Tea Leaves

She cocked her head and eyed me.

"Your fence is still broken," she said.

"Yes," I admitted, flushing bright pink.

"Unbelievable. You're unbelievable. Are you busy right now?"

I thought guiltily about my book. "No," I said. "Not with anything critical or urgent or useful..."

"Right then."

She brushed past me; I blinked, then closed the door behind her.

"I borrowed some tools and brought them with," she called over her shoulder. "I wasn't sure if you had any."

"Um... I do..."

"Got timber of any kind?"

"There's a lumber yard just down the road a bit... and I have some... scraps, I suppose?"

"Put on some old clothes, then," she said. "We're fixing your fence."

"Um..."

"Listen," she said. She swung the rucksack off her shoulder and put it carefully down at her feet. She rolled her shoulders and took a breath as she turned to face me.

"I have little to no money; I can't buy you a new fence or even a section of one. But my dad's a cabinet maker and he's taught me enough joinery that I can probably fix or at least patch what you have for you until you can get a fencer in to make it good again. I'll provide the labour if you'll provide materials. I know I'm being cheeky because technically it's my fault it's broken, but... please. Let me at least fix it for you. It's driving me mad. Every time I cycle past your house I have to look at it and feel embarrassed for being such a dumb bint..."

"Chloe... it... it really was an accident," I said, softly. "You really don't need..."

"I still want to make it good," she answered. "I can't have this hanging over me. Will you... please, Dawn, please will you just let me do this for you?"

She was so intent, and so insistent, and so sweet...

And pretty said the impish little voice deep within me...

And it was a very, very long time since I'd been around anyone... at all...

"I'll get changed," I capitulated.

She smiled, relieved. "Grand. Can I poke through your tools?"

"Go ahead. I... kind of went a bit crazy one day and bought a whole lot of things that are still in boxes. In the shed," I added. "Key's hanging behind the kitchen door..."

"I'll see what I can find," she said with a smile. "But we may need to go and get some stuff anyway. Go on. Go put some old clothes on and come and help me."

And, strangely enough, I obeyed.

.:.

"This wood is terrible," she grunted. "The post is rotten almost right the way through. Probably should be grateful. You really should treat and weatherproof the timber a bit, Dawn."

She finished sawing the jagged foot of the base away, and made several complicated-looking cuts to alter the shape in some arcane but necessary manner.

I groaned, bent down, and picked up one of the replacement posts. I staggered over to her and then carefully placed it onto the two offcuts she was using as a makeshift saw-horse.

"It... came with the house," I panted. "It's not my forte. Woodwork of any sort is an enigma to me. I can just about bang a nail in straight and that's about it..."

"Your house and garden are lovely. Don't let them dilapidate. They need... upkeep."

"I'm... more a metals and spanners and gears girl," I gasped. I wiped the sweat out of my eyes.

"Uh huh. Lucky for you that I'm not."

"You're... good at this, I'll give you that."

"Dad's a Master," she said. "And after Jamie...well... I was all Dad had any more. And he... needed me."

I watched the way her expression changed, watched the horrible way she clenched her fists and stopped breathing for a moment or two...

"Who's... Jamie?"

She shuddered.

"My brother. He's... gone, now."

"Oh... um... what... what happened?"

"Afghanistan... happened."

I stared at her, hunting desperately for words and finding none.

She took a shaky breath.

"He was a volunteer for MSF. He was in the wrong village at the wrong time. That's all. Nothing sinister, just... bad luck. It was so stupid, so unnecessary..."

"Oh... oh Christ, I'm so sorry... I didn't..."

"It's okay," she whispered. "Sorry. It... it comes without warning, sometimes. It's... oh God, I miss him. He was so much fun. Always clowning, always... making us laugh. Dad's not the same... since..."

I dropped to my knees beside her and wordlessly wrapped my arms around her. I held her close in another tight, awkward hug. She shuddered, gulped once or twice, and endured my clumsy embrace for far longer than I'd thought she might before she shrugged free so she could wipe her eyes dry.

"Fence won't fix itself," she said huskily.

She sniffed hard and rubbed at her eyes again.

"Where was the mark again?" she whispered. "I can't... seem to see it right now."

"Here," I said, soft and gentle.

"Okay. Thanks.."

She fired up my ridiculously-oversized rotary saw and cut the post to length.

"There," she said once the machine had spun down. "Lets get it over to the gap and we can mark out where we'll need to work it to mate it to the stump. Between the dowels and the glue and the shaping of the joint it will hold well enough for a month or two..."

"Thanks for doing this for me." I said.

I touched her arm.

She glanced up at me. Her eyes were red, and she wiped her nose once more. "It's something I can do, and I enjoy doing it. And... honestly, it's just nice to have the company. Your company. It takes my mind off things. That and there's safety in numbers when working with power tools, you know," she added. "It's... reassuring to know that you're here in case I injure myself again and need rescuing..."

"Yeah," I said softly. "I know what you mean. About the company side of it, anyway, I mean... I'm not much of a rescuer, really..."

"You were just perfect for me," she replied, and I flushed.

And so I knelt or stood beside her, and admired her work, and helped as and when I could - fetching, carrying, holding, or approving her suggestions from a position of pure, blind faith.

She was a joy to watch - she might wax lyrical about her father, but from what I could see she was a skilled craftswoman in her own right.

She had things she did - little tricks, little sneaky hacks that were so logical once I'd seen them done once. She had a knack for estimating dimensions that was frankly astonishing. The wiry muscles of her arms would stand out in relief as she made a cut or adjustment with a chisel or a saw; and then she'd coolly pick up whatever piece she was working on and it would be perfectly correct and fit for whatever purpose she intended.

In the hours we worked I never saw her mess up a measurement.

She had an artless way of pushing her mid-brown hair back from her cornflower-blue eyes that absolutely melted me...

And I knew that I was watching her far more intensely than I had any right to be doing.

Watching the beads of sweat that slowly ran down from her neck, disappearing into the cleft between her small breasts; breasts that were cupped by a pale-blue sports bra that taunted me every time she bent forward...

Watching the way the hem of her vest would hike up, exposing the firm skin of her hip or the faint musculature of her belly...

Or watching the way she'd wipe her hands dry on the perfect curve of denim-clad thigh or hip...

I'd bite my lip, and look away, and try to think very hard about what we were doing and nothing else.

But my eyes would always creep back to her.

She was tall, and slender, and competent and... stunning...

And as the afternoon crawled on, it became harder and harder for me to ignore the fact that I found her presence completely intoxicating.

Dusk was peeking over the fence at us by the time we got the last of the panels fixed to the "new" post.

Chloe stepped back, stretched, and groaned.

"And we're done," she said.

"God, you're amazing."

She grinned. "Good teacher, great assistant."

"Um..." I said. "Do... do you want to stay for supper? I feel like I owe you a decent meal and at least a glass of wine to bring things into balance..."

"You know what," she said softly, after she'd paused to consider. "I'd like that. Come. Lets go and see what you have."

And between the two of us we managed to scavenge up pasta, trimmings, and an initial bottle of decent red.

I dug out two jackets and offered her the better one, and we set a table outside under the glorious evening sky.

.:.

"Thank you for supper," she said. "It really was nice. Far, far nicer than what I had waiting back at halls."

"Why? What were you going to eat?"

"Beans and toast, and I wish I was joking."

I grinned at her. "I mean, not that beans on toast is anything to sniff at... I ate enough of that in my student years... but yeah, it's not exactly filling after a day of hard manual labour under a slave driver like me..."

She smiled. "How long ago were you a student?"

"Oh, I graduated five or so years ago..."

"So you're... twenty five? Twenty six?"

"Yeah," I admitted.

"Wow," she said softly. "You must have an amazing job."

"What do you mean?"

"To... own all this..."

"The... house?"

"Yeah," she said. "It's... really nice."

I looked around... and in a sudden shift of perspective, saw it as it must appear to her. A clean and neat, newly-painted, detached double-story Georgian backing onto woodland on the outskirts of our small Sussex town, with a large garden full of flowers and established shrubs...

I flushed, and moved swiftly to dispel her illusions...

"I'm just an author," I confessed. "I was... incredibly lucky. Stupendously lucky. That's all it is. This is all down to sheer, dumb, unadulterated and completely undeserved chance."

"It can't just be luck. You must be good..."

I made a face. "Rather just say... popular," I sighed. "I'm... I write... garbage..."

"I can't believe that. What's your surname?"

"I don't write under my name," I said quickly. I topped up my wineglass, then hers as well.

"What? Why on earth..."

"Because... one of my greatest fears is being the centre of attention. I... I have a real phobia about it. I can just about manage small groups so long as it's not about me. I'd spontaneously combust or go full on Exorcist if... if people found out who I was."

"... oh," she breathed, frowning. "But... but... I don't understand. You're... you're so sweet and gentle and kind and..."

"In small slices, maybe," I murmured. "And... you're absolutely lovely to say that, but... it's really quite easy being relaxed around you. You're... open. Genuine. You... don't seem to want anything except... to share your time with me. That's... that's a really rare thing for me."

She watched me for a moment. Then she grinned, and gave a funny little half-shoulder shrug.

"So... how many books have you written?"

"Three... successful... ones. And lots of... well... stuff that does okay-ish to decent-ish..."

"That must be nice..."

"It's lonely," I said softly.

She blinked.

"What? Why?"

"Because... because as soon as I started doing okay my family and friends started expecting handouts. And... and I was honestly fine with that, at first... but..."

"Money ruins friendships," she quietly said, finishing my sentence for me.

"Yes," I sighed.

"Luckily it's never been a problem I've had," she said. "We've always existed hand to mouth. I'm joking of course, we were fine, but... I'm at Uni by grace of a bursary alone."

"What are you studying?"

"Art and design."

"Oh wow, that sounds so interesting..."

"I... was planning to go into work with my dad once I was done. He's slowing down. He could use the help because he hasn't yet been able to find and keep a decent apprentice for love or money. Nobody's interested in the craft these days; it's all about heading to the home improvement megastore and banging out some pre-cut manufactured timber shit that falls apart or delaminates in a year or two."

"Your dad sounds like one of the old breed."

"He is. He won't use a screw if a dovetail or mortise will do the same job. Absolutely refuses to touch anything that's not real wood. God, he's meticulous... He was hoping to find someone similar who he could bring up and pass the cabinetry down to..."

"But... why not pass it down to you?"

"He offered. But it's not what I want for myself. I'm happy to help as I can, but... my love and talents lie elsewhere."

"I'm guessing you're talking about design..."

"I want to build things. But not clunky cottage style stuff or even the gorgeous work that dad does. I... I want to build elegant things that use the natural lines of the materials they're made from. I want to create... beauty. Beauty that lasts."

I realised I was staring at her; I quickly glanced down and away, but couldn't control the smile.

"What's so funny?" she said, suspiciously.

"You're just so... passionate. It's... it's sweet."

She flushed and hid her own shy grin behind the rim of her wineglass.

"Don't patronise me," she said softly.

"I can't. No testicles and entirely the wrong chromosomes."

And she snorted her wine, and set it aside until she could recover from the giggles.

"You're terrible," she said, as she wiped at her eyes.

I smirked. "I'm an English Literature major with too high an opinion of herself. Sorry for you, you'll just have to learn to live with it..."

"I'm sure I'll manage," she said with a grin. "It's just... now... well, I have to confess that I'm... really curious who you are."

"Who I am?"

"Your author, or pseudonym, or whatever it is. Whatever name you use. I'm going to be forced to dig now, it won't leave me alone."

"A bottle of wine for you if you manage to work it out. You never will, though, I'm a ghost," I said, grinning.

"How about I promise to keep your secret and you just give in to my desires and... tell me," she wheedled.

I stared at my wine.

"I guess you don't trust me?" she said, sadly.

"No! I mean... it's not that. It's not that at all. I'm... I'm just scared that it might change..."

"Change... what?"

"This," I whispered. "It's going to sound really lame, but you're the closest thing I have to a... a friend."

"Well," she said, mollified. "If that's how it is, then so be it. I don't really mind. And it's... it's nice knowing that that's how you feel. That this... today, tonight, isn't... isn't just you taking pity on me."

"What? How on Earth could you even think that?"

"Daft child rides bicycle through fence," she intoned.

"You're... no child," I said softly. "You're a lovely woman. I'm... glad you gate-crashed my life."

And she laughed and raised her glass to me.

Something about the moment...

A sudden chill down the back of my neck...

I shuddered.

"Chloe..."

"Mhmm?" she said, swallowing.

"Listen... I'm suddenly really... uncomfortable about the idea of you trying to get home tonight. We're both the better part of a bottle down..."

"It's okay, I'll be fine..."

I reached out and took her wrist gently in my hand.

"Please..." I said softly.

She stopped, stared at me. "What is it?"

"Please, I've got a sudden really strange feeling and I don't want you to leave... I have a spare room, and lots of bedding. It's yours for the night. Please don't feel like you have to be a hero. I'm... I'm really not okay with you walking home. Like seriously not okay. I'll call you a taxi if you absolutely have to leave..."

She gave me a strange look.

"This isn't some... ploy... to get me to stay over so you have an excuse to drink more, is it?"

"Um..."

"Because if it is I am totally up for it. Are... are you sure, Dawn? I'd actually love to stay but... I really don't want to impose..."

I felt giddy with strange relief. "Yes, I am. It will be nice to have a guest for once," I said. "God knows it's an infrequent thing these days..."

"Well... okay then."

"If you like... well..."

"Well... what?"

"You're taller than me, but I can probably find something approximating sleepwear that will fit you... and there's a lovely deep bathtub if you want to use it."

"Now that," she said, "is the kind of invitation a girl can't refuse. I haven't had a bath in years... oh, no, don't you dare!"

I covered my mouth, fought down the mad giggles.

"Sorry," I wheezed. "Sorry."

She shook her head, grinning. "I can see I'll need to watch my words around you. Fine. I'll stay."

"Well then... how about we pour ourselves another glass of wine, and then I find you something more comfortable and we settle in for the duration? It's Saturday tomorrow, and it's not like I have anything chasing me."

"I've got some work to do," she said with a grimace. "But it will keep until the afternoon."

"Great. That's... great. Um... it's getting cold, shall we move inside?"

She gave the night sky one last wistful glance. "Yeah," she said. "Probably for the best. Is everything packed away?"

"Just us to go."

She stood up and staggered slightly. "Woo," she said. "Shit. Yep. Glad you're wiser than me, that would not be a fun totter home."

She reached out and took my arm to balance herself. "Right," she said. "Lets go get drunkerer."

.:.

"Oh my God, Dawn..." she breathed.

"I know."

"It's enormous."

"Um... yeah, it is."

"It's... beautiful."

"It gets cold quickly, which sucks."

"How's the hot water supply?"

"Gas. So pretty decent."

"Then it's fit for porpoise. Eh? Eh?" she cackled.

I groaned.

"Chloe," I sighed. "I'm going to fine you if you step on my territory. Awful puns are my bag, babe."

"Jealousy makes you nasty," she said with a grin. Then the smile faded. "Dawn... are you sure you don't mind me..."

"Oh for God's sake."

I barged past her and put the plug in. I turned on the hot water. And I turned to face her.

"Do I need to undress you too?" I said, tartly.

She stared at me.

"Is that a... serious offer?"

"I... what?"

"Nothing," she said hastily.

"Oh. Oh right. Right," I said, flustered. "Um... right, here's a towel and... um... my pyjamas, I mean your pyjamas... I mean..."

"Thanks, Dawn..."

"Um... I'll... go and boil the kettle and...shall I?"

"Yeah."

"Okay... um..."

And I slipped out of the bathroom and closed the door behind myself.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," I whispered, and I gently thumped the palm of my hand against my forehead. "Stupid. God, you're stupid."

Then I slunk downstairs, and put on the kettle, and retreated to my sanctuary.

Habit made me turn on my laptop. Habit made me open my manuscript. Habit made me stab random angry sentences, trying to conjure anything that would take away the little crooked smile she'd given my silly, wildly-inappropriate bluster.

Then the words slowly drew me in as they always did, and I lost track of everything but...

"Dawn?" she said softly as she touched my shoulder.

I jerked, then cried out in agony as my back spasmed.

I slumped forward, pushed my laptop away. "Oh... oh fuck..."

"Jesus... Dawn... are you okay?"

"This chair kills me," I panted. "I need to replace it but I just somehow never get around to it. And now my back just fucked out. Oh fuck me, that's sore..."

"Where?"

"Lower back, right hand side..."

"Here?"

"Yes," I whimpered.

"Okay. Right. I'm... I'm going to get my arms under you and help you stand, alright?"

"Sorry..."

"It's fine, it's fine, Mum had early onset arthritis. I'm used to it. Here. One, two, three... and up."

She got her arms around me and me and I groaned out in relief as my muscles eased.

"Thanks," I whimpered. "Oh my God, you're so strong."

She snorted. "And you clearly need a new chair. This one looks horrible. I think I'll make you one that's right for you."

"Oh... oh wow... really?"

"Totally. And... and if you like, in the meantime I'll see if I can ease that back a bit for you."

I stared up at her.

"Really really?" I said, in pure disbelief.