A Taste of Passion. Ashley Lister
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know his exact age but she was sure he was at least twice her age. She suspected that one of her friends or one of his would likely say something judgemental about the huge disparity between their ages. Trudy cringed from the idea of that potential argument.
There were other potential barriers to their happiness such as their different social situations and world experiences. But it was the difference in their ages that she knew would prove most problematic. Nevertheless, she did want an opportunity to get to know him better and, Trudy thought, if the opportunity didn’t present itself, she would find a way to force circumstances so she could get to know him better.
For the first time that morning she felt a smile creep across her lips.
She realised she was already planning a way to address the matter.
The embarrassment of what she had done was diminished by the prospect of how it could be potentially developed. She tilted her head upwards and felt the weight of unnecessary tension slip from her neck. She’d had no idea that the concerns had been weighing on her like a milkmaid’s yoke.
A hand fell on her arm.
Trudy shrieked and pulled away. She lost her footing and came close to falling over. A strong hand caught her forearm and stopped her from tumbling to the ground. She felt a wrench pulling on her shoulder harsh enough to make her moan.
‘Slow down,’ Charlotte warned. ‘You need to be careful on this stretch of the run. The ground here is positively lethal.’
Trudy regained her balance. She tugged one of the buds from her ear and the loud music of the day was suddenly split in two. From one ear she could hear heavy metal. From the other there were the tentative calls of the morning’s first bird song and the sound of her own startled breathing. She pushed the brim of her cap upward so she could see her friend.
Charlotte was dressed in an immaculate navy blue running outfit, trimmed with white and scarlet piping. As always, she looked golden. Even without make-up she looked bright-eyed and fresh-faced. Her brown eyes were clear and there was only a small V of concern creasing her brow. Her retroussé nose was wrinkled as she assessed Trudy.
‘What the hell are you doing out here?’ Charlotte demanded. ‘Are you taking on the quad killer?’
Trudy shrugged and then nodded. She didn’t trust herself to speak. If she did open her mouth she was fearful she would blurt, ‘I fucked William Hart!’
Charlotte’s eyebrows inched upward as she waited for a response.
Trudy nodded again and then looked away.
‘Take it slowly and I’ll come with you,’ Charlotte said. ‘It’s been a while since I’ve done the quad killer. It’s probably been six months or more.’ There was a knowing smirk in her voice as she added, ‘Didn’t we last do this run just after you broke up with Peter? Or did it happen after I introduced you to Terry?’
Trudy didn’t bother replying. She guessed Charlotte was trying to make a point. She turned down the volume on her MP3 player and left one earbud out. Slowing her pace she began to tackle the run without the hasty and manic energy she had been previously employing. The lack of swift progress struck her as maddening.
‘You missed a great night,’ Charlotte said, falling into step beside her.
Trudy did not respond. She had wanted to avoid Charlotte this morning. There was a strong danger Charlotte might ask questions that Trudy didn’t want to answer. Now she was here, Trudy thought it was best to let her friend chatter on in the fragmented way she always used when they were running together.
‘We went into town. Caught up with the class. Maybe half of them.’ Her speech fell into the rhythmic pattern of her sprint through the woodland trail. Her sing-song tones made the banalities of mundane conversation seem almost musical. ‘Just a few of us. Gemma and Daryl. Wendy and Henry. They were in Stanzas.’
Trudy nodded. She knew they had been planning to finish the night at Stanzas. Somehow that seemed appropriate. Stanzas was the local nightclub most frequently favoured by university students. Cheap beer and a reputation for tolerated decadence made it the essential place to visit off campus. She had spent several nights in Stanzas throughout the duration of her degree. Most of the memories were good ones. On any other occasion she might have smiled at the mention of Stanzas.
This morning she didn’t feel like smiling. Not whilst she was in Charlotte’s presence. There was always a danger that Charlotte might read something from a smile. Something that Trudy wanted to keep hidden.
She quickened her pace.
Charlotte tapped her shoulder and silently gestured for Trudy to slow down. ‘Donny pulled Gemma,’ Charlotte said. She didn’t add the word ‘again’. Trudy didn’t think there was any need for her to say the word. She could hear the note of reproof underscoring Charlotte’s voice.
Charlotte went on quickly. Trudy thought her friend was hurrying to speak before she said something that exposed her true feelings about the shameless fuckbuddy relationship shared by Donny and Gemma.
‘Two lecturers came. One got Wendy drunk.’
‘Which lecturer?’
Trudy wasn’t really interested but she figured, if she asked some questions about events in Stanzas, it would keep the focus away from what had occurred at Boui-Boui. More specifically, she hoped it would keep the focus away from what had occurred between her and William Hart.
‘Professor Simmonds.’ Charlotte sounded aghast. ‘It’s so disgusting. He’s in his thirties. He bought Wendy beer. He’s such an old lech. He plied her with –’
‘There’s only two years between them,’ Trudy broke in.
Charlotte snorted. ‘Are you sure of that?’
Trudy remembered Wendy mentioning it before their finals. Wendy had fancied Simmonds since the first year of their studies. Out of respect for him, and because she didn’t want to make things professionally awkward for the lecturer, Wendy had kept her distance. But, Trudy supposed, now that the woman had graduated and Simmonds was no longer her professor, Wendy was perfectly entitled to share a beer or more with the man. At the back of her mind she privately hoped that Wendy and Simmonds would get together and be very happy.
She liked to see people happy.
‘I’m sure of that,’ Trudy said flatly. ‘There’s two years between them.’
Charlotte jogged beside her in silence for a moment. ‘Still think it’s creepy,’ she said eventually. ‘If it is two years –’
‘Which it is.’
‘He seems more mature. A lot more mature.’
Trudy threw an extra effort into running. She didn’t want to hear any of this. Not this morning. She had wanted the solitude of the demanding quad killer. She had wanted the distraction of a muscle-searing, energy-depleting workout. She had wanted to lose herself in the exertion and excitement of pushing herself too hard and too far. She hadn’t wanted to listen to Charlotte passing judgement on what was wrong with every relationship that had begun last night.
‘Pete was in Stanzas.’
Trudy’s shoulders slumped. Great. Now it was time to have the conversation about her ex. She gritted her teeth and forced her tone to sound indifferent. ‘How was Peter?’
‘Dating a first year. What’s wrong with these men? Are they all perverts? Screwing young women.’
Trudy stopped running and rounded on Charlotte. Finally, she understood.
‘How did you know?’
Charlotte came to a halt and laughed. The mirth was made