Maybe it was just because I thought she’d leap on the merest hint of me being interested in someone. I mean, she loved Greg – everyone did – but as she always said, she loved me too, and she didn’t want to see me sad for the rest of my life.
‘You deserve someone to share your life with,’ she always told me.
And no matter how many times I told her I just wasn’t ready – and didn’t know whether I ever would be – she kept hoping.
So no, I didn’t think I would tell her about this just yet, however strange it felt to keep it from her. I’d see if anything came of it first.
I served up my dinner and took it through to the lounge. I might still try to eat a proper meal every night, but sitting at the table alone just felt too tragic, so I always ate in front of the TV – something Greg would definitely have disapproved of.
I pulled a tray from down the side of the sofa, sat down and switched on the TV. I’d been watching a series on Netflix, but as I forked chilli into my mouth, I couldn’t concentrate on anything that was happening on the screen. Instead, my mind drifted back to earlier this evening and, specifically, to Nick.
What exactly was it about our encounter that had lodged itself in my mind? What was the feeling I’d had when I was with him for that brief time? I closed my eyes and tried to remember it, but it was elusive, and eventually I stopped trying.
Today was only Thursday, and we weren’t meeting again until Monday. He hadn’t shown any signs of wanting to give me his phone number or any other way of getting in touch with him, and I had no idea where he lived. Which meant that the only way of being certain of seeing him again was to turn up at the bandstand after work on Monday and hope he hadn’t just been fobbing me off.
Something told me he wasn’t.
It wasn’t until later, as I was lying in bed and trying to get to sleep, that something else occurred to me. The thought that had snagged on my mind earlier, as I’d been sitting with Nick, finally revealed itself. And I wasn’t sure what to make of it.
The sweets Nick had offered me were in a familiar paper bag.
A paper bag of ‘Pic ’n’ Mix’.
Exactly like the ones I used to get from Woolworths.
A shop that had closed down more than a decade before.
2
NICK
It had been a long time since I’d thought about any woman other than Dawn. We’d been together since sixth form, had a bond that we thought nothing would ever break, in the way that teenage sweethearts do.
But in the end, cancer had been the thing to break that bond. It had been stronger than us both. I still couldn’t forgive it.
Sometimes, when I sat in the living room where Dawn died, or the kitchen where I used to cook as she chatted to me about her day, or the bedroom we shared for the eight years we lived together, I tried to conjure her in my mind. I closed my eyes and pictured her – blonde hair splayed out across the pillow; body curled into me on the two-seater sofa as we watched TV; scarf wrapped round her head when she lost her beautiful curls to the brutal chemotherapy, the dark circles beneath her eyes bruise-blue, her cheeks hollow. Still beautiful. Still positive.
Tonight though, I felt different. I felt as though, for the first time in two and a half years, something inside me had shifted.
And it was all down to Emma.
I couldn’t explain it. From the moment I saw her on the bench in the bandstand, her red hair shining in the goldensunlight, I felt drawn to her. There was something magical about her, otherworldly.
Had she felt that jolt when we shook hands? I was fairly certain I couldn’t have imagined it, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask.
When we said goodbye I knew I needed to see her again, so I asked her to meet me there next week. It was the first thing I thought of, and it made perfect sense. No pressure. Just a chance to see whether the spark I felt between us was real.
I was so relieved when she agreed, but also knew I’d spend the next few days worrying about whether she’d turn up. I’d be disappointed if she didn’t, and I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to examine that too closely.
That night I met my brother Andy in the pub. I hadn’t planned to mention it to him – after all, there wasn’t really much to tell him apart from the fact that I’d chatted to a pretty woman for half an hour.
But in the end I didn’t have to say anything, because the first thing he did was ask me why I looked weird.
‘What do you mean, weird?’ I said as we sat down at our usual table with our pints of Guinness. Our Thursday night pint had been a tradition for as long as we were both legally allowed to drink. A pint in our local, followed by a curry – chicken korma for me, lamb vindaloo for him. No one else came, it was always just the two of us. When Dawn fell ill, she insisted we kept up the tradition, almost pushing me out of the door every Thursday night and reassuring me that she was looking forward to the chance to sleep. After she died it was the last thing I wanted to do – but Andy knew it was exactly what I needed to stop myself from falling into the abyss of grief. So there we’d sit, pints in front of us, me staring morosely into the depths of the dark brown liquid, him regaling me with stories of his day. And slowly, the fog began to lift. Slowly, I began to tell him about mydays too. About the things I’d seen, the things I’d heard. About my regular trips to the bandstand, Dawn and mine’s special place for so many years.
He shrugged and wiped froth from his upper lip. ‘You look… happy, I think. Well, happier than I’ve seen you since…’ He stopped, not needing to name it.
I spun my pint round on the wooden table. ‘Sidewinder’ by R.E.M. was playing in the background and the sounds of the regular Thursday night drinkers buzzed around us. I tried to form the words in my mind, but Andy got there before me.
