccable taste in clothes, wine, and pâtés. That salmon and dill one was delicious, I’m definitely going to look that up when I get home.
‘Well, you were right about the Scrabble,’ Jasper says, finally pulling away. I make a humming laugh noise and berate myself for thinking about salmon and dill pâté for most of the time I was kissing him.
Jasper stands up, then helps me up from the rug and leads me over to a small wooden bookshelf built into a corner of the cabin.
‘What I love most about coming out here is no TV, no Wi-Fi. My parents used to ban us from bringing phones. We’d just read and eat and swim. I credit this place with why I’ve read most of the classics.’ He pauses. ‘Tell me again about why you love To Kill a Mockingbird so much.’
The bookshelf is filled with beautiful worn editions of Penguin Classics. Most of the men I’ve dated in the last few years didn’t read much, or if they did, it was crime novels or non-fiction. I bet Ted reads crime novels. I pause at Jasper’s question, unsure how truthful to be, not wanting to upset the fun and flirty tone of the date by talking about anything too serious. But then, I do want to see if there is a deeper side to Jasper; that’s a box that needs ticking, too.
‘My dad died when I was three, and my mum kept a box of his favourite books for me, the ones he read again and again,’ I say, running my finger along the spines on the shelf. ‘Reading the books he loved, the stories he valued enough to hold on to – Robinson Crusoe, The Count of Monte Cristo, The Catcher in the Rye – felt like learning something new about him.’
Jasper nods, encouraging me to keep talking.
‘Even though I don’t remember my dad, Scout and Atticus feel like mutual friends. I know that sounds silly.’
‘It doesn’t at all,’ says Jasper, pulling a book from the shelf and showing me the cover: P.G. Wodehouse. ‘I lost my father too, several years ago. He was a lot older than my mother.’ My mind jumps to Maude – she is a widow, she’s not cheating on anyone; at least that’s something off my conscience. ‘I remember him reading us Jeeves and Wooster books on car journeys through France. It’s my favourite memory of him: his voice, reading me those stories. I certainly consider Jeeves and Wooster to be friends of the family.’
He looks across at me and our eyes meet, and for the first time I see a glimpse of the more serious, contemplative side of Jasper, beyond the boyish humour.
‘I don’t want to wait as long as he did to have children. I’d like to be a young dad – to have the energy to kick a ball around.’
He reaches out and starts circling a finger down my back. It tickles slightly, and I arch my spine in response. Then my phone starts ringing, and I immediately look around for my bag.
It’s Gran.
‘Jasper, do you mind if I get this? I’m sorry, my gran’s been trying to get hold of me all weekend, and I just want to check she’s OK.’
‘Of course.’ He smiles.
I answer the phone and ask Gran to give me a second, pressing the phone to my chest.
‘I’ll give you some privacy,’ says Jasper, grabbing a towel from a basket by the door. ‘I’m going to go for a swim, join me on the beach when you’re ready.’
He kisses me on the cheek, then I watch as he bounds away down the cabin steps.
‘Sorry about that, Gran, I’m here now,’ I say, putting the phone back to my ear.
‘Don’t let me interrupt if you are busy, Laurie,’ Gran says.
‘It’s nothing that can’t wait.’
Sitting down on the green checked sofa, I tell Gran where I am, then I explain about my strange meeting with Great-Aunt Monica yesterday, how confused she was about Mum and Dad’s story.
Gran makes quiet hmmmming and ahhhhing sounds as I recount the conversation, then eventually she says with a sigh, ‘Laura, I’m afraid she’s not entirely mad – well, not on this topic anyway. I don’t know where the notion about Annie having all these phobias came from, but she’s right about the rest.’ I hear her take a long, deep breath.
