Sweet Stella

I think again about what he was like at school. He grew tall quicker than a lot of the other boys. Played a lot of football. Took sciences. No girlfriends that I can remember. He was definitely quieter than a lot of them too. Quieter than Paul that's for sure, but, then again, that isn't difficult. My brother was born loud.

It's really warm in the flat. I open all the windows. We sit at the table and eat together.

'You like nursing, then?' I ask, sitting back, feeling full.

'Yes. I love it.'

'Love it? Wow. It's so rare to hear someone say they love their job.'

He rewards me with another of his big, open smiles. I really like the way his eyes seem to dance when he smiles like that.

'What about you? Are you enjoying your new job?'

He shovels a fork into the leftover food on my plate and puts it in his mouth.

'What's wrong with the food left on your plate?' I ask him, laughing, and watch as he looks down at his own plate, then back to mine.

He recovers well, tips his chin at me and says; 'You took the best bits.'

'I so did not, you cheeky sod!'

'Well,' he's laughing now, 'it tastes better from your plate anyway,' and then lowers his eyes to finish off the rest of what's on my plate.

I pause, not really sure what to make of what he's just said. I decide to answer his question.

'It's ok, but I mostly feel like I don't know what I'm doing. I research stuff and I write it up in reports, and hope for the best.'

'I'm sure you're better than that.' He puts his fork down, finished eating, apparently.

I crunch my shoulders up. Get up from my chair, collect our plates up, tidy up.

'I'm off to bed now, I reckon. I want to get into work early tomorrow, because I really need to finish the report I'm working on by the end of the day.'

'How long do you think it'll take?'

'I'm not sure. But I'll be home late, so at least I'll be out of your way.'

'Out of my way?'

'Friday night? You'll have plans, surely?'

'I was thinking of offering to cook dinner for you. Would you like that?'

'Really?'

He nods. 'Sounds like your day's going to be hard work, so yeah, it'd be nice for you to come home to dinner, wouldn't it?'

Once again, I'm stuck for an answer.

++++++++++

I spend the whole day glued to the screen, not even leaving the office at lunchtime, I'm so determined to get this report finished, but to do a good job on it too. I jump out of my skin when someone taps me on the shoulder.

'Do you want to come out for a drink, Stella?'

It's Richard, and a couple of others standing behind him.

'Oh. I wish I could, but I just really need to finish this before I go.'

He nods. 'Another time? Don't work too late.'

And the office empties out. I look at the time on my screen, stretch my neck and back. And remember Samir's offer to cook dinner tonight. I pull my phone off the desk.

'Samir - reckon I'll be another couple of hours here - if you really are cooking dinner, that is?'

I'm not happy with it, but can't think how else to word it, stressing between assuming he really did mean it about cooking dinner and wanting to tell him what time I'll be home so he can plan for it. I sigh and drop my head down, to stretch my neck, but also feeling frustrated at how much I worry about small stuff. If Paul was here, he'd be berating me for it. I smile, and then my phone vibrates.

'Dinner will be ready whenever you are.'

My stomach fills with butterflies. I don't think I've ever had a man cook dinner for me before. I wish I could phone Paul, ask him more about Samir, but he's locked away on his course, out of range, and now I think about it, what would I be asking him? Hey Paul, what's Samir like with girls? Is he kind, or is he a shit? Does he have a girlfriend?

I think about this last question for myself, consider the lack of physical evidence of a girlfriend anywhere in the flat, including Samir's bedroom, the way his phone is mostly quiet, not constantly buzzing with incoming photos and messages.

But lastly, Paul, do you think he fancies me because I'm bloody well damned if I can tell? One minute he seems into me, even flirting, the next he's looking all nervous. I bite at my lower lip, straighten up, and press on with the report.

It's not quite two hours by the time I've finished. I almost run out of the building and onto the bus home, drinking in the sight of London on a summer's Friday evening, pavements outside the pubs crowded with people still in their work clothes, finishing off the week together before going home to their families.

I can hear the music from outside the front door, and as I push it open, I can also smell wonderful cooking. I walk into the kitchen. Samir's got his back to me, standing over the cooker, moving to the music, his hips and shoulders rolling to it. I stand and stare, imagining what it'd be like to dance with those hips, to have them moving up against me. I crunch my shoulders up and down, trying to shake some sense into myself, and my bag drops off my shoulder onto the floor with a smack.

'Shit,' and I'm bending down to pick it up.

'Bloody hell, Stella, I didn't know you were there. Again. Do you make a habit of sneaking up on people?'

He's turned around, a wooden spoon in his hand, grinning at me.

'Sorry Samir!' And I giggle, completely nervous and silly.

'Come here and taste this,' holding the spoon out.

'Umm - that is delicious. Yum!' And I pull the spoon out of his hand to lick more of it, it tastes so good. 'What is it?'

'Lamb and apricots.'

'It's delicious. I didn't know you could cook.'

He's still grinning, light dancing in his eyes, when he reaches out and presses his thumb to my top lip. If I wasn't already totally flushed and red, I am now. I lean into him, needing to rock back when he takes it away.

'You had a little bit of sauce there,' he's saying, suddenly looking almost as nervous as I'm feeling. Although he's putting his thumb to his mouth now, cleaning it.

'Ummm -,' I giggle again.

Hand the spoon back to him, which he takes from me, turns back to the cooker, lays the spoon down. Turns back to me with an odd expression on his face.

'What's this music?' I ask, pre-empting him.

He blinks at the change in direction.

'It's, uh, Algerian. This is Rachid Taha.'

'I've never heard anything like it.'

It's like he's studying my face, his eyes are so intent, so focused.

'Do you like it?' He's turning the volume down, just a bit.

'Yes I do. It's got a great beat to it, but I like his voice. What's he singing in?'

'This song is in the Arabic dialect he speaks. But he sings in French too.'

'What's he singing about?'

'He's a Rai singer - do you know what that is?'

I shake my head.

'It's like an Algerian folk music that came out of the urban poor, a sort of rebellion against the more traditional music. Rai singers sing about everyday things, ordinary lives, you know? As a way of protesting about the ruling classes, Imperial rule, all that.'

He sees I'm still listening and carries on.

'A lot of the modern Rai artists live outside of Algeria now, because their lyrics offend the fundamentalists. They don't like the western influences in it - too much freedom, dancing and sex for them. Some Rai singers were even assassinated back in the 1990s. This guy, Taha, he was a DJ in the late '70s, played a lot of rock and Arabic pop together. I think you can hear that in his music?'

'I had no idea.' I pause, unable to read Samir's face.

'Anyway, I need to get out of these work things,' and I take myself out of the kitchen and into Paul's bedroom. It's warm, so I push the window open again, and lean out, pulling air into my lungs.

I'm dragging a t-shirt over my head when I hear my phone vibrating in my bag. It's Paul.

'We're out on bail, drinking at the local. How's you? Ok to move in tomorrow or do you want me to check in with Sami?'

Of course - he doesn't know I'm already here.

'Already here, Paul. Couldn't sleep at Becca's for all the banging noises with her new BF. But thanks for tidying up your bedroom and changing the sheets.'

'All ok at the flat then? Becca - Haha she doesn't change does she?'

'Yes all ok here. Samir's cooking me dinner.'

'Is he now?'

'Yes. Smells so good. I had to work late today.'

'He's a good cook.'

'How's the course?'

'Tougher than I thought. But it's a good crowd.'

'Ok. See you next Saturday then?'

'Yup. I didn't tidy up as you well know - sarcasm will get you nowhere Stella. Sorry for being a pig but you know I'm lovable in so many other ways.'

I frown. Walk back to the kitchen still holding my phone.

'Hey, that was Paul. They've been let out for the night, so they're down the pub.'

'Sounds like Paul, alright,' Samir's putting dishes in the oven to warm.

'Samir -,'

And right then, his phone starts ringing, caller ID showing it's Paul. Samir swipes the phone off the counter into his hand.

'Paul?' His eyes flick to me, then away. 'Yeah, yeah, it's all fine.' And then to me; 'Give this a stir will you, I won't be a minute,' as he walks out and down the hall.

He's gone for a while. I stir the pot, start swinging to the music, trying to identify all the different instruments I can hear in it. And then he's back.

'You like this track?'

I swivel round, smiling, still swinging my hips a little bit.

'I do. What are they playing?'

'All sorts - that's their thing - lots of different instruments from all round the world.'

'But - flutes and trumpets? I like that sound a lot.'

His eyes are doing that laughing thing again.

'Anyway, what did Paul want?'

His eyes flick down to his phone, then back to me.

'He was just checking up on you, you know how he is.'

'Control freak?' I laugh.

'That's about it, yes.'

'And what did you tell him?'

'I said you were fine.'

'Fine?'

'Fine.'

He puts the phone down on the counter.

'Time to eat. I'm starving, aren't you?'

He dishes it up and I sit at the table.

'I think Rachid's a little bit frantic for eating to, but seeing as you seem to like this kind of music, let's try Khaled. You might like him as well, and it's a bit calmer.'

And then he sits down.

'Samir, did you tidy up Paul's bedroom before I got here?'

He's got a mouthful of food to chew and swallow before he can answer me.

'Your brother lives like a farmyard animal,' he finally says.

I laugh.

'True. But thanks for doing that. You didn't have to.'

He nods, another mouthful of food.

'I don't know how you live with him.'

'He's not all that bad. The worst of it is usually restricted to his bedroom.'

'Well you didn't have to go to the trouble, but thank you.'

He just tips his head to one side.

'What did you do today? Did you get out in the sunshine?'

'I went for a run. It was great, actually. Beautiful weather - just right for running.'

'Not too hot?'

'No, I like it hot. Must be my Algerian blood.'

'Ha! Me too. My Caribbean blood.'

'Is that where your dad was from? I don't think I ever knew that.'

'St Lucia. According to mum, anyway,' I shrug.

'Don't you know him at all?'

I shake my head.

'Nope. Same for Paul. He never knew his dad neither.'

'Mmm. What about the last one - is your mum still with him?'

'Alfie's dad? Dunno. We haven't really been in touch much. Not since I was fostered out, you know?'

'Right. Yeah. What about your foster mum? She seemed ok.'

'Yeah. I got on with her alright. We talked on the phone the other week, as it goes.'

We eat some more.

I watch him when I hope he's too busy eating to notice; his black hair falling over his forehead, the way his eyelashes seem to tremble when he blinks, they're so long.

He pushes his plate away, empty.

'Did you get your report finished then?'

'Oh. Yes. It wasn't too bad, actually. I got in early and skipped going out at lunchtime, so I got it all done.'

'But you ate lunch?'

'Yes! I took something into work, don't fuss.'

He raises both hands to me in a gesture of surrender.

'Just asking. I'm a nurse. I look after people.' He smiles. 'Anyway - you're getting more sleep here than at Becca's?'

Raising his eyebrows at me.

'Oh, Paul told you about that, did he?'

He nods.

'You know Becca. It's always lust at first sight.'

'I do. No, not in that way,' he's raising his hands in that gesture of surrender again, as I give him a look.

'She went through most of you lot, didn't she?'

'I don't know about that. Some, yes.'

He's got that nervous look about him again, and I wonder what I've said wrong

'I'll wash up,' I say, and get up from the table.

++++++++++

I wake up early the next morning. Samir's bedroom door is shut, no signs of life emanating from within. I decide to go for a run. Which is good, until the last ten minutes, when the heavens open and it pours down with rain. I'm drenched in seconds. And then it gets worse when I can't find the keys and have to buzz up to the flat from the street.

'Samir. Sorry. It's me. I must've left my keys behind.'

He buzzes me in, and is waiting for me at the door to the flat, propping it open with one hand, brushing his teeth with the other.

'Sorry. Did I get you out of bed?'

He's shaking his head, but his eyes seem to be all over me. He's not moving out of the way, either, so I have to brush past him to get inside, shivering at the contact. That seems to snap him out of it, whatever it is, and he's in the bathroom spitting toothpaste into the sink. Which means I'm watching him. I shake my head at myself - this is getting out of hand.

Standing out on the little balcony to cool down, I drink water and talk to myself.

This is Samir, I remind myself. We were at school together. He's sharing a flat with my big brother. He's a nurse. None of these facts are helping to explain why I'm getting so hot and flustered when he's around me. Where's that come from, all of a sudden? And then I remember the pressure of his thumb on my lip last night.

Ok, so here's the thing. I've had a couple of boyfriends, but I felt nothing like the desire for either of them I'm feeling for Samir. Really? Yes, really. Samir? Big, quiet, gentle Samir? I exhale loudly, blowing my cheeks out, lean out over the balustrade and feel the rain smacking down onto the back of my head.

'Bathroom's free.'

I jerk my head upright, turn round, and he's standing there, rubbing his wet hair with a towel, looking for all the world like he's about to burst into laughter at me.

'Uh. Ok, thanks.'

'You look good wet.'

And he's turned his back on me, walking down the hall to his bedroom. Maybe to put some more clothes on, as he's still just in boxers. I hope so. I can't take it. The way those hips swing as he walks. And another week until I move out of here. Sleeping was difficult last night after dinner. Too much imagination.

I giggle to myself. Aloud. Exhale again, and decide a cold shower might be a good idea. Shivering under the jets of water, I decide the only way is to be as direct with Samir as I can. Hopefully without embarrassing him. Or me. Get it out there, in the open. And then we'll know.

I'm clean, dry, dressed and it's stopped raining, so when I find him standing in the kitchen staring into the fridge, I ask him if he's got plans for the day.

'No. I was going to maybe take a run later.' He closes the fridge. 'Actually, I was going to ask you if you wanted to go for a run with me, but you've already been. Paul said you'd taken up running.'

'Did he?' I narrow my eyes.

'Yes.'

'Huh. Well anyway, it's stopped raining and the sun's out again. How about walking up to that festival in the park, see if it's any good? I ran past it this morning. It's free.'

'Ok.' He's smiling again.

'Good.' I turn back to find my keys, feeling glad we can get out of the flat. It feels claustrophobic in here. I glance at my phone, see I've missed a message from Paul from late last night. I swipe at the screen.

'How was dinner?! Was he good to you?'

I frown, wondering what he meant to type since it's obviously an autocorrect jumble, as that last question doesn't make much sense.

'What is it?' Samir's asking me, but I shake my head and put the phone in my pocket. Then take it out again and type a message back.

'Dinner was good. You're right - Samir can really cook!'

We're walking along the street, when I decide to go for it.

'Samir, do you remember when you rescued me from those bullies at school?'

He turns his amber eyes on me, slowing right down so that I have to stop walking too.

'Yes.'

'Hmm. Well I don't think I ever really thanked you for doing that. I mean, you did it more than once didn't you?'

He's nodding, still looking a bit wary, though. I take another breath.

'Did you like me at school?'

He's looking at me like I've laid a trap for him. And now I feel like a fool. I'm rooted to the spot, not really knowing what to do now and start to turn away, but he stops me with a hand on my shoulder.

'Yes. I really liked you at school.'

'Oh!' The butterflies are back in my belly. 'But you didn't do anything about it.'

He blinks, his eyelashes flicking up and down.

'Too shy?'

He blinks some more. And then finally; 'No. I mean - yes. Obviously too shy to ask you out back then. But there was an exclusion zone around you, you know.'

'What do you mean?' Now I'm confused.

'Paul! You don't know how he warned all of us off you?'

'What? I mean - no! What? I know he was pretty protective over me but -,'

'No, it was more than that. We weren't allowed to get anywhere near you, he was very clear about that.'

I fold my arms, trying to absorb what Samir's saying.

'Huh. Well, bloody hell. No wonder I never had a boyfriend at school.'

'There was a queue - or would've been, if Paul hadn't been gatekeeping.'

'Don't be silly. A queue?'

He's smiling at me.

'Definitely! You were one of the prettiest girls at school, Stella!'

I frown at him. And then I remember Samir taking Paul's call last night.

'Wait. Is that what Paul was saying last night to you? On the phone? Because he can't do that. I'm not his baby sister anymore.'

'Wait, Stella, hold on.' His hand is tighter over my shoulder.

I hold my breath.

'Yes, Paul asked me about you. He wanted to know you were ok because he worries about you, how you don't always ask for help when you need it.'

I open my mouth to protest, but he's really squeezing my shoulder now.

'And he wanted to know why I was cooking dinner for you, and I told him it really wasn't any of his business, but even if it was, he had nothing to worry about because I'm only ever going to treat you right.'

I lean back on my heels a little bit. I don't know what to say.

'Treat me right?' I finally manage to repeat.

He's tipping his head to one side, like he did last night over dinner.

'You're going to treat me right?'

And there, his eyes are doing that dancing thing.

'I'd like to, Stella.'

'Would you?'

He nods.

'But?'

He looks uncomfortable again.

'Come on, Samir, spit it out. You've been blowing hot and cold on me all week, so what's the 'but'?'

He drops his hand away from my shoulder, and I regret it.

'It just didn't feel right to do anything while you're staying in the flat. In case you didn't want me to. And then you'd feel really uncomfortable with me there.'

'You were going to wait until I'd moved out?'

He nods again.

'Samir! Oh my God I'm so annoyed with you. I couldn't work out if you liked me or not.'

I'm engulfed in a hug that nearly lifts me off the ground. When he lets me go, we carry on walking, but he takes my hand in his.

We wander around the festival in the park for a while, eat from one of the food trucks, until it starts to rain again. We run to the nearest pub, laughing by the time we get there, and it's the second time today I'm wet through.