Very, Very Carefully
Part 6
John rang the bell of Alex's flat. He was late because he'd been waiting on the delivery of some furniture; a bed for himself and also a sofa, the kind that folded out into an extra bed, which he'd bought in case Alex ever wanted or needed to stay the night. And of course the delivery men hadn't come until the very last minute. Alex must have been waiting for him, because she buzzed him in almost immediately, and was standing in the open doorway when he came up the stairs. He noticed right away that her hair was longer, and she dressed slightly more conservatively than she had before she'd started uni – or maybe it was just a concession to the weather.
"Dad," she said, and gave him a hug. He stiffened and couldn't quite suppress a gasp when her arms squeezed the healing welts on his back, and affected his other injuries as well. Letting go, she stepped back and looked up into his face. "Are you hurt again?"
"Just a little bit," he said, forcing a smile as he started to take off his jacket. He'd already decided how much he could tell her, if she asked, but she didn't seem to want details, merely asked, "So, are you on medical leave, or are you going off on your next mission soon?"
"Medical leave," he said. When he'd arrived in England a few days ago, he'd been taken straight to a military hospital for yet another check-up, and then a first appointment with Layla's "very good therapist." The female psychologist already confirmed his suspicions that he wouldn't be allowed back on active duty until he'd completed a course of therapy to her satisfaction, and worse yet, she had even indicated it might be months rather than weeks. Trying to keep his tone light, John added, "I thought maybe we could use the time, do something together?"
"Oh, just let me get the pie out of the oven before it burns," Alex said, and dashed into the kitchen. John followed, and saw immediately that the oven was no longer on, though it was still warm. "That smells good."
"I signed up for a cookery course," Alex said, pulling out a large pan. As she put it on the table, she announced, "This is what we learned last week; vegetarian shepherd's pie."
"Oh," John said, and Alex laughed a little at his unenthusiastic tone of voice. "Dad, it tastes good!"
"It'll taste better than hospital food, anyway," John replied.
"Budge up, Dad, you're in the way," Alex said, bumping into him as she leaned over to get something out of the fridge. "Here, put this on the table, please."
"This" turned out to be a large bowl of salad. John picked out a slice of cucumber and popped it into his mouth as he sat down. Opening a bottle of sparkling water, Alex said, "I saw that."
"What?" he teased, and to his surprise, Alex stopped and said slowly, "You used to do that to Mum, didn't you, when you were living at home?"
"Yeah," he said, smiling as he reminisced. "We had some good times in the kitchen when you were a kid; me testing the food, your mum whacking me round the knuckles with a spoon. I didn't think you'd remember."
Alex smiled wistfully. "I didn't, not until now, anyway. But speaking of spoons –"
She turned back to the counter to get one, then asked suddenly, "Do you miss her?"
"Not so much anymore," John said, and when his daughter's face crumpled, he added, "We were apart for so long, Lexi, I got used to living without her. But at the beginning, yeah, I missed her every day. Now, I have fond memories of her, but I still miss you."
Alex scowled a little. "Dad, it's Alex, remember? I'm not a little girl anymore."
"Sorry. Alex." John indicated the food. "Are we eating now?"
Despite the lack of meat, the pie tasted good, so good in fact that John ate more of it than he'd planned, and scarcely had room for dessert. They'd already spoken about Alex's course at university and other, more trivial things, and when they'd had finished their ice cream, John decided he could raise a certain subject again. "So, Alex, are you free this weekend to do something with your old dad?"
Alex frowned. "Oh, Dad, I've already made arrangements for the weekend."
"What arrangements?"
"Oh, you know, friends and stuff." Alex looked away.
"Right," John said, feeling the familiar twinge of disappointment even though he'd tried not to hope for too much. "No problem. Tell you what, I'll take a cookery course, too, and invite you over when I've learned to make steak and kidney pie."
"Dad, yuck!" Alex laughed.
"Chicken tikka masala?" he teased, and she wrinkled her nose again. Just then, the doorbell rang.
"Are you expecting anybody?" John asked.
"No," she said slowly, not looking at him as she got up. At first, John waited at the table, but when he heard a male voice he stood up as well and looked out into the hall. Alex was standing in the doorway, enthusiastically kissing a young man, and didn't notice him eavesdropping. Eventually, she disengaged her lips, if not her body, and murmured, "Oh, Brandon, I told you not to come until later."
"It is later," the young man said, leaning in for another flurry of kisses. "Do you want me to wait in the bedroom until he leaves?"
"No—" Alex started to respond to his kisses, but then her eyes flicked to where John was watching them, and she stepped back hastily. "Dad! Um, this is Brandon. Brandon, this is my dad."
"Hello, Brandon," John said, and Brandon let go of Alex to shake hands. "Hello, Mr Porter. I'm sorry to interrupt; I can leave and come back later."
"No, it's my fault, I got here late," John said. "And I was just going now, anyway."
He half-hoped that Alex would protest, but instead, he saw relief in her eyes as she said, "Yeah … I'll call you, Dad."
His daughter was in a relationship – having sex! – and, to judge by her body language, was probably waiting impatiently to get rid of him so that she could have even more sex. John grabbed his jacket. He wanted to grab Brandon instead and threaten him about ever hurting Alex, but he knew the difference between consensual sex and r—assault. Besides, Alex had looked so radiant during the kiss that he knew she'd never forgive him if he ruined the moment. Forcing himself to figuratively lower his weapons instead, he leaned over to give Alex a quick hug and said quietly, "I hope you're happy, love, and you can always come to me if you ever need anything."
Alex gave him a slightly sceptical look and he added, "I'll be there for you, no matter what. Trust me."
"Okay, dad," she said, and gave him one of her rare genuine smiles.
He smiled back, and kissed her on the cheek. "See ya, love. Nice meeting you, Brandon."
Outside, he glanced up at the flat where the light in the kitchen was now off and a dimmer light in the other room was now on. He could still hear Alex's voice as she said, I'm not a little girl anymore and Budge up, Dad, you're in the way.
And as hard as it was for him to accept, she was right on both counts.
+++++
John didn't realize it until he was outside, but it was something of a relief to be out of the presence of such physically affectionate people. He knew exactly why he felt awkward about it, but that didn't help the feeling go away. Remembering the one single person with whom he now felt entirely comfortable, John pulled a piece of paper out of his wallet, then took out his phone and dialled the number that Steve had given him.
"Hello?" It was a male voice, and John remembered that Steve had wanted to visit her father.
"Hi, my name's John Porter, I was hoping to speak to Alexandra Kehoe," John said. There was a pause, and he added, "We met in Nigeria."
"I'll see if she's in," Mr Kehoe said stiffly. There were muffled voices in the background, a bit of scuffling, and then Steve exclaimed in delight, "Andy!"
"Steve," he said, smiling in response to her tone even though she couldn't see him. "Listen, I was wondering if I could come down and walk on the beach with you?"
"To-night?" she asked hopefully, then lowered her voice. "My dad's already driving me crazy."
"And I'm trying not to drive my daughter crazy," John replied. "I've got an appointment in the morning, but I can come in the afternoon, how's that?"
"I've got an appointment in the morning, too, but I think I can hold out until you get here," Steve said. "I'm looking forward to it already."
"Me, too," said John.
+++++
In the train, a group of black youths entered John's carriage, talking and laughing. Their London accents, their clothes, their scent, their youth, everything was different from the soldiers in Port Harcourt, but John still felt himself tense up at the sight. He forced himself to look away, out of the window, but his entire body remained on alert anyway; listening, smelling, feeling the currents in the air as the boys went by. It's all right, he told himself. They weren't the ones. They have no reason to attack, and even if they do, you can take them down and they'll never even see it coming.
But he didn't relax until a long time after they'd gone through to the next carriage.
After he'd got off the train, it took him a few moments to recognize the young woman on the platform smiling in his direction, and only when she said, "Andy!" did he realize it was Steve. She'd cut her hair almost military-short and it had given her an entirely new look. He smiled back, not immediately forgetting the scare in the train, but feeling it lessen in her presence, then strode over to where she stood.
"Handshake … or hedgehog?" she offered.
John took a moment to consider, and just as she was visibly deciding that he would probably prefer a handshake and was starting to put out one hand, he grinned and said, "Hedgehog."
They embraced as carefully as they had in the hospital. It felt good, John thought, even through their bulky jackets. Steve's hair smelled good, too; clean and faintly floral. He took a deep sniff to dispel the memory of the more aggressively masculine scent of the youths on the train, and said, "You look so different."
"My hair, you mean? That was my appointment this morning, getting it cut. I couldn't stand it anymore, having it long. I almost wanted to shave it all off, really, except that people would stare." She glanced up at him as they stepped back from their embrace.
"It looks good," he said, nodding with approval and understanding.
"Thank you," Steve said. "Oh, if you haven't already booked a hotel, Dad said you could stay with us."
"I haven't booked anything yet," John said. "But I wouldn't want to disturb you or your dad in case I don't sleep well, or anything."
"Oh, that's all right, I have trouble sleeping, too, and he's probably used to it by now. Also, he's going a bit deaf, though he doesn't want to admit it, so he might not hear anything anyway," Steve said. Glancing at John's duffel bag, she said, "That looks very army-like."
John smiled, and she continued, "Well, come on, let's put that in the car, then we can walk on the beach and work up an appetite."
They walked side by side on the promenade, not touching, hardly talking, but comfortable in each other's presence. John wondered if Steve were thinking about the incident as well. It was hard not to, especially when he didn't have anything else to think about. He'd mentioned it that morning to the psychologist, and she'd asked, "How do you feel about that?"
"I don't like thinking about it," he'd finally admitted. "And when I start to, I just tell myself that I did what I had to do so they wouldn't hurt Steve. I let them … It was just another kind of torture."
"Is that how you feel about it? That it was basically the same as being whipped?" the woman had asked. "Or being waterboarded?"
John hadn't met her eye, and had finally murmured, "No." After a long silence, he'd glanced up, however, and added, "But it was still my choice. I still let them. I could have fought back, I could have endangered the mission."
"Yes, you could have," the psychologist had agreed.
"Yeah, well, before you ask me again how I feel about it, I'll tell you," John had offered, a little too fast. "I feel proud. I feel like I did my duty."
The psychologist had waited, and before he'd known he was going to, John had said, "Steve asked if it bothered me. I didn't tell her yes. I told her that it's just pain, that pain goes away eventually."
Now, John recognised the same conflicting feelings. He was able to identify a sense of true satisfaction that he'd succeeeded at his mission of rescuing Steve and keeping her in one piece. At the same time, however, he also felt anger at what he'd had to go through to achieve his objective. He'd been theoretically aware of the possibility of rape, but it had never happened to him before, not on any of his missions, and he'd had no reason to believe it wouldn't pass by him again. Pride comes before a fall, he recalled wryly, but he hadn't been so much proud as simply confident in his abilities.
His confidence had been severely shaken, however, in a way that he'd never experienced after any other form of torture, and he'd finally admitted that to the psychologist, too.
"It's not just pain," he'd said, looking away. "It's worse, but …"
"But?" she'd finally prompted, when the silence had gone on long enough.
"I knew it was the right thing to do, but I hated it," John had finally admitted. "They said – they said I liked it, that I wanted more, because I – because –"
He'd stopped, and the psychologist had gently completed his sentence. "Because your body reacted to the stimulus?"
He hadn't been able to look up as renewed shame washed over him.
"It wasn't you who reacted, it was your body," the psychologist had reassured him. "Reflexes like that have nothing to do with emotions. When a doctor hits your knee with a little hammer, your leg jerks, no matter if you like that doctor or not. This is the same. Your body was simply doing what it was designed to do."
"They told us something like that might happen," John had said. "In training. But it was all so theoretical. Nobody wanted to think it could happen to them, so we didn't really listen. We knew they wouldn't go that far, not even during the interrogation phase."
The psychologist had simply waited for him to continue, and eventually, John had.
"I hated it," he'd repeated. "I wanted it to stop – I didn't want to – to react – and I wished – I wished I'd let them shoot Steve!"
"Do you still wish that?" the woman had asked, and he'd shaken his head.
"Wait up!"
Jerked back into the present, John looked around, and finally spotted Steve jogging to catch up with him. He must have strode off and left her behind without even noticing. Watching her move, he felt a sudden sense of shame that he'd ever wished for her to get shot. But he hadn't allowed it, he reminded himself. He'd only thought it, and very fleetingly at that. Out here, seeing her in the flesh, capable of using both legs and even smiling, he could also feel satisfaction at having fulfilled his mission. It had been hard to do the right thing, but he'd managed it. He could feel proud. It was justified.
"Sorry." He smiled apologetically as she finally drew level. "I was just thinking."
"Yeah, me, too," she replied. "Then suddenly I looked up, and you were halfway to Herne Bay!"
Just then, the first drops of rain started to fall, and John asked, "What's closer, then, Herne Bay or the car?"
"Hmm, it's a toss-up," Steve replied with a quick smile.
On the way back, they both walked as fast as they could, but the rain was so torrential that they were both soaked by the time they got to the shelter of the car.
Part 7
"Dad," she said, and gave him a hug. He stiffened and couldn't quite suppress a gasp when her arms squeezed the healing welts on his back, and affected his other injuries as well. Letting go, she stepped back and looked up into his face. "Are you hurt again?"
"Just a little bit," he said, forcing a smile as he started to take off his jacket. He'd already decided how much he could tell her, if she asked, but she didn't seem to want details, merely asked, "So, are you on medical leave, or are you going off on your next mission soon?"
"Medical leave," he said. When he'd arrived in England a few days ago, he'd been taken straight to a military hospital for yet another check-up, and then a first appointment with Layla's "very good therapist." The female psychologist already confirmed his suspicions that he wouldn't be allowed back on active duty until he'd completed a course of therapy to her satisfaction, and worse yet, she had even indicated it might be months rather than weeks. Trying to keep his tone light, John added, "I thought maybe we could use the time, do something together?"
"Oh, just let me get the pie out of the oven before it burns," Alex said, and dashed into the kitchen. John followed, and saw immediately that the oven was no longer on, though it was still warm. "That smells good."
"I signed up for a cookery course," Alex said, pulling out a large pan. As she put it on the table, she announced, "This is what we learned last week; vegetarian shepherd's pie."
"Oh," John said, and Alex laughed a little at his unenthusiastic tone of voice. "Dad, it tastes good!"
"It'll taste better than hospital food, anyway," John replied.
"Budge up, Dad, you're in the way," Alex said, bumping into him as she leaned over to get something out of the fridge. "Here, put this on the table, please."
"This" turned out to be a large bowl of salad. John picked out a slice of cucumber and popped it into his mouth as he sat down. Opening a bottle of sparkling water, Alex said, "I saw that."
"What?" he teased, and to his surprise, Alex stopped and said slowly, "You used to do that to Mum, didn't you, when you were living at home?"
"Yeah," he said, smiling as he reminisced. "We had some good times in the kitchen when you were a kid; me testing the food, your mum whacking me round the knuckles with a spoon. I didn't think you'd remember."
Alex smiled wistfully. "I didn't, not until now, anyway. But speaking of spoons –"
She turned back to the counter to get one, then asked suddenly, "Do you miss her?"
"Not so much anymore," John said, and when his daughter's face crumpled, he added, "We were apart for so long, Lexi, I got used to living without her. But at the beginning, yeah, I missed her every day. Now, I have fond memories of her, but I still miss you."
Alex scowled a little. "Dad, it's Alex, remember? I'm not a little girl anymore."
"Sorry. Alex." John indicated the food. "Are we eating now?"
Despite the lack of meat, the pie tasted good, so good in fact that John ate more of it than he'd planned, and scarcely had room for dessert. They'd already spoken about Alex's course at university and other, more trivial things, and when they'd had finished their ice cream, John decided he could raise a certain subject again. "So, Alex, are you free this weekend to do something with your old dad?"
Alex frowned. "Oh, Dad, I've already made arrangements for the weekend."
"What arrangements?"
"Oh, you know, friends and stuff." Alex looked away.
"Right," John said, feeling the familiar twinge of disappointment even though he'd tried not to hope for too much. "No problem. Tell you what, I'll take a cookery course, too, and invite you over when I've learned to make steak and kidney pie."
"Dad, yuck!" Alex laughed.
"Chicken tikka masala?" he teased, and she wrinkled her nose again. Just then, the doorbell rang.
"Are you expecting anybody?" John asked.
"No," she said slowly, not looking at him as she got up. At first, John waited at the table, but when he heard a male voice he stood up as well and looked out into the hall. Alex was standing in the doorway, enthusiastically kissing a young man, and didn't notice him eavesdropping. Eventually, she disengaged her lips, if not her body, and murmured, "Oh, Brandon, I told you not to come until later."
"It is later," the young man said, leaning in for another flurry of kisses. "Do you want me to wait in the bedroom until he leaves?"
"No—" Alex started to respond to his kisses, but then her eyes flicked to where John was watching them, and she stepped back hastily. "Dad! Um, this is Brandon. Brandon, this is my dad."
"Hello, Brandon," John said, and Brandon let go of Alex to shake hands. "Hello, Mr Porter. I'm sorry to interrupt; I can leave and come back later."
"No, it's my fault, I got here late," John said. "And I was just going now, anyway."
He half-hoped that Alex would protest, but instead, he saw relief in her eyes as she said, "Yeah … I'll call you, Dad."
His daughter was in a relationship – having sex! – and, to judge by her body language, was probably waiting impatiently to get rid of him so that she could have even more sex. John grabbed his jacket. He wanted to grab Brandon instead and threaten him about ever hurting Alex, but he knew the difference between consensual sex and r—assault. Besides, Alex had looked so radiant during the kiss that he knew she'd never forgive him if he ruined the moment. Forcing himself to figuratively lower his weapons instead, he leaned over to give Alex a quick hug and said quietly, "I hope you're happy, love, and you can always come to me if you ever need anything."
Alex gave him a slightly sceptical look and he added, "I'll be there for you, no matter what. Trust me."
"Okay, dad," she said, and gave him one of her rare genuine smiles.
He smiled back, and kissed her on the cheek. "See ya, love. Nice meeting you, Brandon."
Outside, he glanced up at the flat where the light in the kitchen was now off and a dimmer light in the other room was now on. He could still hear Alex's voice as she said, I'm not a little girl anymore and Budge up, Dad, you're in the way.
And as hard as it was for him to accept, she was right on both counts.
+++++
John didn't realize it until he was outside, but it was something of a relief to be out of the presence of such physically affectionate people. He knew exactly why he felt awkward about it, but that didn't help the feeling go away. Remembering the one single person with whom he now felt entirely comfortable, John pulled a piece of paper out of his wallet, then took out his phone and dialled the number that Steve had given him.
"Hello?" It was a male voice, and John remembered that Steve had wanted to visit her father.
"Hi, my name's John Porter, I was hoping to speak to Alexandra Kehoe," John said. There was a pause, and he added, "We met in Nigeria."
"I'll see if she's in," Mr Kehoe said stiffly. There were muffled voices in the background, a bit of scuffling, and then Steve exclaimed in delight, "Andy!"
"Steve," he said, smiling in response to her tone even though she couldn't see him. "Listen, I was wondering if I could come down and walk on the beach with you?"
"To-night?" she asked hopefully, then lowered her voice. "My dad's already driving me crazy."
"And I'm trying not to drive my daughter crazy," John replied. "I've got an appointment in the morning, but I can come in the afternoon, how's that?"
"I've got an appointment in the morning, too, but I think I can hold out until you get here," Steve said. "I'm looking forward to it already."
"Me, too," said John.
+++++
In the train, a group of black youths entered John's carriage, talking and laughing. Their London accents, their clothes, their scent, their youth, everything was different from the soldiers in Port Harcourt, but John still felt himself tense up at the sight. He forced himself to look away, out of the window, but his entire body remained on alert anyway; listening, smelling, feeling the currents in the air as the boys went by. It's all right, he told himself. They weren't the ones. They have no reason to attack, and even if they do, you can take them down and they'll never even see it coming.
But he didn't relax until a long time after they'd gone through to the next carriage.
After he'd got off the train, it took him a few moments to recognize the young woman on the platform smiling in his direction, and only when she said, "Andy!" did he realize it was Steve. She'd cut her hair almost military-short and it had given her an entirely new look. He smiled back, not immediately forgetting the scare in the train, but feeling it lessen in her presence, then strode over to where she stood.
"Handshake … or hedgehog?" she offered.
John took a moment to consider, and just as she was visibly deciding that he would probably prefer a handshake and was starting to put out one hand, he grinned and said, "Hedgehog."
They embraced as carefully as they had in the hospital. It felt good, John thought, even through their bulky jackets. Steve's hair smelled good, too; clean and faintly floral. He took a deep sniff to dispel the memory of the more aggressively masculine scent of the youths on the train, and said, "You look so different."
"My hair, you mean? That was my appointment this morning, getting it cut. I couldn't stand it anymore, having it long. I almost wanted to shave it all off, really, except that people would stare." She glanced up at him as they stepped back from their embrace.
"It looks good," he said, nodding with approval and understanding.
"Thank you," Steve said. "Oh, if you haven't already booked a hotel, Dad said you could stay with us."
"I haven't booked anything yet," John said. "But I wouldn't want to disturb you or your dad in case I don't sleep well, or anything."
"Oh, that's all right, I have trouble sleeping, too, and he's probably used to it by now. Also, he's going a bit deaf, though he doesn't want to admit it, so he might not hear anything anyway," Steve said. Glancing at John's duffel bag, she said, "That looks very army-like."
John smiled, and she continued, "Well, come on, let's put that in the car, then we can walk on the beach and work up an appetite."
They walked side by side on the promenade, not touching, hardly talking, but comfortable in each other's presence. John wondered if Steve were thinking about the incident as well. It was hard not to, especially when he didn't have anything else to think about. He'd mentioned it that morning to the psychologist, and she'd asked, "How do you feel about that?"
"I don't like thinking about it," he'd finally admitted. "And when I start to, I just tell myself that I did what I had to do so they wouldn't hurt Steve. I let them … It was just another kind of torture."
"Is that how you feel about it? That it was basically the same as being whipped?" the woman had asked. "Or being waterboarded?"
John hadn't met her eye, and had finally murmured, "No." After a long silence, he'd glanced up, however, and added, "But it was still my choice. I still let them. I could have fought back, I could have endangered the mission."
"Yes, you could have," the psychologist had agreed.
"Yeah, well, before you ask me again how I feel about it, I'll tell you," John had offered, a little too fast. "I feel proud. I feel like I did my duty."
The psychologist had waited, and before he'd known he was going to, John had said, "Steve asked if it bothered me. I didn't tell her yes. I told her that it's just pain, that pain goes away eventually."
Now, John recognised the same conflicting feelings. He was able to identify a sense of true satisfaction that he'd succeeeded at his mission of rescuing Steve and keeping her in one piece. At the same time, however, he also felt anger at what he'd had to go through to achieve his objective. He'd been theoretically aware of the possibility of rape, but it had never happened to him before, not on any of his missions, and he'd had no reason to believe it wouldn't pass by him again. Pride comes before a fall, he recalled wryly, but he hadn't been so much proud as simply confident in his abilities.
His confidence had been severely shaken, however, in a way that he'd never experienced after any other form of torture, and he'd finally admitted that to the psychologist, too.
"It's not just pain," he'd said, looking away. "It's worse, but …"
"But?" she'd finally prompted, when the silence had gone on long enough.
"I knew it was the right thing to do, but I hated it," John had finally admitted. "They said – they said I liked it, that I wanted more, because I – because –"
He'd stopped, and the psychologist had gently completed his sentence. "Because your body reacted to the stimulus?"
He hadn't been able to look up as renewed shame washed over him.
"It wasn't you who reacted, it was your body," the psychologist had reassured him. "Reflexes like that have nothing to do with emotions. When a doctor hits your knee with a little hammer, your leg jerks, no matter if you like that doctor or not. This is the same. Your body was simply doing what it was designed to do."
"They told us something like that might happen," John had said. "In training. But it was all so theoretical. Nobody wanted to think it could happen to them, so we didn't really listen. We knew they wouldn't go that far, not even during the interrogation phase."
The psychologist had simply waited for him to continue, and eventually, John had.
"I hated it," he'd repeated. "I wanted it to stop – I didn't want to – to react – and I wished – I wished I'd let them shoot Steve!"
"Do you still wish that?" the woman had asked, and he'd shaken his head.
"Wait up!"
Jerked back into the present, John looked around, and finally spotted Steve jogging to catch up with him. He must have strode off and left her behind without even noticing. Watching her move, he felt a sudden sense of shame that he'd ever wished for her to get shot. But he hadn't allowed it, he reminded himself. He'd only thought it, and very fleetingly at that. Out here, seeing her in the flesh, capable of using both legs and even smiling, he could also feel satisfaction at having fulfilled his mission. It had been hard to do the right thing, but he'd managed it. He could feel proud. It was justified.
"Sorry." He smiled apologetically as she finally drew level. "I was just thinking."
"Yeah, me, too," she replied. "Then suddenly I looked up, and you were halfway to Herne Bay!"
Just then, the first drops of rain started to fall, and John asked, "What's closer, then, Herne Bay or the car?"
"Hmm, it's a toss-up," Steve replied with a quick smile.
On the way back, they both walked as fast as they could, but the rain was so torrential that they were both soaked by the time they got to the shelter of the car.
Part 7