‘And I love you too, but how would a new partner feel about our friendship? Even if you and I made it through unscathed, would they be supportive of us? I can’t imagine many men would be.’
I doubted they would be either, but the idea of losing Cliff from my life terrified me.
‘Do you accept my proposal?’ he asked.
I didn’t need to think about this one. He’d been so good to me and it wasn’t fair to keep going like this. There was only one answer I could give.
‘I do.’
28
TWENTY YEARS AGO – FEBRUARY
Although the thought of going away on my own was scary, I knew it was essential for properly getting my head together. Travelling overseas on my own felt like a step too far and, as I needed time rather than significant distance away from Cliff, I decided to stay somewhere relatively local and familiar. I booked a two-centre break in Manchester – five nights in a country hotel with a spa where I’d have plenty of time to relax and think, followed by a weekend in the city centre where I could take the intensity off the thinking time with a visit to the theatre and a few museums.
The country hotel was everything I’d hoped it would be. I swam each morning, had massages and facials, read, worked on a cross stitch, wandered the grounds and thought, thought, thought. By the time I checked into my city-centre hotel on the Friday afternoon, I felt rested, relaxed and reasonably sure that my decision would be to stay with Cliff. Yes, it meant sacrifices, but I’d already had the best part of two decades making them and they’d been happy years. I loved his company and the lifestyle we had. I wanted to travel more so perhaps we could do that, exploring further-flung places together.
I’d booked a ticket to see a musical that evening – something I’d done quite often on my own because, while Cliff loved the theatre, it was plays he favoured and he wasn’t a musicals fan. After dining in my room, I felt restless and decided that, as it was a cool, calm evening, I’d kill some time before the show by wandering round the streets near the theatre.
Commuters on their way home from work jostled for pavement space with those dressed up for an evening out and, even though I preferred the gentler pace of life in the countryside, a brief visit to the city always gave me a buzz of excitement.
A little way ahead of me, a shop sign caught my eye – Pianos of Distinction – and my pace quickened. Showcased on a plinth behind a large window was a gleaming black grand piano with the lid propped up. Spotlights illuminated the keys and the workings beneath the lid and I drew a sharp intake of breath, marvelling at how beautiful it was. Debussy’s ‘Clair de Lune’ – one of Mum’s favourite classical pieces – was open on the music stand and my fingers twitched as I heard the tune in my head and imagined playing it.
‘It’s a stunner, isn’t it?’
I hadn’t even noticed the man approach and jumped as he spoke.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you.’
I looked up at him and guessed he was a similar age to me. He had thick dark hair, a five o’clock shadow across a strong jawline and the warmest smile.
‘It’s okay. I was miles away.’
‘You play?’ he asked.
‘I used to.’
‘Were you playing that piece just now? Your fingers were moving.’
I glanced back at the music. ‘I couldn’t help myself. It’s been a long time but the memory’s still there.’ I looked up at him once more. ‘Do you play?’
‘I do but, lately, I haven’t been feeling it.’
I nodded, totally relating to that.
‘My mum loved “Clair de Lune”,’ I said. ‘She cried every time I played it. She said it made her imagine she was floating across a lily pond, the sun kissing her cheeks, the breeze ruffling her hair, feeling completely at one with nature.’
I bit my lip, unsure what had made me share such a precious memory with a stranger, but he looked captivated by it.
‘That’s beautiful. I can hear it in my head and picture exactly that.’
‘Makes me want to play it again.’
He glanced around us and leaned a little closer. ‘I think there might be too many people about to get away with throwing a brick through the window tonight,’ he said, making me laugh. ‘But you could always come back tomorrow when the showroom’s open and give it a go.’
‘I couldn’t do that, could I? Not when I’m not buying a piano.’
‘They don’t mind. I’ve done it before.’
