In his mind, Andrew repeatedly questioned what had happened to alter the course of their evening, in reality though he was finding it hard to hit upon the right words to uncover the mystery. Leaving Cheryl’s coffee on the side, he took his own to the kitchen table and settled into the waiting game. He passed the time by watching the clock, hoping that she would open up and explain why she had gone so cold, without being distant enough to want to leave. Cheryl stood and concentrated on her surroundings – the beads on her shoes, the feeling of warmth against her back where nearby steam still rose from the newly boiled kettle, the shaking of her hands that made her too self conscious to want to lift her coffee mug and drink its comforting contents. She couldn’t say anything, for anything she had to tell was too huge to just come out with. So she waited for Andrew to speak, to ask the right questions that would unlock her secret. Minutes passed and became an hour. It was Andrew who broke. She had pinned her long, red hair up at the back and at the front hadlooped her fringe into a single, massive curl. In between the curl andthe pinned up hair she had tied a bright green chiffon scarf into aflouncy bow. This look was augmented by green, plastic, ball shapedearrings, the brightest of red lipstick and a green sleevelessrockabilly style dress. The dress had a figure hugging bodice and threelarge, black plastic buttons on either side with a black and white polkadot decorated insert in the centre of the bodice. Roxy's considerableboobs had been threatening to breach this insert all day. The skirtflared out in the traditional style of the fifties and two of the foldsin the skirt were decorated with polka dots to match the bodice insert.Underneath this Roxy wore seamed stockings or tights and the only thingsthat, from my perspective, let this whole ensemble down were her green,ankle-high Doc Marten boots and the tattoos that covered her arms andmuch of her neck.I was going to.
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