Z - The Truth Hurts

Francine felt her cheeks prickle with heat. She wasn't blushing out
of politeness, for once. She felt genuinely flattered.

"No," she finally replied with a big release of breath, "but don't take
this the wrong way&;#8230;" Already she could see the look of
disappointment in his eyes, could see them starting to glaze.

Her fingers tightened around the handle of her coffee-cup. The caf? was
in the midst of another busy lunch time, a myriad of different people
with different lives and problems filling each and every one of the
round, two-person tables.

Fran thought about how to continue, aware that he was watching her
expectantly all the while. What to say? The truth seemed the only thing
fair to him, even if it might be a little painful.

"Look," she told him, raising her coffee and cradling it with her other
hand, "it's not that I don't like you, it's just&;#8230;
well&;#8230;" God, this was going to sound hackneyed. Still, it was
the truth, and that was all she could be expected to give him.

"&;#8230;you're not my type - I know that sounds corny, but it's
true. You're a nice enough bloke, but I don't think we'd fit very well
together, you know what I mean? I wouldn't be able to appreciate you,
and I'm not sure whether you would be able to appreciate me."

Alan was breathing deeper now, but managing to maintain a brave face
just the same. She hoped she was getting through to him.

"I just don't think our personalities would mesh together
well&;#8230; at least, not like that." Fran looked down into her
coffee, a little embarrassed. Then she raised it to her lips and drank.
That was the good thing about having conversations over lunch; you
could hide behind your meal.

Alan's gaze was still fixed on her. His jaw moved slowly a couple of
times, but no words came out. He looked as if he were day-dreaming.
Perhaps he was. Fran flashed a couple of glances at him, but found it
difficult to do so for any length of time. His expression made her
uncomfortable.

Well, one thing was for sure. Relations between the two of them, as
friends, were going to be strained from now on. She wasn't sure whether
she would be able to talk to him normally again, or at least not for a
while.

But she had told the truth, and surely that was the most important
thing. She liked him, he was good company and perfectly amiable, but it
would not be an over-simplification to say that she just didn't want to
go out with him.

He wasn't ugly or anything, but she didn't find him attractive. His
facial features weren't grossly deformed, nothing was massively out of
proportion, but the different bits didn't seem to go well together. His
face looked a bit like the police photo-fit pictures you saw in
newspapers, the eyes not quite congruous with the nose and mouth, ears
slightly too far up the head.

"Would it make any difference&;#8230;" began Alan, sounding earnest
and relatively calm, "&;#8230;if I said I loved you?" Perhaps he had
been hoping for her to drop her cup in surprise, or lower it slowly and
melt into tears of happiness. In the event, Fran did neither.

She felt like laughing. She took another sip as quickly as she could,
in an effort to disguise the smile rapidly spreading across her face.
It was really cruel not to take him seriously, he obviously meant what
he said, and it must have taken a lot to come out with something like
that.

But it had sounded so funny. She nearly smaned into her coffee as
she thought about it again, but somehow restrained herself. When she
felt she could keep her mirth under control, Fran put down her cup and
looked at him. Her smile was a sympathetic one.

"That's really sweet Alan, but&;#8230;"

"If I said I was mad?" he interrupted, catching her a little off-guard.
Fran laughed out-loud this time. At least he was taking it in good
humour. Despite this, his face still held the same look of desperate
hope, a look she found rather unsettling.

"Especially not if you said you were mad!" she giggled.

"If I said I had enough explosives strapped round my waist to take you
and everyone else in the building with me?"

Well, she had heard some desperate lines in her time,
but&;#8230;

"Hmm&;#8230; I'd have to think about that one&;#8230;" Fran said,
"&;#8230; erm, no."

Alan sighed openly. Seeing his obvious deflation, Fran felt incredibly
guilty. She nearly said something then stopped herself. She didn't want
to get caught out with some sympathy routine. She pitied him, but it
would be best to keep it to herself.

Fran tried to think of some way she could console him, but his eyes had
taken on a disconcerting opacity that made it impossible to think
straight.

"Look, Alan," she said finally, "you've got to understand, it's just
one of those things. Neither of us are to blame&;#8230;" There was
no way of telling whether any of this was reaching him. "It's, err, all
part of life's rich tapestry," she added, then immediately wished she
hadn't.

"Well," he said abruptly, "I'd better be going. I'm sorry for bothering
you, Fran. I'll get over it, don't worry." With that, he got up and
left. She watched him open the door and step out onto the pavement. He
crossed the road, walking briskly, as though he guessed she might still
be looking at him.

Fran finished her coffee with one last sip. Her eyes tracked Alan as he
stopped on the opposite side of the street. He scratched his head and
glanced from side to side. He would probably go home now, go home and
cry into his booze. He seemed, to her at least, like the sort of guy
who might do that - cry, that is, not drink.

Having apparently made up his mind, Alan entered the take-away to his
right. Its front was just one big pane of glass, like the caf?'s, and
besides a few slogans in red-lettering, it offered an uninterrupted
view of its interior. He joined the queue of hungry customers.

Oh well, thought Fran, that's that then. She looked at her watch. It
was a quarter past one. She didn't fancy spending the afternoon on her
own, although she could if it came down to it. There was a telephone
box within spitting distance of where she sat, she could phone Emma and
see if she fancied meeting her in town later.

Allowing her eyes to rest on Alan's empty plate, she wondered what he
was thinking now. Was he as crestfallen as her ego would like to
believe? Part of her hoped not, but the more prominent side of her
relished the fact she affected one person's feelings so much.

She felt a bit silly now, sitting alone, the remnants of what had been
a thoroughly appetising lunch strewn about the table. Alan had even
left the money to pay for their meals; more than enough, in fact. Guilt
began to niggle at her, even though Fran knew she had done nothing
wrong.

Perhaps she ought to go over and talk to him, to make sure he knew she
still wanted them to be friends. On second thoughts, that was probably
a bad&;#8230;

The front of the take-away erupted into thousands of crystalline shards
of glass. A bass boom, like thunder, struck her ears. The whole street
seemed to shake violently for a split-second. Screaming, Fran
half-threw herself from her seat, and landed awkwardly on the
floor.

Gasping for breath, she lifted her head. Other screams were filling the
air now, the crackling rumble of fire audible beneath them. Across the
road, a fan-shaped arc of crimson gore glistened freshly like a
newly-opened wound.

She had been right. The truth had been painful.