‘The quote’s more important. I can do the shopping on my own and meet you in the pub for tea.’
It didn’t take me as long as expected to get what I needed in town and I was bitterly cold so I went to the pub early and made my way to our reserved table, clutching a large glass of wine. There was a man sitting at the table beside ours with a sleeping toddler in a pushchair next to him. I gave him a half-smile in greeting as I passed, then settled into a chair and retrieved a book from my bag. I’d only read a couple of pages when I had a strong sensation of being watched.
‘Sorry,’ the man said when I looked up questioningly. ‘I didn’t mean to stare but I’m sure I know you.’
I took him in – tall, good-looking with a mop of dark hair and bright blue eyes – and searched my memory bank. I couldn’t place him, but there was something about those eyes…
‘It’s Yvonne, isn’t it? Yvonne Lambert?’
‘Erm… Kellerman now, but yes.’ He clearly knew me from way back to have used my maiden name.
‘We were in the same French class at school. Brett Palmer.’
And suddenly I knew exactly who he was. I apologised for not recognising him and he laughed and said most people wouldn’t after so long but he had an uncanny ability to remember the faces and names of everyone he met.
‘It freaks my wife out,’ he said, ‘but she does find it funny when people clearly don’t have a clue who I am but play along anyway.’
‘Idefinitelyremember you now that you’ve mentioned French class.’
I told him who he’d sat next to and the hairstyle he’d had at the time and we fell into easy conversation about what we’d been doing since school. The longer we talked, the more aware I became of how attractive he was. He’d told me he was happily married and that his wife was going to appear at any moment with another two children, but that somehow didn’t stop me focusing on the sparkle in his eyes, the way one of his eyebrows curled up at the end, how he spoke with his hands, or how kissable his lips looked. A longing that I’d buried deep down inside of me clawed its way to the surface and suddenly my thoughts about what it might be like to kiss Brett became a lot more X-rated. Heat flowed through me and I grabbed at the menu on the table to fan myself, making a joke about the thick jumper being a mistake for a warm pub.
I didn’t know what had come over me. I’d had fleeting moments of attraction before but the intensity of this was something else. I hated that I was feeling this way about a married man although it wasn’t as though I was about to act on it. This was a friendly catch-up between two former classmates and nothing more.
Brett’s wife arrived with a young boy and girl and Brett hugged his kids before giving her a soft kiss. A look of such deep love passed between them and then they focused back on the children, helping them out of coats and settling them at the table with colouring books and felt tips.
Cliff arrived moments later and we exchanged introductions and I wondered how on earth I was going to be able to act normal and force a meal down my neck with Brett sitting so close and a fire burning inside of me. Thankfully a group nearby vacated a larger table and Brett and his family moved over to that so I was able to relax. But, every so often, I found my gaze drawn to them and another longing emerged. The toddler had woken up and Brett’s wife was bouncing him on her knee, eliciting the most adorable giggle.
‘Everything all right?’ Cliff asked. ‘You seem a bit distracted.’
There was no way he could have failed to notice me repeatedly looking over to Brett’s table so I told a part-truth. ‘It’s weird seeing Brett again after all these years. I knew him when Mum died so there’s all sorts going on up here.’ I pressed my finger against my forehead with a sigh.
* * *
That night, I lay awake with the curtains open, staring out at the darkness, thinking about all the dormant feelings Brett had awoken inside me. Cliff and I were tactile, hugging all the time, so I hadn’t felt like I’d missed out on affection, but now I wanted more than that. I wanted intimacy. I wantedreallove. Not with Brett, of course. Even if he hadn’t told me he was happily married and even if I hadn’t seen that for myself, I was sufficiently in tune with my feelings to know that my reaction towards him had been purely sexual rather than emotional, but it was enough to trigger some doubts. Did I really want to go through the rest of my life without ever experiencing sexual intimacy? But to get it, Cliff and I needed to split up. After everything he’d done for me, after the wonderful years we’d spent together so far, was that a sacrifice I wanted to make?
27
TWENTY YEARS AGO – JANUARY
The rest of my thirties passed and, most of the time, I was really happy with Cliff and our life together but, with increasing frequency, that longing for more stirred and, along with it, the awareness of my biological clock ticking. Everywhere I went, I found myself drawn to children, noticing things I’d never thought about before – how cute sleeping babies looked, how adorable the unsteady steps of toddlers were, the joy on a young child’s face when being pushed on a swing. I thought about the close relationship I’d had with my mum and imagined having the same with my own son or daughter.
Cliff knew something was wrong and kept trying to get me to talk to him, but I insisted everything was fine and I was just a bit tired. He offered to take on another assistant, to get a cleaner, to do even more of the cooking and I started to resent him for always trying to fix everything. What was going on in my head couldnotbe fixed.
We started arguing or, rather, I started arguments over stupid little things. I hated myself for doing it, knowing how unfair I was being. I’d chosen this life, gone into our marriage with my eyes open, and he’d kept every single promise he’d made to me. I knew that he’d stand by his final promise to release me if I met someone I wanted to be with instead, but that was the problem. Ihadn’tmet someone. I’d barely given Brett a second thought since that day in the pub and there hadn’t been anyone specific since bumping into him, but there had been the possibility of someone. A possibility of passion. Of love. Of a family.
As my fortieth birthday approached, my mood darkened. I felt as though I’d reached a major crossroads in my life, looking up at a sign withFriendshippointing one way andFamilypointing in the opposite direction. If I chose theFamilyroute, there were no guarantees. I might not meet anyone and, if I did, what were the chances of them wanting children too? And quickly! What if I’d left it too late and couldn’t conceive? Or what if all that was fine but our relationship wasn’t as strong as the one I had with Cliff? Sticking to theFriendshippath was safe, comfortable and something I already had. That old proverb kept popping into my mind:A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.The thought of losing everything special I had with Cliff to pursue something that could be worse terrified me.
My fortieth birthday fell on a Wednesday. Cliff took the day off work and knocked on my door first thing to deliver breakfast in bed. He showered me with gifts and took me to a heritage railway line for afternoon tea on board a beautiful steam train. I looked around the carriage at couples holding hands, celebrating birthdays, anniversaries or simply having a day out, and felt resentment that I was doing something incredibly romantic… with my platonic husband.
I’d probably have managed to smile my way through the day if Cliff hadn’t presented me with one more gift. I opened the small package to reveal a guidebook to Venice and, with a churning stomach, unfolded an itinerary with details of flights, a hotel and a gondola trip. Spring in Venice, just as I’d always dreamed. But with the wrong person. This was my dream romantic destination and I’d deliberately never mentioned that to Cliff because of our situation.
‘I know you’ve never suggested Venice for a holiday but you always seem to be drawn to it when you’re flicking through holiday brochures.’ Cliff’s voice was full of excitement and I didn’t want to burst his bubble. I loved that he’d noticed. I loved that he wanted to surprise me. But…
‘I need you to cancel it,’ I murmured, pushing the book and itinerary back across the table. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Why?’
‘Please just do it.’
