Chapter Thirty-Two
‘That’s quite some story,’ said Milo, as I burbled myself to a standstill.
‘Sorry to bore you,’ I said. I stared into the depths of my cup, as if it might reveal some answers to life’s problems. ‘I didn’t mean to ramble.’
‘You didn’t,’ he assured. I was surprised at his sincerity. ‘Sometimes it’s good to offload.’
‘I don’t even know you,’ I said, giving a strangled laugh. ‘Whatever must you think?’
He gave me a measured look.
‘I think it’s best to offload to strangers. It’s cathartic. You could tell me your deepest, darkest secret, knowing that – after tonight – you might never see me again and therefore your secret would remain safe.’
‘I’ve only ever confided my deepest, darkest secret to Cindy,’ I said honestly.
‘You can share it with me too, if you wish.’ He made a criss-cross over his heart. ‘I won’t tell a soul.’
‘I don’t think so,’ I said, but this time I smiled. ‘There’s a chance we might have mutual acquaintances, so I’d rather not divulge anything further. Apart from anything else, you don’t exactly live a million miles away,’ I pointed out. ‘We could bump into each other again at some point. Maybe in the Strawberry Shed. And then I’d be ducking behind Linda’s chiller cabinet thinking, “Oh, crikey. There’s that guy who knows my deepest darkest secret.” It would be mortifying. But hopefully, after tonight, our paths won’t cross again for a long time.’
‘Unless we’re stalking each other,’ he said gravely.
I smiled again, liking his dry humour.
‘We are not stalking each other,’ I assured.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. I stared into the embers of the wood burner, watching the outer edge of a log light up. It glowed redly. Eventually, the spark dimmed, turned to ash, and dropped out of sight.
‘I once stalked my ex-wife’s new partner,’ said Milo abruptly.
For a moment, I was too surprised to say anything.
‘Are you being serious?’ I said eventually.
‘Straight up.’ His gaze was still on the burning logs. He continued to stare at them. ‘Stalking is when two people go for a walk, but only one of them knows about it.’
‘Funny,’ I countered.
‘Actually, Tilly’ – he tore his eyes away from the fire – ‘I’m being serious. Oh, don’t look at me like that. Don’t tell me you didn’t ever-so-slightly lose the plot when you walked in on Robin and Sexy Samantha.’ He saw me flinch. ‘Bingo. The only difference between you and me is that you probably did your stalking via social media.’
I flushed.
‘Yes, okay,’ I admitted, shamefaced. ‘I did look her up. Quite a few times. I wanted to see what she was posting.’
‘No you didn’t.’ Milo shook his head. He gave me a knowing look. ‘You wanted to see how you compared .’
I caught my breath. Ten out of ten to Milo. He’d hit the nail on the head.
‘Bingo again,’ he said softly. ‘You had an all-consuming curiosity about what she looked like. Was she fatter than you? Thinner? Taller? Shorter? Prettier? Does she have long hair? Or is it short? And then – even worse – you wondered whether to model yourself on her. Whether to dye your hair the same colour as hers. Maybe put on a few pounds and have more curves. Or go to the gym and become a Skinny Minnie. You see, the ego clamours to be heard. It loves to tell us that we’re not enough. That we need to be like the person our loved one is with. That we need to be blonder. Or darker. Or wear more lipstick. I’d bet my last lotto pound that you even considered getting your lips plumped up. Maybe you got as far as making an appointment with a beauty salon. One of those places that gives eyelash extensions so long you could sweep the road if you looked down.’
Milo was now hitting so many nerves, it was like being assaulted by hot needles. Yes, my ego had urged me to check Sexy Samantha’s newsfeed. Almost daily. And yes, I had flagged the differences between us.
‘If I didn’t know better’ – I raised one eyebrow – ‘I’d say you were in cahoots with Hetty Cartwright. Do you fancy yourself as some sort of clairvoyant? If not, you’re an accomplished mind reader.’
‘It’s not rocket science,’ he shrugged. ‘It’s what us humans are like. Simply being human. Reacting to our humanness.’
I gulped down the last of my hot chocolate then carefully set the cup down on the table.
‘You’re absolutely right,’ I admitted. ‘I did look up Samantha. Frequently. And maybe for a while I was a bit… obsessed. But I learnt something from it.’
‘Tell me.’
‘I realised that it didn’t matter how many diets I put myself on… how many highlights I added to my hair… how much filler I injected into my lips… how long the eyelash extensions were… or whether I wore skirts with hemlines around my backside… because nothing – absolutely nothing – could ever give me the one thing Samantha has.’ I paused. Took a deep breath. ‘Youth,’ I said simply. ‘She’s twenty years younger than me. It’s impossible for me to be twenty-nine-years old again. Even if I booked a plastic surgeon and asked him to pin my jawline around my ears, I’d only ever knock off a few years. Samantha has what I no longer have – and that’s not just my husband,’ I said wryly.
For a few moments, Milo said nothing. Instead, he stared at me. Whatever he was about to say, he looked like he was choosing his words carefully. Then he shrugged, as if not bothered about how his words came out.
‘First,’ he said. ‘You don’t need a facelift. You’re fine as you are. In fact, you’re beautiful.’
I was so flabbergasted at the unexpected compliment, I was momentarily silenced.
‘Second,’ he continued. ‘You have something that Samantha doesn’t have. And it's something she won’t gain for two more decades.’
I looked at Milo in bemusement, still reeling from his earlier words.
‘What’s that?’ I croaked.
‘Isn’t it obvious?’ he said gently. ‘You’ve been on this planet longer than her. You’ve experienced an additional twenty summers of life. Think of all the lessons that’s brought. What you have over her’ – his eyes softened – ‘is wisdom.’