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"Fear is a feeling that is stronger than love." – Pliny the younger

"I'm telling you," Judith grit her teeth and pursed her lips, "the feel of it just turns my stomach. The nature of it between finger and thumb, it's the tactile equivalent of scraping fingernails across a blackboard."

"But it's only cotton wool." said David, smiling slightly oilily as he sipped at his cappuccino.

"I just hate the feel of it, everyone has their pet hates and I see no reason why I should justify it to you." she snapped.

They sat facing each other at one of the coffee pot's larger tables (there was room for six), David had his bandaged leg propped up on the seat beside him. Although never renowned for his fortitude Judith felt terribly sorry for him every time he winced. The slightest movement drew little beads of brine into the corners of his eyes. She watched them gather, fascinated at the way they gathered together on his lids and then dispersed unobtrusively without ever rolling down his cheek.

The details of how he'd actually bruised his leg were still a little fuzzy, he claimed that he had caught the kneecap smartly when attempting a tricky shot at squash. But Judith had known David for a few years now and found the thought of him running around a squash court amusing, and unlikely. She preferred Tracy's take on what had happened, having taken up her father's challenge of a game of squash David had wound him up the wrong way ( a habit of which David had the knack) and that George, who if Judith remembered rightly was a hairy brute of a man, had then taken the game a little too competitively before hitting, running into or generally roughing up his daughter's suitor. It was hard to put your finger on what exactly it was about David which rubbed them up the wrong way. He had a habit of monopolising conversations and thinking that he was an expert on every topic which came up. For instance Judith felt certain that he would proffer some made up statistic or opinion on her fear of cotton wool and then follow it up with a fear or phobia of his own which was altogether more justifiable and yet more crippling and terrible. She felt another wave of pathos sweep over her and realised that she had a John-Paul Satre-like fear of spending eternity trapped in a room with the man sitting opposite her. He put his foamy beverage down and while attempting to leer he gasped with the pain of moving.

"I saw a programme about this sort of thing on the Discovery channel." he pronounced, authoritatively.

How pompous he sounds, she thought.

"They said that all phobias, fears and hatreds stem from past experience, there is a group of psychologists who believe that it has more to do with the collective unconscious but I think that the bad experience thing sounds far more viable."

"So, you think that somewhere in my dim and distant past I had a bad experience with cotton wool and that is what instilled an ungodly dread in me to this very day?"

"Almost certainly!" cried Dave, the water in his eyes welling and subsiding, "Have you ever seen those baby bud things? It's a wonder anyone in the country can bare the sight or feel of cotton wool having had those little things prodded up their noses and into their ears when they were young."

"Funny you should mention that," she said reluctantly, ashamed to concede that he might have a genuine point, "when I was two I had to go to hospital to have a baby bud removed from my nose, I'd completely forgotten about that until you were talking just then. My mum left me on their double bed with all her makeuppy things and when she came back I'd taken one of those cotton-tipped sticks and stuffed it right up my left nostril. It took two nurses and an ear, nose and throat specialist to liberate it."

"That proves my point exactly!" and with that he let loose a wild smile.

Judith sank back into he cahir and softened towards him again, she wondered if Tracy could marshall together all these sweet moments into a relationship, there must be some secret to their extensive longevity.

"My personal fear," he confided, "and this is strictly between you and me, is that I've tied myself down too early."

Judith was stunned into silence.

"I truly love Tracy and I find it impossible to picture my future without her, but when you've been going out with someone exclusivly since your teens I think that it'd be a strange person who didn't wonder what life would be like with someone else."

"You two are really good together." She spoke, detached and feeling very uncomfortable.

"This squash match made me realise a few things too." he gazed over Judith's shoulder, staring at the door, "There is a very strange bond between father and daughter isn't there?"

"I suppose so, I was close to my father when I was younger, but recently I've got on much better with my mum."

"It's the sex thing." David said, Judith shuffled nervously, "I mean it was the sexual act by which the daughter was concieved and sometimes that is the only link a father really has with his child, you know where the father runs off. But the mere thought of their precious daughter engaging in the same act which created them seems to invoke the most rabid, unreasonable, stomach churning fear in them. I daresay if I have a daughter I'll feel the same way."

Judith nodded and sipped quietly at he orange juice, this conversation wasn't fun anymore. It was at that opportune moment that Mark and Tracy bundled in, laughing and swinging their shopping. He'd got some purple bags from WH Smiths with papers and books bulging through the sides. She had been to M & S to shop for underwear, a favourite pastime.

"Hello darling." laughed Tracy as she ambled over and kissed Dave on the head. She called over her order to Mark who was perusing the sweet cabinet. He waved an acknowledgement and then hollared over at the table,

"Anyone want anything?"

"Orange juice, thanks." "Cheesecake, mate." called Dave and Judith together.

"Successful shopping trip?" Dave asked as Tracy made her way round to the seat next to Judith.

"Yes, they've got an offer on, three quid off of their end of range bra and pant sets."

David looked alternately at Judith and his betrothed and decadently cast a critical eye over both. It may have been because he had spent so many years so close to her but he found it difficult to think that Tracy was any different now from when they had met. Judith had changed strikingly in the past few years. There had always been something appealingly unformed about her in the early days of their acquaintance. As the years had passed his infatuation had grown with the pale blue rings around her eyes. He had never fathomed the cause of the trouble that was easily detectable there or the bizarre relationship that never was with Mark. All higher thoughts sublimed as Judith leaned forward to peer in the green M & S bag. A fold of cotton in her dress gave a gloomy beshadowed glimpse of cleavage. Then searing pain tore up the outside of his leg.

"Hello, dear boy. How's the leg?" Mark tapped his bandage with evil glee. David howled with pain and Judith giggled at the sight of the reservoirs in his eyes overflowing.

"Your girlfriend has been modelling her sexy new purchases for me." he laughed, winking at the prone man. Then he slid the strawberry topped cheesecake across the tabletop and against all instinct David nodded in thanks.

"So, have you had a pleasant half hour, setting the world to rights?"

"We've been discussing our pet hates and fears, David now knows the root of my deep, dark loathing of cotton wool." smiled Judith.

"David really hates heights!" giggled Tracy, "oh, don't scowl at me!"

"You didn't mention that!" scolded Judith.

"Oh yeah," continued Tracy, "we went to Blackpool a few years back and I paid for him to go up the tower. He spent the whole time just stood as far away from the edge as he could get, staring at his palms. It's such a lovely view of the sea, but I just had to laugh."

"So, from what you were saying earlier, what was the terrible thing in your past which has caused this vertigo that you were too ashamed to mention?"

"I just don't like heights." he whined.

"It's not heights which bother me, it's the falling!" laughed Mark.

"Ah, then Mark, what phobias plague you?"

"Well, I've always hated needles, the unnatural penetration of the skin and the sharp cold metal."

The two girls shuddered.

"I hate spiders, even the little ones, I just have to scream and get Dave or someone to kill them, nasty creepy little bastards."

"Don't talk to me about spiders." groaned Mark.

Judith looked bemused and giggled gently under her breath, "Go on, tell them the story." She goaded.

"I don't have a phobia about spiders really," said Mark, "But I have had a very nasty experience and I'm amazed at how unscathed, psychologically I mean, I've been."

"Oh, get on with it." Snapped David.

"Well, while I was at college I'd arranged to go to breakfast with a friend the night before. I'd got up late and was stark bollock naked when she knocked on the door. I called out, 'wait a sec!' and pulled on a pair of pants. It was then that I felt a rummaging, struggling in the hair around my scrotum, then something sharp like a bee sting. I pulled down my pants and a largish spider dropped out on to the floor. I stuck a glass over the top of it, where it lay on it's back, and finished getting dressed. My friend didn't believe me when I told her what happened."

"That's horrible!" squirmed Tracy.

"I did shake my pants well before putting them on for the rest of the year." Mark admitted, "There were all these vines growing around my window and I reckon the spider entered when I opened it to let in some fresh air."

All three of his audience laughed.

"It wasn't funny!" Mark complained, faux put-out, "But I still reckon to this day that the spider got a worse scare than I did."

©Mark Sexton 1999