The Visitor

The Visitor

A Chapter by Tertia 🌒

She arrived on Friday night and left for Basingstoke early on Tuesday morning to see her Aunt. I picked her up at Heathrow and drove her back home to the West Country in my old beat-up Landrover. She looked at the green countryside and took in everything around her.

‘Can’t believe you’re actually here, Narissa,’ I said looking at the road ahead and not her. I had already taken a good look at her when she came through the Arrivals gates and what I saw was how she had described herself, but in a modest way and not in terms of attraction. She was all of a distraction and hard to take in. There were so many things to look at on and about her person, at first I couldn’t work out how she moved. She seemed to float effortlessly from one place to another. She was taller than most women and had sparkly blue eyes and shoulder length black hair and long legs that were made to look longer by her stacks.

‘No, nor me,’ she replied. ‘You’re not exactly how I imagined, Fergus.’ she looked at me, taking in my slim profile. She was from a small town in Illinois, near Lake Michigan, she was thirty-eight and a widow. She rifled through a wicker bag taking out various small domestic appliances and putting them back again.

‘Well as part of your fun packed weekend I thought we'd go to the Clifton area of the city for a meal and walk over the old bridge,' I said. There was no response from her. 'Unless you're jet lagged,'

‘I am tired,’ she said sleepily.’ When we got back I took her straight to her room and she collapsed on the single bed. ‘This is nice, thank-you,’

‘I’ll make you a coffee,’ I said, but when I took it up she was fast asleep. I put the mug down and wrapped the covers over her. I kissed her on the cheek. ‘Sleep well,’

‘Hey,’ she said smiling, her eyes still shut. I went downstairs and watched TV knowing she wouldn’t wake that evening and went to bed at midnight. At about 4:30 she came in my room and set on the end of the bed looking wide awake. ‘Hey,’

‘Hey,’ I repeated. I stared at her in disbelief. ‘It’s the middle of the night!’

‘It seems we’re not in synch,’

‘No,’ I said letting my head hit the pillow. Two hours later I smelt coffee and managed to sit up in bed.

*****

On Saturday we got the train into the city and walked around the docks. We sat in the Harbourside Cafe for a couple of hours and chatted, watching the multitude of different boats and the seagulls swooping.

‘I love it here. I. come here often,’ As she looked away I looked at her long straight black hair, freckled skin and long thick eyelashes. I noticed her cute white button nose had gone red, she was wearing a thick fisherman’s jumper and black mittens.

‘I can see why,’ she said, smiling at something in the distance. She was happy. She told me her life story in five minutes. Her husband had died of an unknown virus, he was older than her and had an immune deficiency. Her two grown up children were away at college in the ‘mid-west’. Her mom and pa were in their eighties in a care home in New York. She had a brother and a younger sister. ‘That’s me, I don’t work, I’m lucky I get a government grant. How about you?’

‘As I told you before the wife ran off with a vacuum cleaner salesman, and that is true,’ I laughed so she could too. ‘so I’ve been on my own a while now. No kids, my large family of two brothers and two sisters live locally. I work part-time for the health service now as a courier. I drive a little white van around. I go fishing at weekends or I go to the races,’ she gave no reaction. We walked along the harbour by the tall ships and she slipped her arm in mine, her head came a little way above my shoulder. My heart started beating a little faster. She squeezed my arm and our hands linked together.

We walked for a few hundred yards until we reached a pub, it was an old sailors pub called the Nova Hibernia, which meant New Ireland. The bar was loud and crowded and when I finally got a drink we found a dark and quiet alcove at the back of the main bar. ‘Yuck, that tastes so bitter,’ she winced, spitting a mouthful of the ale into a napkin.

‘I’ve seen that face before I thought. ‘You asked for something local,’ I laughed as she almost spat

‘Yeah, perhaps a Guinness next time, godammit,’ In the alcove she snuggled up and casually looked dreamily at the view of the grand old bridge. She was warm and soft and it opened a door of acceptance between us which it was customary not to rush straight through; I tried to stay calm and not react. She drank a little more and winced, shaking her head. ‘Ahhh,’ I turned to her, our eyes caught and we were kissing, her hands clutched me around my arm and chest like giant bird’s claws, her mouth was soft and inviting. A barmaid came over to clear the table and we broke apart like naughty teenagers.

‘I’ll get us another drink,’ I said, slowly getting up, adjusting my trousers.

‘Thank you. No, I’ll get them. You sit down.’ she insisted. She went up to the sea of backs and like Moses on the shores of the Red Sea the backs parted. I heard friendly chat and laughter as she got the drinks. She came over smiling with two lagers. ‘This is more like it,’ After a third drink we took the ferry across the harbour and down the river to the tram stop that went up the hill to the bridge. We walked across the three hundred foot high bridge, standing in the middle of it, looking down over the city and hills beyond as the wind blew down the high gorge. I wrapped her in my arms around Narissa to keep her warm; it felt natural.

‘Let’s get something to eat,’ she said after a while and so we headed for a restaurant that I had booked that overlooked the grand old bridge. As we walked it’s lights came on that marked out its distinctive shape. Our table was small and cosy, I could feel her legs touching mine, she didn’t seem to mind. Her phone rang.

‘Hi Aunty, how are you?’ there was a pause, I heard a voice distantly squeaking in the microphone. ‘Tuesday, I’ll see you Tuesday remember,’ there was a long pause again ‘Working all weekend then I’m free,’ she said, smiling and looking at me. ‘Hopefully late afternoon Aunty. OK,’ she said. ‘Bye then, bye, bye.

‘What do you do again?’ I said.

‘Nothing,’ she said. She took off her fisherman’s jumper revealing a simple black top. The waiter brought the wine and we both had a large glass of red. ‘I feel drunk,’

‘That’s because you're hanging around with me,’

‘Are you trying to get me drunk?’

‘No. Have coffee,’

‘Yes Sir,’

‘If you like,’ I corrected using a more passive tone.

‘I might,’ she said taking a large gulp of wine. As the dusk settled the lights on the bridge came on, illuminating its high Support’s and its underside. ‘Your little bridge is quaint and pretty,’ After the meal we walked across it again and got a taxi back home. In the back of the taxi I held her and she cried rivers of tears. I knew they were for her husband. We talked for hours into the night until we both felt less lonely. We got to know each other more and I began to understand how she thought and where she was in the world.

Suddenly she got up and kissed me on the lips. ‘Goodnight I’ll see you in the morning,’ she said smiling mockingly and nodding to re-assure herself. She was full of uncertainty, I could have pushed it, but wanted her to make up her own mind about where she slept. At two in the morning she got in my bed, she was soft and warm. She fell asleep with me, but had made me wide awake all over my body.

The next day, Sunday we went for a long drive in the country and at the end of it reached a quiet country village. We had a picnic by the banks of a windy, lazy river that was on the outskirts, it was a hot day, the sky was blue and there was only a light breeze; it was perfect weather for what we had in mind. Narissa sat lazily eating an apple and watched the river’s tantalising endless flow. It was loud as it passed over the rocks, crashing and splashing and it was quiet as it passed by overhanging trees as though not to disturb them from their slumber.

‘It’s perfect here,’ she said. She had the sun on her and was shining a dull yellow. Her skin was already reddening and browning bringing out her freckles. ‘The air is so fresh,’

‘I haven’t been here that often, because I know it’s here I suppose and it’s in my thoughts. I can come here anytime, but end up not doing s lol,’

‘Eiffel Tower Syndrome,’ she mumbled to herself.

‘Pardon?...yes,’ I said. I didn’t know what she meant, but I thought for a while and realised she might mean that people who live in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower never go up it, they just look at it and after a while they don’t even see it.

We walked the winding path that ran along the riverbank and I saw on the riverbed dead willow leaves lying peacefully, still in their autumnal colours of yellow, green and red. The river was loud and gurgling, the trees whispered in adding to the orchestra of sound and the birds scattered squawking and tweeting, interrupting the inert levels of nature. Our voices, as we ambled seemed distant and strange, making me feel surreal and godlike in the world. The high smell of long grass came up as bees buzzed and butterflies danced about in their aerial network. And then she took my hand and all of nature rushed in, swirling around. The world spun on its axis about me and a felt giddy and high, nature was in me and her and then it was gone and I came down to earth with a thump. I was panting, she was smiling. I thought of love and death and everything in-between.

That evening we went to my local pub and sat with Harry, Mark and John. When they saw her they were more interested in how we met than anything about her herself.

‘So how did you two meet?’ Harry asked, looking at her all over with no shame.

‘We met at the shops,’ Narissa lied. ‘On Thursday,’ she looked at him straight in the eyes. His eyes dragged up to meet hers; he smiled.

‘Oh right,’ Harry said. ‘You didn’t meet online then?’ he laughed

‘No, we didn’t,’ I added, slowly sipping my beer.

‘Fergus was very kind and helped me with my shopping and we just got chatting,’ she added.

‘Just like that,’ John put in.

‘You live around here then do you?’ Mark asked.

‘No, I live in the US, I’m visiting my Aunty,’

‘Good old Aunty,’ John said not expecting anyone to listen, but everyone turned to him and so in panic he added. ‘So are you married then?’

‘No, my husband died,’

‘Oh,’ John said looking into his pint. They fired questions and unfounded lies about me and she deflected and laughed in turn. Sitting back, I watched them vying for her attention and felt relaxed and safe. She shot me a look and a few seconds later I saw the faintest of secret smiles.

THE END



































© 2020 Tertia 🌒


My Review

Would you like to review this Chapter?
Login | Register




Reviews

Effectively written... At some point readers are able to visualise those things told in the story and that's what we call a stuff with impact... Interesting one... Thank you for sharing !! 

Posted 1 Month Ago


I really enjoyed reading this :) A hint of promise, some well defined characters and places and the dialogue smooth and real...nicely executed :)

Posted 1 Month Ago


Softly romantic with many touching realities. Description of places, people and weather patterns were very good. I liked the comparison to Moses' event and the Eiffel tower syndrome.

Posted 1 Month Ago


"She was from a small town in Illinois, near Lake Michigan, she was thirty-eight and a widow."

Posted 1 Month Ago


"She seemed to float effortlessly from one place to another. She was taller than most women and had sparkly blue eyes and shoulder length black hair and long legs that were made to look longer by her stacks."

Posted 1 Month Ago


A nice little story that could have been taken from a real life experience. I've never been to Ireland. I have tried Guinness beer and have to say I'm not a fan. I'm more of a Island Lager sort of guy...maybe a Jamaican Red Stripe or a Mexican Dos Equis with a slice of lime. The interactions between the characters seemed a bit sparse but often, so do actual interactions in the real world. As a love/romance story I thought it lacked the steam and sex that makes that sort of writing popular although slightly hinted at in the context. I thought the writing in general was exceptional and the ending was believable enough to invite another chapter. In the novel form, I think Robert James Waller did this sort of thing better than anyone; maintaining a fine balance of fire and tact in his writing. Bob passed away about three or four years back but I've read most of his books. I applaud your efforts here and would really like to see you build further upon the relationship and the story. Who knows? You might become the next great romance novel writer! At any rate, I very much enjoyed the read,

Posted 1 Month Ago


I loved this story. It was a nice, sweet story that I thoroughly enjoyed the pleasure of reading. Well written, Tertia, it moved smoothly.

James

Posted 2 Months Ago


I read that without a pause, first time.. and smiled at the end, just as Narissa did. Then, second time around, reading the dialogue aloud, I felt this to be, perhaps a sequence of events that were in fact, specific visuals that you might have stopped to wonder at as they fell into your mind 0 so clear they were, for instance, ' She went up to the sea of backs and like Moses on the shores of the Red Sea the backs parted. I heard friendly chat and laughter as she got the drinks. She came over smiling with two lagers. ‘This is more like it,’ After a third drink we took the ferry across the harbour and down the river to the tram stop that went up the hill to the bridge. We walked across the three hundred foot high bridge, standing in the middle of it, looking down over the city and hills beyond as the wind blew down the high gorge. I wrapped her in my arms around Narissa to keep her warm; it felt natural.'

A special excerpt that i found very clear, hinting things to happen, emotions to come to the surface. This could become a novel.. but then, perhaps it would lose its validity. I so enjoyed it because in a way, it has a distinct air of mystery: more to come.. ...

Posted 2 Months Ago


Tertia 🌒

2 Months Ago

Thank you and yes there is more to come, I hope you enjoy Prowell House
That's good. I like the ending. Well written!

Posted 2 Months Ago


Gently told. A soft story for an audience most likely expecting a harsh more current reality story.

Posted 2 Months Ago



First Page first
Previous Page prev
1
Request Read Request
Add to Library My Library
Subscribe Subscribe


Stats

180 Views
13 Reviews
Rating
Added on March 15, 2020
Last Updated on March 31, 2020
Tags: attraction, romance, love, beauty, beautiful, liaison, relationship, amour, heart, visitor, life, short, meet, encounter, transatlantic, USA, UK


Author

Tertia 🌒
Tertia 🌒

United Kingdom



About
I write Short Stories or Quick Reads and will be adding content on an ongoing basis. I am a working man and live in England. I’ve been writing in my spare time for nearly ten years. I am an a.. more..

Writing

Related Writing

People who liked this story also liked..