Fonding and Permission Ch. 01

Chapter one: Touching the South

The days clung on here even after the sun had set. Its steep descent always felt premature to her, as the heat lingered on well into the dark hours. Back in England warmth was usually a memory by the time the light went, but Spain was showing her a different summer. The world had suddenly turned into a welcoming place of comfort, careless hours in deckchairs and open doors and windows. No constant threat of drizzles or chilly breezes, no need to keep the weather off your skin with an airtight seal of clothing or architecture.

It was the last evening of their final year class trip. With the past in mind, she had not expected much of the five days. She had never wanted for friends when people needed homework to copy or someone to take them through the basics of photosynthesis. You're a safe bet when it comes to exams! She had smiled at the faint praise and tried to remember it two weeks later when the same girl had gone on a rant, mocking her bushy hair, leather-free shoes and most of what lay in between. Her mind rarely found peace with the others around. Solitude meant safety. So she had expected to roam the streets alone.

But the week had surprised her. Away from the daily competition of school, everyone had been much more relaxed and friendly towards her and she had found herself returning the favour, had even joined several forays to the town and the beach with them.

Overall, the week had been a constant party of varying intensity. Their lodgings in the middle of the town of Calella meant there was always someone around, always plenty going on. And even though she missed the countryside (she had always preferred the quiet of the woods to the clubs and malls), the vibe of her own species had for once resonated with her. Yes, the place was filthy --stiff with binge-drinking, smoking, rubbish-dumping tourists-- but she felt readier than ever to respect urban sprawl as kind of crustacean life-form with its own rights and merits.

But now, in spite of all the new-found openness, she really wanted a few hours to herself again, take time to digest the day, catch up with her diary. So as the others began to congregate down in the atrium for a farewell barbecue, she quietly departed for her lodgings at the top of the building. She could always turn up later ...

She met no-one on her way up. The key turned with only a discreet click and the carpet floor of her bedroom rustled softly as she opened the door and muted her footsteps as she went inside. She felt she was entering a hidden sanctum where she could relax, reflect and, perhaps, explore ...

A brief, cold shower brought back her skin's memories of the day. It had felt curious to swim with her classmates, trying to enjoy the sea wrapping around her body with them nearby. She had learnt to show them a cool, intellectual façade, caring first and foremost about the hard-won good of being respected after years of taunts and disregard. Letting her hair down and simply having a good time with her foes of yesteryear had cost a constant effort. Had they realised her turmoil? Well, they had eyes, didn't they, and she hadn't joined in the frolicking and ballgames and catch-me-if-you-can, even though the others were clearly enjoying it. Everyone else had seemed at ease, and she had lain on the beach, pretending to relax but quietly envying their loose happiness. Was their jolliness just as false as her calm? She couldn't convince herself of it and had felt a stab of shame for hoping so. Had their past cruelty done this to her, made her keep her distance from anything that looked suspiciously like simple fun lest it should turn against her, forcing her to watch it longingly from the sidelines?

She thought she had long had a foot in the trap of caution anyway. Don't forget life is about joy, she told herself. But she knew she enjoyed her life. Didn't she? Certainly no use worrying too much about that ... Still, she had thought herself balanced and mature, but lying there, alone by her own unhappy choice, she had wondered if it was the others who were mature, whether she really was the uptight, complicated bore and killjoy they had called her in years past. I must be hard work at times, she thought. And they're graciously putting up with me. She had felt a strange, refreshing humility and chuckled to herself. Perhaps she could be gracious herself ...

Now, towelling herself off, she saw she had spent the last five days reluctantly opening up to joy, gathering momentum. And with the last-day melancholy hanging in the air, she felt it was time to crown it with some sort of private celebration.

She hung the towel on the rail and examined herself in the mirror. She had always doubted she could stay with the others on the beauty front, but looking at herself now it hit her that she wasn't that badly placed. She had always kept herself fit and healthy, bicycling to school, giving it her all in sports classes. And right now she felt clean and fresh from her swimming and showering. And something, perhaps the Spanish air, had given her the sort of warm softness she had always thought beyond herself. Her face wore a slight flush and her drying hair played in curls over her shoulders. But above all, her reflection looked as happy as she felt. She couldn't help but smile at it. Positive feedback loop. She grinned. What a pity, came an unbidden thought. What a pity, never to have used that body's full potential ... What a waste of happiness ...

She laughed at the idea, then heard her laugh end, while the idea remained. She frowned slightly through her smile, ambling aimlessly around the room. She realised she was restless and, although the idea of food held no attraction, somehow hungry. For a second, she considered trying to go to sleep, but knew at once that it wouldn't work any time soon. She glanced at the diary on her bedside table. Later, she thought. There might be more to write about ... Her body was humming, asking for something extra of the day. And she heard a murmur, rising from the tepid shade at the back of her mind, asking a question that had visited her in other moments of ease, never to be answered. And she found herself listening to it, appreciating the idea, letting its detail blossom. Her right hand moved across to touch her left forearm, and she stood there, stroking it absent-mindedly, biting her lip.

Then, rather conscious of her steps, she walked over to her bed, lifted the nightgown from the covers and began pulling it on, wondering what exactly to do in it. She looked down as its hem fell to her feet. It was barely a proper gown, just a weightless, pale nylon garment so flimsy you could count the stars through it. It was roughly the shape of a dress but probably never meant to be worn as one.

A movement in the corner of her eye made her turn and she found herself looking at another mirror. Beautiful. She saw it in a flash, before either pride or modesty had time to cloud her judgement. Do you want to hear it said aloud? The question danced across her mind. I don't need to. I know well enough. Of course she did. She didn't need to do anything. It was up to her ... Her insides tightened.

She pictured a group of people, food and drink and cheer ... and herself gliding in through the archway, a revelation ... everyone turning, jaws dropping ... gasps, whoops, goosebumps ... raised camera phones ... "Say cheese!" ... pictures on the web ... funny looks and comments for months ... her family hearing things ... her lasting shame. The thoughts came with jolts of increasing power, the last three decidedly too strong for comfort. Her hunger pulled back swiftly and for a moment she lost faith in it. She was quite right not to pursue all kinds of fun. The reddest apples often had a big rotten patch on the other side. Damn her ties ... if only she were a stranger to everyone ...

But she was a stranger here ... and a couple of faces flashed across her mind, their mouths half-open in astonished excitement; hushed whispers in a foreign language. It was over in seconds, but she understood at once. She knew those faces. She had first seen them only days ago, and come tomorrow morning she would never see them again. Probably. She remembered their first meeting, their first and only conversation.

***

"Perdón? ... Fernando?"

He heard the voice in the ice cream queue behind him, but it was only when it said his name that he turned, startled that the speaker knew it. They must have overheard David address him.

A young woman was standing in front of him, dressed mainly, though not fully, in sunshine. He hastened to look at her face and regretted the move much less than he had feared. He remembered her at once, recalled how the chattering English pupils had crowded into the hotel lounge, how her wild, bushy hair among the neat and straight had caught his quick eye in seconds. She had not seemed to notice his stare then, but she was looking straight at him now. He met her lively eyes and watched, bemused, as her mouth moved.

"¿Esto es tuyo?"

A slender arm rose to intercept his gaze. It was holding a fiver.

"Oh," he said. "Muchas gracias ... Thank you so much, young lady."

Her laugh had stayed with him, a music worthy to go with all that his eyes had captured.

***

She smiled, remembering his wide, baffled eyes, and looked out of the window and across the atrium, to where another window sat in the opposite wall just one floor above her own, perhaps twenty or thirty yards away.

She found herself standing by the half-open door to her balcony. How nice it would be to lie out on the deckchair with the lukewarm evening breeze flowing over her ... Her skin was longing for the gentle, moving warmth it promised ... Doubt was leaving her again, but she was still intrigued by how little in her protested as she stepped out under the sky in her nightie.

She stood unmoving, looking about the atrium, carefully taking it all in. She was on the top floor but one with seven below her. She could hear the rest of the class, gathered together on the bottom terrace for the barbecue. A muddle of voices echoed up to her along with a faint smell of burning charcoal and fat. She imagined her balcony seen from far below: a solid, dark rectangle against the sky, betraying nothing.

Up here, utter peace. Most of the other rooms on her level and above had looked unoccupied all week and the ring of their white walls and closed shutters opened to the darkening blue silence above. Just that one room right opposite her own had the curtains open. But it was hard to make out anything in the darkness between them. A face behind the glass would have been well-hidden.

"Just them and me," she murmured, the tension in her own voice catching her by surprise. And even if there are others, she thought silently, they'll never know my name. I'll never come anywhere near here again. I can do whatever I want ... She felt caution's jab, feebler than before. I can face it, she thought. Just now, for once, I dare. Excitement stole through her.

She stood there for a minute, feeling the nightie flutter about her thighs and torso and rub softly over the obstacles that her body offered, tickling her skin in a handful of places. She smiled slightly, and looked down at herself. She had rarely felt so confident and unembarrassed about her body. Some little voice in her head remarked that this was surely no excuse at all, but it seemed to lack power. In fact, she was idly wondering whether the nightie wasn't actually a little pointless ... But no. Not at this moment. She drew a deep breath, got into the deckchair, lay back, found comfort, and waited.

There was still a fair amount of daylight, but it would fade within half an hour. She looked at the standard lamp next to the deckchair, gauging her nerve. It would make things very obvious in a while ... But she could turn it off whenever she wanted, couldn't she? Reaching out languidly, she gave the switch a push. Some extra light poured over her, but it didn't seem too striking for now. Her balcony probably didn't stand out much more than it had before. She lay back, trying to relax, listening to her pulse, waiting. Minutes passed.

She was suddenly aware of a baby bawling somewhere below. Had she really been one of those poor things herself once? Life must have been tough ... How different it felt now. She grinned and looked down the landscape of her body spread lazily across the deckchair, trying to picture the small, weak creature it had been all those years back and marvelling at its flowering. The duckling had grown up a bit, hadn't it? It was a fully fledged female now. She placed her palms gently on her stomach through the nightie, testing its firmness.

Would she change her mind? I can turn back at any moment ... See how far my baby steps take me ... Just the thought to begin a long journey. Her hands were moving a little now and she took the nightie in her fingers and pulled it taut about her shape, gathering the folds under her back. Her fingertips began a slow moonwalk on the stretched nylon ...

Would they even be in this evening? She turned her head and saw that the light opposite had turned on. Her pulse took a slight upward turn. She wondered whether they had an inkling of her feelings, whether they would understand her ... And how would they feel about it? She didn't want to hurt or scare them, did she? Baby steps, she reminded herself.

She had last seen them at the piano --not actually playing properly, just trying a few flourishes, testing the sound, exchanging comments. Something about the way they had spoken and listened to each other, their calm seriousness with the occasional, vivacious smile thrown in, had struck her as unusual ... She had found herself choosing her reading chair nearby. Her Spanish was good and had further improved over the week, but the lounge had often been loud and she had tried not to get conspicuously close. But occasional words had reached her ears and some of them had struck unexpected chords with her. Argerich. Nussbaum. Feminismo pro-sexo. The snatches she had caught had given her a sketchy but marked idea who they were, and she felt some regret that she would probably never find out much more ... They had not spoken to her. She was not even quite sure they had glanced her way in all the time. But it had seemed to her, watching them from a distance later, that they had laughed and joked more earlier, had looked a little more erect and alive when she had been close to them.

The day crept further away, and further. The standard lamp had warmed up to full glare and she was sure her balcony would soon stand out. All the other windows were dark. Didn't pale skin in bright light look almost white? She'd not merely be visible. She'd draw any eye up here immediately. She tried in vain to relax ...

Presently, she heard a balcony door squeak open across the atrium, then voices. Young, male voices. She didn't need to see the faces. They had lain before her inner eye for the last twenty minutes. Well, here we are ... A tremor ran through her.

Her hands twitched, instinct asking them to cover herself and dim the light. "Stay put!" she whispered sweetly, and they did so, shivering.

She saw them out of her eye's corner, leaning calmly against the banisters of their balcony. Here she was, spread out at their feet with nothing but tight, thin nylon to obstruct their view. Had they seen her? A subdued motherly voice inside her had suddenly grown a lot more strident. Turn off the light and get inside, girl! Do you want the stares? But another answered back, shocking her with its force. Don't you know my answer? You know why I'm out here. This is a special night. If their eyes find me, well ... let them. The thought was exotic, liberating. Intoxicating, in fact. She would do as she pleased, just lie down and ignore convention. It had no business getting in the way of joy ... She turned gently but decisively and set about making herself comfortable in the deckchair.

"Mira, Fernando ... tu rosa inglesa."

The calm voice came from across the atrium, and she glanced up surreptitiously from the deckchair to make sure of its owner.

Rosa inglesa ... English rose ... She stopped, then felt her mouth open a little, as she realised what and whom the words must have meant. A strange contrast of sensations crept over her: hot, prickly embarrassment took her face, but the ripple of pleasure through her body overtook it. She looked back down at it, lying in an island of light under the first stars. Her open mouth formed half a smile and she felt her pulse quicken again.

Had one of the young men over there really just called her that? And had she ever got a more informed view? Only her dermatologist among men had seen more of her recently, but he had dutifully kept whatever non-medical opinions he had to himself.

She squirmed involuntarily, contracted her legs, but ... but somehow she felt too curious, tickled by gratitude ... She found she wanted to be sure of his praise ... She let her legs relax their guard and slide back onto the deckchair, and listened, doing her best do understand the Spanish.

"What?", said the man called Fernando.

"Down there."

"Oh ... yes" There was a pause. "Maybe ..."

"What?"

"You don't think we ought to go back inside?"

"We could. But we're not doing anything wrong here."

"I suppose not ... You don't think she'd mind?"

"I'm not sure, to be honest ... But what were we talking about?"

"What? --Oh ... vibrato?"

"Oh, yes ... Yes, I don't get the hype about it. Straight tone is just more natural."

"I suppose so."

"I mean, vibrato is a thing you want to be capable of, but would you do it all the time?"

"I suppose not."

"It changes the character of your voice and there are times when that just doesn't fit what you're trying to express."

"Mhm ... I guess I use both. Vibration can be great."

"Like when you want to sing something modest and intimate ... vibrato just sounds way too ostentatious, don't you think?"

"Dunno ... It can be delicate ... I have to admit other aesthetics are interfering at the moment."

"Oh ... OK." There was a short, tense laugh and several seconds of silence.

"Isn't she one of the English people?" That was Fernando again.

"Like I said. Don't you remember seeing her downstairs?"

"Of course ... she always seemed like a cool person."

Did I? She laughed out loud with surprise. It had been building over the last minute.

"She definitely seems pretty cool right now ..."

"Remember when she bought that old homeless guy a baguette and sat down for a chat with him?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"He really opened up, didn't he? Complained about it being vegetarian ... I mean, I just liked how cheerful she was about it. You don't see too many people give anything, and a lot of the ones who do avert their eyes ... But I'm still amazed ..."

"By what?"

There was a moment's silence. She strained her ears and Fernando's answer was hushed, but she caught two words:

"tan preciosa"

Happiness had been building in her over the past minute and hit a sudden, rare peak at the words. So precious, he had said. So gorgeous. She squirmed again, something still protesting a little inside her, but above all, she wanted to hear more, be quite sure he meant it. Her. How often would she get the chance to listen to this? She had braced herself for catcalls and profanities. She should have know better. This was sweetness ...

"It's a pity she's leaving tomorrow ... I hope she's enjoyed her holiday."