Chapter EIGHT
I’d always thought if I ever saw Mark again, it would be like a meeting of old friends.
Without the urgent passion we’d felt for each other in our twenties, our meeting would be calm, if a little wistful and sentimental. We’d look back and poke gentle fun at the people we were then . . . those young kids who’d felt so strongly and truly believed that first love lasted forever!
We would talk about our lives and laugh a lot, and we’d tell each other how glad we were that things had worked out for the best for both of us. And then maybe we’d arrange to meet up again a few months down the line, for old time’s sake.
Or maybe we’d just smile and say how lovely it had been to bump into each other after all this time, before saying our goodbyes again . . . maybe parting with an amusing, throwaway line. See you again in another thirty years!
Over the years, when I’d thought of Mark, I think that’s how I’d imagined it would be if we ever met up again.
But that day back in March, suddenly glimpsing his dear face among a crowd of shoppers, it was as if the intervening decades vanished in an instant.
Standing there in shock, I was that young woman again – breath snatched away, heart beating wildly, feeling all of life zinging through my veins just because he was near!
I’d come out of the newsagent’s in Sunnybrook and was about to pop into the village store for something (I can’t remember what and of course I never went in) when I caught sight of him and my heart gave a violent lurch in my chest.
Turned to stone right there, I felt several people bump into me from behind because I’d stopped so suddenly. But they barely registered.
He was walking towards me and the years fell away.
The busy high street vanished and stars seemed to be exploding in front of my eyes, and I held my breath, waiting for him to catch sight of me.
I panicked suddenly, touching my cheek.
I was old now! No longer the young woman he once loved.
What if he didn’t recognise me and walked right past?
But then he saw me, and the stunned look on his face made my heart beat even faster. He stopped in his tracks, just as I had, and when I smiled a tentative smile, his beautiful mouth curved into that special smile – the one that once upon a time would fill my stupid heart with complete, unbridled joy. And which apparently still did . . .
If someone had asked me what my name was right then, I honestly doubt I could have told them. I was floating high up on a cloud, light-headed with the tumble of emotions that were rushing through me.
And then Mark and I were walking towards each other, dodging other pedestrians but keeping our eyes fixed on one another’s faces.
As if we didn’t want to risk losing each other again . . .
After delighted exclamations and moving in for a slightly awkward hug, we then slipped quite naturally into conversation, which eventually we decided to continue over coffee in the Little Duck Pond Café.
Mark was over in the UK on holiday, staying with his daughter who had recently given birth to her second baby. The hum and activity in the café seemed to fade away as we talked about our lives.
Being in Mark’s company again was as uplifting as it ever was. We bounced off each other and the conversation never seemed to flag, and all the time I was smiling at him, taking in his appearance and thinking that he had hardly changed in the decades since we were last together. His wavy dark hair, once grazing his collar, was silvery now and close-cropped but it really suited him, accentuating the piercing blue of his eyes.
Some men didn’t age well, sailing into middle age with a beer belly and a weariness about life, but that didn’t seem to apply to Mark. He’d always been slim and athletic in build but he’d broadened out over the intervening years while keeping his washboard stomach (I let my eyes roam while he was at the counter, paying for the coffee!) and there was an energy and a vitality about him that I felt very drawn to . . . along with his look of a silver fox Paul Hollywood!
I bought the next round of coffees and he tackled a slice of his favourite lemon drizzle cake, although the butterflies fluttering around inside me meant I definitely wasn’t up for joining him! He told me about his career as a photographer in New Zealand and his marriage to Fiona. They’d gone through an amicable divorce a few years ago and had managed to stay friends. In fact, Fiona and her current boyfriend, Clive – eleven years her junior – were also over in the UK to see the new baby, although they were staying at a local hotel. Mark smiled sheepishly, saying he was thankful they all got on.
‘I actually like Clive a lot. He’s a good guy. We went out for a drink last night, leaving the “girls” to have a proper catch-up.’
‘Do you think they’ll get married?’
Mark looked doubtful.
‘Don’t get me wrong. As I said, I like Clive. But he’s been a bit of a womaniser in the past, from what Fiona’s told me, and I’m not sure he’s at the stage of wanting to settle down.’
He shrugged.
‘But . . . it’s up to Fiona.’
He folded his arms on the table and leaned forward, smiling into my eyes, and my heart missed a beat at the twinkle in those blue, blue eyes.
‘Anyway, I don’t want to talk about Fiona and Clive. I want to know about your romantic life over the past three decades, Miss Celia Dearlove. Because actually, I can’t believe that some great guy hasn’t carried you off to his cave by now and made an honest woman of you.’
I burst out laughing.
‘That’s so . . . I don’t know . . . archaic! I’m a modern, independent woman, Mark. If someone’s going to do the carrying off, it will likely be me!’
He shrugged sheepishly and I smiled, suddenly feeling he could see right into my soul . . . read my innermost thoughts.
‘The fact is, I enjoy being single. I’ve built a successful life all by myself, and I’m reaping the rewards now with a lovely house and a Jag in the garage.’
‘A Jag?’
He laughed, looking impressed.
‘Yes. I treated myself.’
‘Hey, well done you. You always loved a fast car.’
I shrugged. Impressing him with my success hadn’t been my intention.
The truth was, hearing Mark talk about his daughter and grandchildren here in the UK seemed to be exposing the emptiness in my life.
Yes, I’d been lucky in my career. And I’d accumulated some nice material possessions. But the fact was, I’d have given it all up without a backward glance for the chance to start a family with a wonderful man like Mark . . .
We talked on as the café emptied around us and eventually, we realised we were the only customers left.
As we left, chuckling at how long we’d been sitting there, we talked about Sylvia and Mick’s engagement party that was happening in a few days’
time. Mark had bumped into Mick, who he’d known a long time – from before he’d emigrated – and Mick had insisted he come along to their party. I myself had recently been back in touch with Sylvia, and I’d been invited, too.
On our way to the Swan Hotel bar for a drink (Mark seemed as reluctant as I was to end to end our conversation that had begun three hours ago), I stopped by the department store window to admire a dress I’d been coveting for a while now.
I pointed it out to him.
‘I’m going to wear that for Sylvia and Mick’s party,’
I said, making the decision right then and there.
‘Yes?’
I nodded.
‘Have you tried it on?’
‘Nope.’
‘Well, come on. Do it now.’
‘Right now?’
I gazed at him in amusement.
‘Yes. Unless you want someone else to snap it up before you do.’
I wasn’t normally given to making quick decisions like that – but Mark’s energy was giving me wings and making me feel like throwing caution to the wind.
So I’d nodded.
‘Okay. Let’s go in.’
*****
I bought the silky, icy blue dress there and then, loving having Mark with me to give me a thumbs-up. It was just like the old days when he’d pretend to hate shopping but he’d go with me anyway, just because he wanted to be with me. Where it was – the supermarket, the recycling depot, whatever – didn’t really matter. We just loved each other’s company . . .
We laughed a lot that day and I felt almost girlish, as if I should be writing my name over and over on my school workbook, pairing it with Mark’s surname. We went for a drink and then on to dinner in a lovely restaurant with tinkling piano music and waiters in starched white aprons.
Not that I saw much of the room or the other diners. I was focusing all the time on Mark, held spellbound by his smile and his charm and the way we’d just slipped back into our old way with each other.
When we left the restaurant at last, he came with me in the taxi and we sat together in the back seat, and as it pulled up outside my house, Mark joked that he was so late, his daughter Sadie would probably have locked the front door. Then he took my hand and leaned over and we gazed into one another’s eyes – and it seemed inevitable that we should end such a wonderful evening with a kiss.
His mouth touched mine so briefly. The taxi driver was waiting. But the feeling of Mark’s lips on mine was electric. I felt that kiss through my whole body – an overwhelmingly emotional reminder of how it always used to be for us . . .
I walked into the house feeling on top of the world . . . like Cinderella just returned from the most magical night of her life. We’d be seeing each other again at the engagement party, where I’d wear my gorgeous new dress.
I’d had such high hopes that night. I’d fallen asleep smiling as I’d snuggled into my lavender-scented pillow. It felt as if I could be on the brink of a whole new life.
Little did I know that all that hope and happiness I was feeling was destined to crumble away to nothing . . .