…

There was very little that interested me at school.

I used to think that all I wanted to be was a scientist, even when I had no idea what that meant, and that school was nearly 12 years of distraction.

As I got older and the various branches of science were brought to my attention, I started to think it was going to be too hard.

Botany, biology, chemistry, physics, and then each again part of something else, or a name that loosely held together a lot of other branches.

I was not interested in trees, animals, or humans.  I didn’t like the idea of exploring elements or minerals.   I wanted something big that few had seriously studied, that might have potential for a groundbreaking discovery.

Then I went to the space exhibition at the Smithsonian, and I was sold.

Like a great many others, I watched all the science fiction television shows like Star Trek or Star Gate, read books, and pondered over the possibility of there being other people out there in an endless universe.

After all, only so much could be conjured up by the writer’s imagination, and I spent a lot of time and effort investigating what was possibly right and what was definitely wrong.

That research managed to disprove a lot of the imaginary parts but left a few that might have the distinct possibility of being true, and in one instance, a large number of writers went back to a single piece of so-called evidence.

A place in a mountain range in Peru where there were caves with drawings that could be detected as actual sciences and their spaceships, and over the years, the number of sightings of UFOs.

According to some, it was a meeting place because most sightings were of multiple sets of lights.  Of course, there were photographs, but the thing with photography was that they could be faked.

I was going to have to see it for myself.

Hiking camping and living in rough terrain was second nature.  I was an outdoors person and a lot of the research required going to remote and sometimes dangerous places.  Aliens, it seemed, didn’t like urban areas.

I was going by myself, but in conversations with a fellow UFO enthusiast, one of the sceptics I often butted heads with, in internet forums, asked if she could come along for the ride.

Her reason was to provide a counterbalanced view.  She didn’t believe in UFOs or aliens.

I thought about it.  The fact I disagreed with her views, and we argued might have made it sticky at times, we had a strange sort of rapport in everything other than aliens.  I did say it was not for the faint-hearted, but she took that to mean not for girls and simply made her more determined.

She was going whether I liked it or not.

I shrugged.  That last video meeting, up till now the only way we’d met. was almost a fight.  I guess when I ended the call, I was going to finally meet her in person.

That was three days later at Lima’s Jorge Chavez International Airport.  I arrived the day before and had arranged accommodation, and then went to the airport to greet her.

I was not sure what to expect.  I’d seen her face over time, but that was about it, and being hopeless with faces was worried I might not recognise her.  It didn’t matter, she recognised me.  As it turned out, she was almost nothing like what I imagined.

“Peter Jacobson, I presume?”

It had to be the same day some football team was arriving back home, the waiting area was packed with fans, and it was going to be impossible to find her.  And, typically, they came out first, and the crowd went wild.  It was inevitable that I would miss her.

“Jennifer?”

“The same.”  She saw me looking at the crowd, now chanting.  “I would have to pick the same plane as the national football team.  It’s nice to meet you in person. You seem less professor-ish.”

I took that as a compliment, though with her I could never be quite sure.  What I could see was she was a hugger, which wasn’t a bad thing.

Given the nature of my studies and work, I didn’t have a lot of time for a relationship, and although I had girls as friends, there had never been one I could call a girlfriend.  Jennifer was the one I’d known off and on the longest.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”  I was practical because the next few days were going to be difficult, and seeing her, she seemed to me to be more accustomed to less vigorous pursuits.

She had labelled me as sexist once or twice for reasons I couldn’t understand, but now I think I could, and realised it the moment she frowned at me.

“Tell you what.  When we get back to the hotel, we’ll square off and see who wins.  I know who I’m betting on.”  Her tone had an edge to it, not the best way to start an expedition.

I shrugged.  This girl was going to change my attitude and a lot more before we were done.  “I’m sorry.  I guess there’s a bit too much of my father in me.  It’s no excuse, though.  I’ll try harder to be less of a moron.”  I held out my hand.

She took it.  “We make a great pair.  I’m overly prickly, taking offence about everything.  Most men think I’m a model, and the rest hit on me. You’re the only one so far who hasn’t.”

I could see even now that she was attracting attention.

“I’m hoping that’s a compliment.”

She smiled.  “It’s going to be fun.”

I thought it was going to be anything but fun.

…

Jennifer, I soon discovered was one of those people who was easy to get along with, and in another sense, it was easy to misinterpret the easy-going and almost flirty manner as something else  She was one of those touchy-feely types, and I was, to a certain extent, uncomfortable with.

I didn’t want to be misinterpreted but knew eventually I would because it was inevitable.  I was to a certain extent a standoffish and reserved sort, or so I had been told.  I tried to explain this and became tongue-tied, something that had never happened to me before.

She thought it amusing.

It was when I finally realised she was also very beautiful, and when we went out to dinner, she attracted a lot more attention, something she didn’t seem to notice or perhaps deliberately ignored.

It was just something else that concerned me, but it would not be for very long.  Where we were going, she would be completely wrapped up, and no one would be able to tell who or what she was.

The next day, we were heading for Cusco in the mountains where we would be staying with a friend I’d met on the internet and who had told me about the significance of the area.

He dropped us off at the start of the walking track that would take us 2km up into the mountains, to a place where there was a plateau about the size of 12 football pitches, reputed to be a UFO landing site.  We arranged to meet him back at the drop-off point in 4 days.

It took the better part of that first day to Trek up the side of the mountain and reach the edge of the plateau which when first sighted looked as though it could definitely be a landing site for large craft.

Winter was not far away, it was covered in patchy snow but soon it would be completely covered.  It would also be very cold, and I was thankful the real cold had not yet set in.

We set up our tents in a sheltered area at one end.  I had to admit I was surprised when Jennifer had shouldered her pack for the Trek and then made it to the top.  She had stamina and determination.

We cooked dinner and had hot drinks, then rugged up and went to bed.  It was dark early, and the wind had picked up.  The skies were cloudy, but a clear sky was expected the next day.

A rather strange noise woke me, and instead of pitch-black darkness, there was an odd eerie glow that was bright enough to be seen threw the tent material.

I put on the outer layer of clothing and put my head outside the tent flap.  Above us, quite some distance up in the sky was a bright light.  It was too big to be a star or a planet.

I would have said it was the landing lights of a passing plane, but it was too low, there was no sound, and it was not moving.

“You saw it too?” Jennifer put her head out and was looking upwards.

“I saw a light shining through the tent.”

“What do you think it is, without stating the obvious.”  She gave me one of her sceptical looks.

It suddenly moved sideways, slowly, then did a wide circle to come back to the original position.

It could have been anything.  I wanted it to be a UFO,

“Perhaps some local with a large drone with powerful LEDs making it appear that it’s a UFO.”

She smiled.  “I’ll make a sceptic out of you yet.  I mean, if this place had been cited as one where odd events occur, you have to ask why aliens come here all the time and not other places as well.”

The light suddenly went out, and we were shrouded in darkness.

“Well, that was exciting,” she said.

Fully awake now and needing to stretch, I got out of the tent and stood up.  Jennifer joined me.

“Coffee?”

The cold was seeping through the layers and a hot drink would help.  She nodded, looking up at the sky.  It was clear and now the focal point had gone, there were stars.

I lit the camp stove and put the kettle on.

Suddenly there was a humming sound and instinctively looking up I could see where stars had been a blackness.

Something was blotting out the stars.

Then a few seconds later bright lights came on, not the sort that were a single or several searchlights but hundreds in a very large circle, slowly descending a short distance from us.

At a guess, it was an aircraft about the size of a football field. Now visible side on, it was about eight or ten stories tall, with rows of pale light indicating the levels, and the shape more or less a dome.

I looked sideways at Jennifer, and she seemed awestruck.

“Unless the Peruvian government is secretly experimenting with a new form of aircraft, this has to be a UFO,” I said.

“It’s not possible.”

We watched it come down and then settle on the surface about three or four hundred yards from us.  The main lights went out and a new yellow set around the base replaced them giving the whole area an eerie glow.

“And yet something is over there,”

She came over and took my hand in hers.  “We can’t stay.  Who knows what is in that thing.  How do we know it’s friendly or dangerous.  Do you really want to find out?

It seemed we would not have a choice.  I felt a slight tingling sensation and then lost consciousness.   My last thought was, whoever or whatever it was, they didn’t want any witnesses.

…

When I woke I was standing, still holding Jennifer’s hand, but inside a large room with no furniture, windows or anything.  Just walls and doors.

Seconds later a man suddenly materialised in front of us, a man dressed in a sort of outfit ancient monks used to wear.  A man who looked very much like us, though with less refined features.

He looked like he was trying to speak, or marshall his thoughts.

Perhaps overawed or suffering from the effects of whatever they did to us, I went with “You’re obviously not from this place?”

His expression changed, perhaps one of recognition.  “No.  Perhaps not.  Why are you here?”

Odd question.  He or someone else on board had transported us here.  Or did he mean here as in the plateau?

“We were expecting you,” I said. We weren’t but I thought it was a good response.  I could see Jennifer was simply stunned.

“That is not possible.  We had troubles and set down to make fixes.”

“Why here?”

“One of many ports in what you call the universe.”

“You’ve been here before?”

“Many times.  Sorry, the problem is fixed.  We must go.  Perhaps we will meet again.”

He slowly disappeared, we got tingly again, and then nothing.

It was light outside when I woke.  The sun was out, it was quite warm, and there was no sign of the patchy snow.  It was like prewinter had turned into summer.

Jennifer was beside me, slowly waking too.

“What happened?” She asked.  She’d also realised the change from the night before.

Coming up over the ledge was my friend and several others.   When he saw us, he came running.

“Peter, Peter, you’re alive.  We didn’t know what happened to you.”

He hugged me then Jennifer.

“What do you mean.  We were here the whole time.”

‘”No.  You disappeared.  When I came back four days later you were not there.  We came looking for you. Found your camp, and nothing else.  It’s been almost a year.  Where have you been?”

…

©  Charles Heath  2024

…

…

The email I received said:

“Go to Newark airport, go to the United booking desk and give them your name.  Take proof of identity.  Pack for five days, light.”

It was going to be, supposedly, a magical mystery tour.  I read in a travel magazine that a company offered five-day inclusive trips to anywhere.  You do not get the destination, just what to take.  Then, just be prepared for anything.

I paid the money and waited until last evening when the email came.

I was ready.

When I presented my credentials as requested, I found myself going to Venice, Italy, a place I had never been before.

When I looked it up, it said it took about 10 hours to get there with one stop in between.  Enough time to read up on the many places to go and see, though according to the instructions, everything had been arranged in advance.

I could also take the time to brush up on my schoolboy Italian.

When I got off the plane at Marco Polo airport, in Venice, it was mid-morning, but an hour or so was lost going through immigration and customs.  A water taxi was waiting to take me to a hotel where I would receive further instructions.  I was hoping it would be on or overlooking the Grand Canal.

At the airport, I wondered if there was going to be anyone else on this trip or whether I would be doing it alone.  I’d read that sometimes like-minded people were put together for a shared experience.

We had to agree and then fill out an extensive profile so they could appropriately match people.  Sometimes, people join at different times along the way. You just never knew what was going to happen.

That random unpredictability was just what I needed, having just gone through a breakup after a long period of peacefulness and stability, and frankly, I would not have chosen this type of tour if I had not.

It was a pleasant half hour or so winding our way through the canals, having paid the driver extra to take a long route.  I’d not been to Venice before, but I had read about it, and while some of the negative comments were true, it didn’t diminish the place in my eyes.

And the hotel, on its own island overlooking the main canal, was stylish and elegant, and my room was exactly where I’d hoped it would be.  I think I spent the next hour just looking out at the city and the boats going by, like a freeway, a never-ending stream of traffic.

A knock on the door interrupted what might have been described as a dream.

On the other side of the door was a smartly dressed youngish lady in a uniform of sorts, who looked like a summer day.

“Mr Benson, my name is Conchetta, and I will be your guide for tomorrow.  I am delivering a folder with the places we will be going for your perusal.”  It was the most exquisite, accented English I’d ever heard and just wanted to hear more.

She handed me the folder with a smile.  “Until tomorrow.”

And left me wondering what just happened.

…

The next morning I went downstairs to the restaurant where breakfast was served and found a wide variety of different items that could serve any number of different tastes.

Mine ran to cereal, followed by bacon and eggs on last to fruit and coffee.

I brought a newspaper down with me, mostly to practise my very bad Italian, and had set it to one side after finding a table.

A waiter came and filled my cup with coffee, black, no sugar, my preferred type for breakfast.  Then it was simply a matter of watching the other people come and go.

Ten or fifteen minutes passed with the usual arrivals, and being the peak time, there was a wait.  Except some people who thought they were more privileged than others and pushed forward.

I’d seen the particular gentleman the previous evening when he checked in and was making a point about having booked the best room in the house, a statement I last heard in an old Hollywood movie.  Mr J. Dexter Pierpoint.

Now it seemed he was too important to wait in line, virtually shoving a woman ahead of him out of the way.  The staff at the door were trying to deal with him, and the melee had attracted everyone’s attention.

Meanwhile, in what had to be karma, the lady was shown in without having her room checked, a privilege she thanked them for.

It took five minutes to get Mr J. Dexter Pierpoint under control, by which time my attention came back to the lady.  It might not have except she was standing next to my table, looking for somewhere to sit.

“If you can put up with a much less boisterous American, you may want to sit here.  I do not take up much room.”

She turned slightly to see who was addressing her and then smiled.

“I have nothing against Americans, well, perhaps just one.”  She inclined her head lightly to give me a second look over, perhaps trying to decide whether to accept the offer.  “Thank you.”

She sat.  Her breakfast was healthy.  Muesli, I think, and multigrain bread.  She had the appearance of someone who looked after themselves, a few years younger than me, but at a guess, recently retired, either a schoolteacher or librarian.

Of course, she could equally be a top MI6 agent because all I knew about her was that she had a British accent.

“I apologise for my fellow citizens’ brashness.  It seems an element of our people seem to think the world owes them a favour.  I do not.”

“You don’t need to.  It just seems like the world has gone crazy.  I hope it’s not in the water.”

She had a look on her face, one that made it impossible to tell if she was serious or not.

“Do you talk over breakfast, or should I sit in companionable silence?” Best to find out if she’s a talker or a quiet one so that I could not be construed as ruining it one way or the other.

“You mean you want to interrogate me?”

“I rather think it might be the other way around.”

“What would you do if I were not here?”

The waiter came with coffee, but she was a tea drinker.  There was no surprise there.

“Go back to studying the room and its inhabitants, hazarding guesses about who and what they are.”

“For what reason?”

“So that people think I have a purpose being here.”

“Do you?”

Another waiter delivered a pot of tea.  I could see the tag sticking out of the top.  English Breakfast.

“Not really.  It’s the first morning of a tour, Venice is the first stop.”

“But that is a reason is it not?  You’re on holiday, or as the Americans call it, vacation.”

“I have another name for it, but that’s a long story you don’t want to hear.  My name, by the way, is Jay, named after Jay Gatsby of the F Scott Fitzgerald novel.  My mother was an avid reader.”

It elicited a smile.  “I gather you get that comparison a lot.”

“Yes.  It’s better to get it out of the way and move on.”

“I am Millie, short for Millicent to which I refuse to answer if you use it.  There is no relation to any character in any book that I know of.  My mother didn’t read books, just magazines.”

She poured some tea out of the pot into her cup and stirred it for about a minute, then took a sip.  It looked quite dark, which meant strong.  I preferred tea weaker.

She looked around at the hustle and bustle, taking a moment to look at each person, and then came back to me.

“What category did you put me into?”

I looked at her, having switched from bemused to something else.  Was it a challenge, and if I didn’t get it right, she’d lob a breakfast roll in my direction.

“Is that the same category of question; do I have a death wish?”

There was, all of a sudden, a hint of laughter in those blue eyes.  I suspect once upon a time she was a very beautiful blonde.  Still was very attractive, though I told myself I was not here to pass judgment.

“Death wish it is.  Retired schoolteacher or librarian.  Or just for something different, a top spy for MI6.”  There, it was said.

She laughed outright.  “I’ll own up to the librarian.  As for the rest, possibly a dream I had once.  Now, about you?  Let me guess, a retired executive of a multinational company.”

I guess I had the look.  I was not in a suit this morning, I had dressed down to a tie, vest, and jacket.

“Close.  My family has owned a shipping company for a century or so, starting with one ship, and now, it’s so successful that they don’t need me.  Someone suggested I take a world tour.”

“By yourself?”

“My wife died about five years back, and I thought I found someone else, but it didn’t work out.  I think I still hadn’t got over Ellen.”

“It’s hard.  My William passed two years back.  I miss him but I have to move on, so I’m told.”

She looked up, and I could see a young girl, late teens perhaps, searching the room and then stopping at Millie.

“Oh, dear.  She found me.”

“Your granddaughter, I presume?”

“My son didn’t like the idea of me visiting Italy alone.  Had this strange idea I might be taken by a fancy young Italian boy.  She’s here as his spy.  Apparently, she speaks fluent Italian.”

“And perfectly capable of fending off the would-be Italian Romeo’s.”

“That too.” She stood.  “Thanks for offering me a seat.  We may or may not run into each other again, but it was interesting.”

Another smile, and she was gone.

The first day, and I’d already said more to a stranger than I had in years.  I hadn’t realised that my life had got so boring or that I had so irrevocably wrapped myself up in my job that I’d missed everything else going on around me.

Perhaps that was why my last relationship failed.

Perhaps that’s why my children had practically forced me into getting away from everything, what Harry, my eldest son had said, “Take the time to wake up and smell the roses.”

I saw Conchetta, the guide appear in the doorway, and realised it was my cue.  The first day, quite literally, of the rest of my life.

…

©  Charles Heath  2024

…

…

Some coincidences could never be explained.

It wasn’t long after Janine had died that I was sent out of the room while the hospital staff did whatever they did after a patient died.  I was by the nursing station, and two were talking.

“You wouldn’t believe it.  just as one patient died, the other came out of her coma.  The exact second.  It had to be divine intervention or something.”

I didn’t ask, but I could guess.  I walked up the passage to Margaret’s room and looked in the door.  She was awake.  Well, her eyes were open, and she didn’t look like she was in a coma, but I wasn’t a doctor.

But I had to wonder if there was a connection between the two events.

Those last few days with Janine were impossible.  I don’t know if she realised the pain she caused me in making those baseless accusations or not, and I could only put it down to the medications the doctors had her on.

She was certainly not her usual self.

Something that did come out of it, not that she had intended it, or that I had consciously thought about it until now, was what would have happened to Margaret if she had not recovered.

I’d noticed that there was no next of kin on her paperwork, which meant that she might have died and just been cremated or just would have disappeared.

No one deserved that fate.

It was only a fleeting thought because the moment the hospital staff had completed their work, the administrator arrived and wanted to know what I was going to do.  Whilst sympathetic to my loss, they still had a hospital to run and a bed to free up for the next patient.

That meant for the next few days I was tied up with arranging funerals and organising the three children who had been on a rotating cycle of being with her at the hospital, and then altogether at the funeral, a feat only manageable at Christmas.

They stayed just long enough to see if there was anything to inherit and when they realised it was all passed to me, asked me if I would be OK, each said they were willing to stay if I needed them but were on the next plane out when I said I didn’t.

Perhaps I would see them again at Christmas.

I know the day after the last child left, I was sitting alone in the dining room with a cup of coffee and the morning newspaper wondering what I was going to do without her.

Someone had suggested I should pack up all her things and donate them to a charity.  The girls had taken what they thought she would want them to have, and suggested I hire someone to do it.  They couldn’t; the memory of her passing was too raw.  It was for me too, but then I had a whole house filled with reminders and memories.

That’s when I had to get out of there, if only for a few days, and it was where, as if driven by an unseen force, I ended up back at the hospital, and after an hour of wanting to but not wanting to I found myself knocking on Margaret’s door.

I didn’t know if she was well enough or had even recovered enough to have visitors.

She turned her head, saw me, and smiled.  “James, come in.  What a pleasant surprise.  Oh, and I’m sorry for your loss.  I was devastated when I heard that Janine had passed.  How are you?”

It was probably more than she should be saying.  She looked tired if not very sad.

“I don’t know how to feel or what I should do.  I couldn’t stay at home, and I know it sounds stupid, I didn’t have anywhere else to go?”

“That’s not stupid at all.  You’ve just suffered a terrible loss, and it can be very disorientating.  Come and sit.”

I went over to collect the chair and sat where she could see me without having to move too much.

“You don’t have to say anything.  Perhaps you simply take the time to reflect on what you had and what you still have.  That will never go away, not as long as she remains in your heart.”

Had I expected those words?  No.  Perhaps coming from someone else, they may have sounded hollow, but I got the impression she meant every word.  Perhaps having suffered a hugely calamitous point in her own life, she had gained an insight into how precious life was, and it was not meant to be frittered away or ended until it was the time.  She certainly sounded different to the last time we met.

“I was told that I woke up the exact moment Janine died.  I doubt there was a significance that it was just a coincidence.  I certainly never expected to come back, and no, what I did was not because of something I did or said.”

Those were the words that Janine had used, almost to the letter.  it had crossed my mind, but what I had said, someone needed to, and if it could not come from what was once a friend, then she was beyond help.  “Janine seemed to think that I was responsible.”

“Is that why you’re here?”  she asked when I didn’t say anything. There was no reproach in her tone, just curiosity.

“Not really.  I thought I would come and see how you were.  Perhaps it was the notion that I could lose two people I cared about was worrying me.  You know me well enough to know that I speak my mind when I’m with friends, and I always wanted to believe you were one.  I was hurt when you chose William, but it was not unexpected.  You were raised with certain expectations, and I could never fulfil those, for your parents, or you.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.  I know what I did, and I’m not proud of it, and there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about you.  But I can’t blame my parents and their expectations, just my stupidity in not realising that I should have chosen love.  Because of that, I have the rest of my life to pay penance.  I do hope, though, despite everything, that we might still be friends.  God knows I don’t deserve it, but I promise I will never hurt you again.”

That thought, a leopard never changed its spots came into my mind, but then, most leopards don’t go through near-death experiences.  I shook my head, though I couldn’t say why.  “This is too soon,” I said.  “I feel sad, and I feel angry, and I feel cheated.  It’s not your fault.” I stood.  “Perhaps another time.”

Why was I there?  What on earth had made me think going to see Margaret for any reason was going to assuage the pain I was feeling?  And it was pain, far stronger than I imagined it would be.  An onlooker would say I was a mess, and they would be right.  Janine, if she knew what was happening, would be disappointed.  I knew she would want me to be strong for the children’s sake, and I had been.

But in those hours, days after they had returned home and I was alone, that was when it came home and hit me.  I was alone.  I had no one to talk to, no one to do the things we did together, no one to just be there.  it might be said that I took her for granted, but I think over time, you both do that to a certain degree.  You do stuff, you argue, there a good moments and bad moments, but that was what a relationship was, and you look forward to being together for the rest of your days.

When that is cut short, when one or the other dies, there’s an empty spot that can’t be filled.  And it was the reason why, at that moment in time, I couldn’t function.  It was why, a week later, after several phone calls from my eldest son, David, not being answered, the police came to see if everything was ok, and I was found unconscious on the floor.

I woke up in the hospital, and an odd sensation went through me moments before I opened my eyes, an image of someone waving to me as they disappeared into a bright light.  Had I just experienced my own near-death experience, had I just spent some time in heaven’s waiting room, where Janine had told me in no uncertain terms that I had to pull myself together?

I certainly felt like I used to after she told me off.

“Thank God.”

I turned to see David; concern written all over his face.

“I thought we all thought we’d lost you too.  why didn’t you simply ask one of us to stay with you?”

“You have your own lives to live.”

‘You are a part of those lives, and we want, no, need, you to be in them for as long as possible.  I should have realised.  Mum said you’d be lost without her, but we thought she was joking.  You’ve always been so solid in the face of every catastrophe.”

“Perhaps I’m the one who should be sorry to cause you trouble.”

“You are no trouble.  And I’m here for as long as it takes.”

…

Time heals all wounds.  Well, most of them anyway.

With life again in the house, people coming and going, the sounds of children running around and being nuisances as only children could, a new life was created, a new normal.  Janine was not gone. There were photos of her everywhere, things that were hers everywhere, and it was like she was still there.

A year passed, the anniversary of her death, and the whole that had been created by her departure was not as large as it had been, and the subject of whether or not I would ever find someone else, not to replace Janine, but to be a companion, a friend, someone who might make life a little less lonely was actually discussed at the table.

I thought it was too soon. They thought it was time I considered it.  After all, they knew that their mother would be happy for me if I found someone who could be, as David put it, a special friend.

I was sitting at what might have been called my favourite spot at the Golden Bell Cafe, overlooking the town’s botanical gardens.

It was a time of reflection, the gardens were the place where I’d proposed to Janine, and she had accepted, and it subsequently became a place we made time to be together.

When I’d finished the coffee and cake, I would take a walk there, the excuse being I had to walk off the calories.

It was also an excellent spot to see comings and goings, and being the small town it was, I knew most of those going by.  Usually, it was the same people, but this morning there was a new face.

And to be honest, I knew I was going to see her again, and the thought of it did not upset me.  It might have once, but I was in a better place now than I was.

This was not a coincidental meeting.  I had long suspected David had discovered that Margaret had been an old girlfriend and knowing him he would have checked her out and had thought if I saw someone familiar from the past, it might be beneficial

It had his sticky fingers all over the plot.  David always meant well, especially when trying to help his siblings, sometimes with hilarious results, and they were used to his interceding.

When our eyes met, she smiled.  She, too, had benefited from time passing and had almost become her old self again, at least physically.

When she reached the cafe, she joined me at the table.

“It is nice to see you again, Margaret.”

“And I you, but I have to be honest with you.”

“David came to see you and ask if you’d try and brighten up an old fossil like me?”

“He didn’t call you an old fossil, but I believe he believed he had the best of intentions, but not the history.”

“No.  But he means well.  And if you want me to be honest, I’m glad to see you.  Life is too short for both of us to hold onto the past.  Whatever happened then did for a reason, and probably with the intention that it might be possible to have a second chance later on.  Maybe this is our later on. I know Janine would be upset with me if she knew how sad I’ve been since she passed, and perhaps at some point, she might give me a sign.”

“I don’t deserve a second chance, James.  I should not have done what I did.  I loved you, you know that.”

“Then perhaps we will take it one step at a time.  Today. Coffee, cake, and a walk in the park.”

“One day at a time is fine,” she said, with what looked like teary eyes.

I had no idea what she was expecting, perhaps for me to be my usual bad-tempered self when I saw her, but it didn’t seem right, and enough time had passed before seeing any other women

At my age, it was going to be impossible, which is why Margaret was ideal.  I still had feelings for her, probably always did, and just suppressed them while I was with Janine, but now seeing her across the table, those feelings were being given a workout.

I put my hand on hers, and she looked up.  A tear escaped and ran down her cheek.  “Then you pick what you want us to do tomorrow.  Where are you staying?”

“The guest house.”

“Then tomorrow I’ll come and get you.  I have a big empty house and you can stay with me.  There’s a lovely room with your name on it.  Now that’s settled…”

I think I knew at that moment, when I’d looked into those teary eyes that whatever we had those many years before had not gone away but just lay dormant, waiting for the chance to re-emerge and take both of us by surprise.

Even so, there was a measured reluctance to go that next step, not until I got a sign from Janine that she was happy for me.

And when I got to a point where I thought it would never happen, it did.

We went to the cafe and the usual walk. We talked about the usual things and what we were going to do, but I sensed she was getting frustrated that I was still hesitant.

It had been over a year since Janine had passed, and everyone had thought enough time had passed that I had a perfect opportunity to be happy again.

We got home and she went upstairs to her room.  We were not sharing the room or the bed, not yet, and that might have added to the frustration because there was no reason not to.

I noticed a letter on the sideboard near the front door and picked it up.  It was addressed to me in Janine’s writing.

A letter from the grave.

I held it with a shaking hand.  All I could think of was that it would be advice, or just one last word, her penchant for always having the last word.

I opened the envelope and there were several sheets, handwritten.  It was dated after we had that argument when I dropped on to see Margaret when she was in a coma in the hospital.

It was a rather odd time to write a letter to be delivered a year after her death.

…

Dear James

This might feel a little creepy, and I’m guessing that thought has passed through your mind.

It is not.  It’s an apology because I admonished you for no reason other than my jealousy running wild, but perhaps underlying that, it was my insecurity.

I had in the beginning of our relationship wondered if it was going to last, that the moment Margaret came to her senses and saw what she had lost, she would come back and take you away from me.

It was silly, but I could not believe my fortune when she left.  Of course, you were very sad but I had no doubt that I could make you happy, happier than you would have been with her.

The truth is, we were meant to be together.  All I had to do was put away those fears that I might lose you one day and just get on with it.  I can’t say I’m not glad she didn’t come back.

Then, when she did, those fears rose again.  When you went to see her, I wanted to stop you, but doing so may have had the opposite effect.  I was glad to learn whatever you may have felt for her, that you were not sorry for her or her situation, nor did you want to pick up where you left off.

I guess it was the only part of you I never understood, and I never asked because it might stir up demons that didn’t need to be woken.

I went to see her after you did, and it was spooky to come face to face with your worst fears.  She had hardly aged, whereas the rest of us had been worn out by living a hard life.

Sorry, jealousy again.

I told her about us, the highs the lows, everything she would not have experienced, and as far as I could see, didn’t.  She was not a mother, she was not a housewife, and she didn’t work crazy jobs to bring in enough money to ensure we could give our children the best life they could have.

As you can imagine, she had no answers.

But as I understand it, she now had no life, and the people she thought she could rely on later in life had abandoned her.  Those sorry circumstances led her to where she is now, and for that, I am sorry for her.  No one should ever finish up alone and unloved.

So, having duly thought about it, I can see no reason why you should not consider letting her back into your life.  She could use a friend, and if nothing else, you would be a very good friend.  If it becomes something more, then so be it.  You have a lot of love in that heart of yours, James, and it won’t hurt to share some of it with her.

If I know you as I believe I do, you will have thought about it, and think it is too soon, or that it would sully your memory of me.  It won’t.  You will never forget me.  I know you that well, James.

All you have to do now is make the first move.

Jan

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©  Charles Heath  2024

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