Blind Carnival

A Bit of a Backstory

She's pouring hot water in the pot, John's studying the family photos on her wall, and Mr. Thornton is dreaming of smoked salmon. She throws a look at the man in her kitchen.

He looks lovely. A white tee is exactly what he should be wearing every day of the year: he has a wonderful tone of skin, healthy, naturally slightly tanned, his hair is dark, and she properly appreciates the biceps and deltoids. One of her less popular novels featured a Renaissance faire sword fighting reenactor and a yoga instructor. She still remembers most of the names of the muscles in the human body. There was a lot of discussion of his latissimus dorsi and her gluteus flexi.

She decides she may as well ask.

"Why did you get dressed?"

She puts a mug in front of him. She also moves a sugar bowl towards him. He's a sweet tooth. And indeed, he pours three heaps of sugar in his Earl Grey and stirs. He then rubs the tip of his nose with his finger and sighs slightly.

"Force of habit, I reckon."

It's funny that he doesn't ask why she asked. It's refreshing and, to be honest, liberating. Ever so often people are thrown off by the zigzags that her mind tends to make. She hums, encouraging him to elaborate. He sighs again. She wonders why he would, but the next sentence explains a lot.

"My wife had strict rules against inappropriate clothing in different rooms."

Olivia's processing his words. He takes a sip from his mug, and she sees that he's worried he upset her. She scans her thoughts, but with relief she notices she's fine. To think of it, if he had a friendly relationship with his ex-wife now, Olivia, firstly, wouldn't be surprised, and secondly, would remind him and herself that it's his right to be friends with anyone he wants. He's not her property.

"Strict rules as in no state of undress in a kitchen?" she asks, settling in the chair in front of him.

She hopes he can see in her face that she's more than chuffed with this conversation. To think of it, she's suddenly curious about his marriage. Overall, she's mostly perplexed why anyone would cheat on him and divorce him.

"Yeah, and in the drawing room. Or the second drawing room. To think of it, anywhere but the bathroom."

He sips the tea and sniffles. He still requires a tissue every ten seconds.

"You had a second drawing room?" she feigns shock. "Posh!"

He chuckles.

"The firm I worked in was extremely successful. And she earned a lot, she was in marketing. She is, I suppose," he corrects himself softly. "And the house was what she wanted to spend the money on."

Olivia's 'conflict radar' starts to ring. It's the Writer's Curse: to sense where all the bodies are buried, so to say. And Olivia, with her INFJ personality and oversensitive intuition, is basically a sniffing dog when it comes to those aforementioned metaphorical bodies.

"And what did you want to spend the money on?"

Why are you asking, Olivia? The two of them were having a cuppa, and then they probably could go back to bed, and have a light, happy hanky-panky, and worry about nothing, and she hardly knows the bloke, to think of it! It's their third date. Perhaps, they should leave the discussion of values and life choices for some other time. Besides, there's another alarm blaring in her noggin. The big C question.

John is giving it a thought. She properly fancies it about him - he answers honestly and openly, but takes his time to put it into precise words.

"I don't know now." He takes another sip of tea. "At the time it seemed we should start a family. But she was decisively against it, never wanted children. And there were things all our friends were buying: a new car, or some fancy pet... A bold cat, or something. And travelling. Everyone went to Portugal, Malta, Egypt. So, we did too."