Chapter 3

“Hell, I’d try the old three finger fiddle with some woman but I like the pecker too much.”

“She’s a great friend,” I finally replied, “my best friend but I’d be too worried about driving a wedge between Annie and her mother.”

“Mom?” Laura stared at me, “God, mom wouldn’t give a damn these days. You should have seen the fallout when she sided with Zara. She was getting rape threats from so called Christians, she still believes in God but hasn’t found a church that suits her,” she put her lipstick back into her bag.

“If you and Annie hit it off then I’d say that’s your business entirely. Mom will be the least of your worries, trust me.”

She glanced at the receipt on the tray, “thanks for springing for dinner, if you ever skip over the pond it’s my treat,” she fixed me with a steady smile.

“Of course,” I straightened up as Annie came out of the toilet, “my turn.”

Her words seem to hang in the air as I went to the toilet. I hadn’t been completely honest with her but that was because she’d taken me by surprise with that information about Annie. So, she’d been out with a gay woman? I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I was in my middle thirties, a few years older than Annie with long blonde hair and a slim figure. When I was younger I thought of having children, it was one of those things we argued about when I was married. I wanted to start a family but he was happy to just wait.

I undid the bun and letting my hair fall free, I started brushing it. Annie’s sudden decision to just dye her hair was unusual. She was a woman who thought before she opened her mouth, much like myself, when I’m sober! Despite Laura’s comments I wasn’t about to make a move on Annie and that had a lot to do with my state of mind at the time. I was just enjoying the chance to be with someone without wondering if we were going to have sex afterwards. The only option that made sense in the end was to just keep going with our arrangement.

However, I was still curious because Annie hadn’t mentioned Nina. I had no idea what things were like between them and I wasn’t sure about raising the issue with her because I was under the impression that Laura had told me something in confidence.

Thankfully I didn’t have to ask the question because Annie did it for me the week after Laura went back to America. We were out walking a path at Slussen that overlooks the Old Town, it’s a popular spot for tourists and couples. Whenever you see a postcard of the Old Town and the Town Hall the picture was probably taken from Slussen.

We’d stopped to sit on a bench and I took the opportunity to have a cigarette. I’m not a regular smoker, I’m one of those disgusting social smokers. I can have two in one night and then nothing for two months or more. I prefer cigarettes to our snus (snuff) because the latter leaves black stains on your teeth and Annie asked me if I’d ever tried it.

“Once, when I was in my last year of high school,” I put the cigarette lighter back in my bag, “it’s the most disgusting habit. I dated a guy in my twenties who used to chew it and I used to refuse to kiss him until he’d brushed his teeth.”

“I’ll bet that killed the moment.”

“It killed more than the moment,” I chuckled, “it killed the relationship, we lasted three weeks and then I told him I was having doubts.”

“You could say that,” I replied, “I didn’t blame the snus, I told him I was doubting my sexuality and he ended it in a heartbeat. He wasn’t a bad guy, he just had bad habits.”

“Not exactly,” I puffed on the cigarette, “I did go out with Birgit for a few weeks, we were good friends and she knew I just needed to make it look like I was gay.”

Annie squinted into the distance for a minute or two.

“I did something similar, before I met Gustav.”

“Yeah, with Nina. This girl I met at Zara’s reception,” she turned back to stare at the railway bridge leading to the Old Town.

“She asked me out and I agreed to go out with her once, just to be polite but then she asked me out again and I just said yes.”

“That doesn’t sound like the Annie I know,” I took another puff, “no checklist?”

“No, nothing, although to be honest I didn’t have one for women, just men. I think that’s why it went on for six weeks. We never did anything together, I was her straight girlfriend and she was my gay best friend but if she’d come onto me I don’t think I would have resisted. It was,” she frowned and flicked at her jeans.

“Alluring,” she glanced at me, “what’s the Swedish word for that?”

“Lockande,” I replied, “or you could say förförisk,” I grinned.

“We nearly slept together,” Annie replied.

“Ja,” she inclined her head, “we had kissed a couple of times but I was always careful to keep it to a peck on the cheek, not a sexual thing if you know what I mean.”

“So, what stopped you?”

“It was silly at the time,” she looked past me, “I didn’t want to be like Zara and even though mom had accepted her sexual preference I still felt a little put off by it. Maybe I’m more like mom than I thought,” she finished suddenly.

“Well there is nothing wrong with stepping back from the edge,” I replied.

“You and I go out for fika but we don’t take it further,” I continued, “and that is fine for me, taking it further is always risky.”

“Yeah, I know,” she replied a moment or two later, “but it’s on my mind, I feel as if I’m holding out on you.”

“On me?” I stared at her, “do not think that for a moment. We are friends not friends with benefits.”

“So, what would you look for in a woman?”

I raised an eyebrow at that and she smiled crookedly.

“Sorry, my bad, you don’t have to answer that question.”

I took another couple of puffs before answering.

“She would have to respect my boundaries, I am not looking for a partner to move into my place, but I don’t want to feel, what is the word for a fear of closed spaces?”

“That is the word, the Swedish word is quite similar but I value my own privacy and I also value other people’s privacy too.”

“Me too,” she leaned back against the seat and narrowed her eyes, “God, it’s magical out here.”

“I know,” I rose and stretched, “I love it out here, I used to hate it because it brought back memories of Bjorn, a guy I went out with when I was eighteen,” I turned around and put my back against the railing.

“We used to snuggle here and we also broke up here.”

“He wanted to move to Indonesia but I wanted to live in Scotland. He thought I would just follow him halfway across the world but it was not to be and so we broke up just a hundred metres down there,” I pointed down the path.

“I cried for a couple of days and then realised that I’d actually done the right thing because he slept with someone else and took her to Indonesia with him,” I grinned.

“She came back to Sweden after six months swearing that he was a total control freak. He was never like that with me but I was taller and had an older brother who was a policeman.”

She rose and joined me at the railing. We stood silently for a couple of minutes and then she spoke quietly.

“What are you doing on Friday night?”

“Nothing at the moment. Why? Are you asking me out on a date?”

“Maybe,” she glanced at me briefly, “I’ve been thinking of going out for dinner. Laura bought me a voucher for dinner for two. I kind of thought of Marcus, this guy I know at work but it would be a shame to waste it on him.”

“So, we go out for dinner on Friday night?”

“Would you like to?” Annie stared down the steep slope, “I’d totally understand if you said no.”

“Okay,” I replied, “we’ll go out for dinner.”

Nonetheless, despite my answer I found myself battling with doubts and fears. I know it sounds as if I’m being pedantic but my life is highly compartmentalised. It’s a well documented aspect of life in Scandinavian countries and I’m speaking generally but we are highly organised, to the point that we can find the most subtle changes exciting or testing, depending on your outlook.

With that in mind, Annie was first and foremost, my straight friend, and I had become used to thinking of her in those terms and yet I couldn’t deny that I found her attractive and I was not her only admirer. Several of my friends had also remarked that she was a beautiful woman and a few had asked why we weren’t together.

The answer is a little more complicated because as I mentioned before my life is quite structured, I am a slave to routine and Annie had become part of my weekly schedule. I enjoyed meeting her for coffee and found myself looking forward to it halfway through the day. On the one occasion she had to cancel at the last minute because of work commitments I felt deflated. What would it be like if we were involved?

I still didn’t have an answer on Friday morning as I left for work. Mariette noticed I looked tense and asked me about it over lunch. I tried to shrug it off but she’s one of those people who seems able to peel back the layers.

“I am going out for dinner with Annie,” I finally told her.

“Oh ho,” she smiled, “so, you are finally taking the plunge.”

“I am not thinking that is a good way of putting it,” I peered at her over the rim of my coffee cup, “we are friends.”

“What are you most afraid of?”

“What if it doesn’t work out? I am gay, she is straight, well maybe questioning but if it doesn’t work out what then? I will have lost a friend.”

“Then she was not such a good friend I think,” Mariette leaned on her elbows, “I do not agree with everything my friends believe but we are still friends. I agree you should not sleep with all of your friends, I would not have enough hours in the week to have sex with them but if your friendship is strong then that is a good start. What makes you think she is not thinking the same thing? You are going out for dinner, not dinner and sex. If it happens then you will have the talk and if not then you had a night out with your best friend.”

Had someone else said that to me I might have had a decent response but Mariette has a logical mind that always thinks of the next step forward. For her, there are no insurmountable problems, there are obstacles and blind alleys, and you have to find your way around or through them. She was right of course, I had been so fixated on the after dinner entertainment that I had elevated that aspect to a level that can have significant fallout if you’re not careful.

I chose my outfit with a little more attention to detail that night. I’ve always liked white, so I wore a white blouse with a black, knee-length skirt with an elasticised waistband, black boots and a black leather belt. Along with the cream-coloured overcoat and matching beret, it gave me a modernised beatnik look. I was not entirely sure about the outfit until Annie opened the door and took a step back for a better look.

“Du är vacker,” she smiled, which translates to, ‘you are beautiful.’

“So are you,” I ran my eyes over her outfit.

“Are you in fancy dress?”

“It is a special occasion,” her eyes shifted, “is it too strong?”

I ran another eye over her outfit. She had also chosen a white blouse and that colour theme had continued to the white bowtie, white trousers, white waistcoat and white jacket. The only black items were the belt and her shoes.

“You remind me of Marlene Dietrich,” I finally spoke up, “I have a poster of her in my bedroom.”