Things I Want My Daughters to Know_ A Novel - Elizabeth Noble [81]
It was beautiful, even in January, with a fierce wind and a gray sky. Amanda realized it would be stunning in the summer.
“Come on, I’ll show you around.” Ed had retrieved her rucksack from the back and fished around in the pocket of his coat for a key. “They’re not big in interior design, the aged Ps. Don’t think they’ve painted a wall since they moved in. Just plonked their furniture down and got on with it. It’s all a bit Country Life for my taste, I’m afraid. Oh, and the central heating is woefully inadequate. They’ve got plenty of money to fix it, but they’re just not bothered. We’ve been at them for ages to get it upgraded, but they’re odd—they like it this way. Although how you could enjoy the kind of drafts that fly around in here up your jacksy, I don’t know. They’ve still got those archaic bar heater things in the bathrooms. Dad is the kind of bloke who’ll have the windows open in midwinter. But there are fireplaces downstairs, and there’s an Aga in the kitchen. It’s just getting into and out of bed that requires nerves of steel.”
THE KITCHEN DID, INDEED, HAVE THE MOTHER OF ALL AGAS, A vast, four-oven cream one, with a drying rack hoist above it, and a battery of cooking equipment hung from the wall behind. It was giving off lovely heat in the chilly air, and Amanda went straight to it. She’d grown cold, driving over here in the drafty Land Rover, and she wanted to warm her hands.
Ed came over and hugged her from behind, his arms snaking around her waist.
“It’s bloody wonderful that you’re here.”
She turned within his embrace and kissed him properly. The tip of his nose was cold. They stayed that way, kissing against the Aga, for a few minutes, just long enough for Amanda to get warm and to start to feel woozy-kneed.
She pushed him away playfully. “Right. Enough of that. What’s a girl got to do around here to get a cup of tea?”
“I’ve got a few suggestions,” he groaned, pushing his hips into hers lasciviously, but he took the kettle from behind her and went to the sink to fill it.
“Are you sure your mum doesn’t mind my being here? It’s kind of a family time.”
“She’s fine. I told her I wanted you here. She understood completely.”
“Really?”
“Really. Actually, she’s incredibly curious about you.”
“Why?”
“You’re the first girl I’ve ever brought home.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“I’m not. I mean, there were girlfriends, while I was at school and stuff—they were around. I’m not weird. But since I left home—not a one. Why?” He looked amused at her incredulity. “How many blokes have you taken home to meet your parents?”
“Well, none really.”
“So—what’s the difference?!”
“Well…you’re…you’re older than me, for a start.”
“Hardly. A couple of years, isn’t it?”
“And…and…most of the boyfriends I’ve had have been while I was traveling…and I could hardly bring them home, could I? They weren’t that serious, not that I’m saying you have to be serious about someone to bring them home, or anything like that…and anyway, they were thousands of miles away, most of them.”
“Longest relationship to date?” He was making the tea, opening the fridge to look for milk.
“I don’t know….” She wasn’t going to say first. “What about you?”
“Five months. At university. A couple of three-month ones. That’s it—the rest shorter than that. Not that there’s been dozens, you understand. Not several dozens, at least…I’m a serial monogamist. Not a very good one.”
“Oh.”
“What does ‘oh’ mean?” He squeezed the teabag, took it out, and brought her a mug. “What were you expecting?”
“I don’t know. We don’t know each other very well at all, do we?”
“So tell me yours. Then we’ll know that, won’t we? Afterward, I’ll get my inoculation records, my GCSE certificates, and the small box of my milk teeth that my mother has rather macabrely kept all these years in her knicker drawer….”
“You’re laughing at me.”
“You’re evading me.”
“Four months. Okay? Four months. He was called Guy. He was from New Zealand. He was my ski instructor—I did this course over there. A couple of years ago. We got together when I arrived, and we split up, if that isn’t