…

Childhood romances are often seen as incredibly romantic when others look back on how you met and how the relationship evolved, and then when that final leap into the unknown is taken.

It also makes a great conversational piece when talking to others particularly if it is for the first time or on your typical holiday when talking to the person next to you on a plane, or you are on a two-week cruise with nowhere to hide and nothing else to talk about.

The only downside is that you have to listen to their story, and it’s never as exciting as yours.

But as the years go by, it’s where you begin to finish each other’s sentences, then start bringing up everything bad about the relationship, followed by talk of divorce when things start to go downhill.

People say it’s healthy for a marriage to argue, but really, it isn’t.  What you do learn after twenty years is that compromise is the only way to survive.

Janine and I had a rocky start.  I’d known her forever, but she had always been my second choice.  It had always been a competition between her and Margaret Bennet, and Margaret would have one if she had not dumped me at the last moment.

Even then, it took a few years before I could get my head above water, Margaret had broken me so badly.  I had often wondered why Janine cared that much because others had treated her much better.

It was one of those mornings.  The last child had finally finished school and was university-backed, the other two having already left and worked on becoming captains of industry, or perhaps something less lofty.  Both bots, they were more interested in girls to set themselves up with a good education.

Alive, the youngest, was going to take after her mother and become a doctor or lawyer, having finished at the top of her class.  She was taking a gap year first and going to see the world.

It meant that in less than a week, we would be on our own for the first time in nearly twenty-five years.  We both were planning to take a step back from our jobs to spend some time together.

I could, but I had the feeling Janine would not.  She was one of those micro-managers, and since the business was hers, she was always reluctant to leave, and our holidays tended to see her on the end of the phone, unable to relax.

I’d just run through the overnight work emails and jumped to my personal one.  Usually, there was nothing there, except if the boys needed money which was pretty much invested a week.  This morning there was one from someone rear I never expected to hear from again.

Margaret Bennet.

Only it was Margaret O’Hara now.

I had taken an interest in what had happened to her after she left me, the luckier man being William Barkerfield, the son of a Lord, and the heir to a fortune.  Wealth won, and love lost.  It showed me what her true character was, and at the time, it surprised me.

William Barkerfield was a snotty self-entitled fool who was popular only because of his heritage.  Those who pandered to him got to stay at the castle.  I never pandered to him, but Margaret had several times.

And like the fool I was, I never wanted to believe she cheated, but after she left, I had to suspect that the rumours were true.  It only made the parting so much more painful.

That first marriage to the Son of a Lord only lasted five years, William had not changed his younger days behaviour and was often seen with a bevy of beautiful women.

I think for a short time I felt sorry for her, but she went on to commit an even bigger folly by marrying one of his friends, equally as seldom entitled, who, if the divorce papers were true, beat her.

There were three more attempts to get it right and as O’Hara, I’d just read that her fifth husband had died of a heart attack k and left her comfortable lying off, but I was guessing not comfortable enough.

I had expected a call after each of the disasters ended, but there wasn’t.  Janine was as interested in Margaret’s trajectory, and I knew for Janine’s part it would eventually land her in a cesspool, but there was no love lost between them.

I was in two minds whether I could read it, and in the end, curiosity got me.

It was long and rambling, the sort of missive written by someone very drunk.  It was an apology, but she knew it was too late, and too much water had gone under that bridge.  She wanted to meet and would be in London next week.  It was up to me if I wanted to see her.

I was not sure I did.  Just reading it made me feel a variety of emotions.

Janine saw straight away something was wrong.

“What’s happened?”

“I got an email from Margaret.”

“It’s a little late for an apology.” Ever practical, or was that pragmatic.  “What does she want?”

“Meet up.  She’s in town next week.”

“You going? She has no right to expect anything from you.”

“Don’t know.  I don’t really want to drag up all those old memories again.  I hope it’s not to tell me about all the bad luck she’s had.”

“She’ll want something, Harry.  You can be sure of it.  You can also bet she knows the success you have in your life.  If you go, be careful.”

It surprised me she was so blase about it, given how much she hated her.

“You know me better than that.”

“You know what I mean.”  It was accompanied by that look of hers, the warning that wasn’t meant to look like a warning.  The fact I’d never done anything wrong the whole time I’d been married to her obviously counted for nothing.

I went, if only out of curiosity.

We were dining at the poshest restaurant in the city, and I knew I would be paying for it.  Margaret was that sort of woman. She had been before when I knew her, and nothing would have changed.

She looked elegant, a woman of substance.  She didn’t get up when I arrived and earned her first black mark.  I’d set the bar at three.

She smiled when I sat, but it was a fake smile.  Was meeting me so beneath her?

“It’s been a long time, Harry.”

“So Janine tells me.”

A wrinkle of her nose at the name.  I mentioned it to annoy her.  Now I knew it would I would do it again.

“How are you?” She asked.

“I got over you, and as you can see, I didn’t die of a broken heart.”  It wasn’t said with malice, but malice was what I felt.

“I’m so sorry about what happened.  William had just assumed l would marry him, and it was an impossible situation to get out of.”

“Was it worth it?”

It was clear she was not here to rake over the coals.  The fact that she was tolerating my questions told me Janine was right.  She wanted something badly enough to swallow her pride.

“With the benefit of hindsight, no. I was young and naive back then. I saw you married Janine, so there was no point calling you when it all fell apart.”

“Still married, too,” I said, rubbing a little salt into the wound.

The look she gave me would have killed a lesser mortal stone dead, but it was interesting to realise I felt nothing for her anymore.  It was her loss, not mine.

The waiter delivered the menus, and there were no cheap options.  One course was about the same it cost to feed our family of five.  Both Janine and I would agree was an unnecessary extravagance.

She picked the dearest items on the menu.  I did, too, just to see what it was I was missing.  The champagne was almost an average worker’s weekly paycheck.  Even broke, she knew nothing about being humble.

A silence set in for a few minutes after the waiter left, and another arrived with the champagne and poured it.  Wine was one of those subjective things. Some reckoned expensive wine was no better than cheap plonk.  I tended to agree, but individual taste made the bad sometimes good and good often bad.  I doubt Margaret would understand that personal taste trumps expense.

I had a sip, then put the glass down.  Served properly, and at the right temperature, it was exquisite.  I could tell the difference, and I liked it.  But, although I could easily afford it, I chose not to.

“I saw your last husband died of a heart attack.”  I did wonder if she had something to do with it, but then I remembered she never really wanted to participate.  It was no surprise she had no children.  And possibly no wonder her husbands went elsewhere to pursue women who would willingly give them what they wanted.

“Too lazy.  I told him to go out and exercise to lose some weight.  Then he did.  Died the first day in the gym.”

“Did you inherit the castle?”

“No.  The bastard left me a small annuity and left everything to his kids.  It’s like I never existed.”

“You didn’t think the aristocracy would protect itself from someone like you?” OK, I’d had enough of this wretched woman.  I would have given her the benefit of the doubt, but after picking this place and those items off the menu, she wasn’t worth the effort.  “You really never knew me, Margaret.  And if you think this is what I am,” I waved a hand to take in the whole restaurant, “You’ve greatly miscalculated.  I’m done here.  You can finish your lunch, I’ll tell the maitre’d I’ll pay for it, but don’t call me again.”

I stood, took a last look at the bullet I dodged, and walked out.

What I would never tell either Margaret or Janine was how heartbroken I was, seeing her again, of even thinking that there might be something there, even if I didn’t act on it, or the fact the hurt really hadn’t gone away.

The trouble was, I knew it was not going to be the last time I would see her.

…

©  Charles Heath 2024

…

It was a case of the best-laid plans of mice and men.

I was never quite sure why mice were involved, but over time, I began to think someone knew and was not telling anyone.

The problem with being in a death or glory job, all too often it ends in death and very little of the thing called glory.

Too many times, things went sideways, with either unintended consequences or consequences that were untenable.

That’s why, one day, too many years past my use-by date, I was sitting at a small table outside a Parisian Street Cafe contemplating what retirement might look like, when someone walked past and bumped into me.

My immediate thought, a Russian assassin was about to, or just had, jab me with poison.

I reached out and grabbed the hand of the would-be assassin, and dragged that person around, checking that hand then the other for a weapon, and realising in the same instant it was a woman, not a man, and definitely not Russian.

She gave me a very painful, if not angry, expression.

I let her go.  “I’m sorry.  I thought you were someone else.”

She regained her composure, and the two other customers who had taken an interest in what might have become an altercation went back to their coffee.

“Do you do that to everyone who bumps accidentally into you?” She asked, rubbing her arm where I had grabbed her.

I probably would, but I didn’t think that was a justifying answer for my actions.  Even so, I was still wary.  An assassin didn’t have to be Russian, but conversely, she could be well-versed in Western ways.

“No, but I have had a previous bad experience from someone who didn’t bump into me accidentally.” It sounded lame for an excuse, but I didn’t have a lot of time to come up with something better.

“I’m sorry to hear that, but it was accidental, I assure you.  Tell you what, buy me coffee, and you can explain what it is you have against people bumping into you.”

She sat opposite me.  I called the waiter, and she ordered.  When he went back inside, I sat but not before my suspicious mind had started analysing her.

Mid-thirties, American, or perhaps that was based more on the fact she may have spent a lot of time there.  She had the accent, but I suspect she had been born in England if not somewhere in Europe.

Dressed smartly, not summery, so there for work, and the business suit suggested one of those tertiaries educated professions, doctor, accountant, executive, or at worst, a lawyer.

It seemed then it was unlikely she was an assassin because what she was wearing would make her stand out in a crowd.  Or perhaps that was just her.  What made me notice her was the brunette hair with subtle blonde streaks.

I shook my head.  Where did that come from?

“In Paris for business?”  Not my best opening line.

“Long story short, my husband just dumped me by text.”

Perhaps the angry look wasn’t just reserved for me, and perhaps, the bumping was accidental because now I thought about it, she had been looking at her cell phone.

“That’s pretty dumb,” I said without thinking.

She looked up sharply at me, perhaps wondering if I was referring to her or to the husband, then relaxed a little.  “That’s what I thought.  And yet I also wanted to believe he asked me to come here, spend the week with him, and try to smooth things over.  A second honeymoon, so to speak.  God knows the first one wasn’t anything to write home about.”

What had I just walked into the middle of?  “And alas, it’s not to be, I’m guessing.  Is he here in Paris?”

“He was.  I arrived last night.  We had dinner, then he had to go to Brussels for an early morning meeting, and when I asked him when he would be back, he said it was over.  He said he was going to end it last night but couldn’t tell me to my face.”

Her coffee arrived.

While she took a sip, then another, the thought struck me she didn’t look too upset about it.  Nor had she protested enough about what amounted to assault and battery.

Then, before I thought about it, I asked why she was not more upset.  Sometimes, I forgot discretion was the better part of valour.

“I had my suspicions.  A friend told me she had seen him with another woman, and he simply said it was one of his clients,” she said.

I noticed that she subtly gave me a quick study, perhaps to determine if I was an axe murderer. The trouble with that was that I had been called that once after a particularly nasty assignment.  How not to look like one, I did not know.

She shrugged.  “My name is Melissa, by the way.”

“Monty.  It’s better than my real name, and I’m still suffering nightmares from kids who ragged on me over that name.”

“Monty, it will be.”  She finished her coffee.  “Enough about me and my woes.  Thanks for listening.”

She stood.

I didn’t. “Perhaps we’ll meet again,” I said, hoping I wouldn’t.

She smiled.  “Who knows.”

I watched her leave, walking all the way to the metro station and then disappearing into the bowels of the earth.

I was still undecided whether or not she was an assassin or, more likely, the assassin’s apprentice.

My hotel was a small anonymous place in Rue nnnn picked for its quaintness, and unless you knew it was there, it was a very safe place to hide.  I had a choice of five and tried not to stay in the same hotel whenever I was in Paris.

It was one of those unwritten rules written in concrete, never stay in the same place twice, along with never creating traceable patterns.

It was hard work in itself to adhere to that rule, but when your life depended on it, it was worth the effort.

I had taken the time, after she left, to have another cup of tea and ponder what just happened.  A half-hour later, after dismissing the encounter as a coincidence, I had taken the metro to Montmartre and was wandering around the small market near the station when I saw her again.

Melissa.

Once is an accident, twice is not a coincidence. Another unwritten rule is that there’s no such thing as a coincidence.

I considered simply avoiding her and going to the hotel, but she was there for a reason, and I was one of those people whose curiosity would one day get the better of them.

I kept wandering slowly from one vendor to the next until we met.

She appeared to be pleasantly surprised when I accidentally ran into her, but I could see that fractional hesitation before making the appropriate gesture.  She, too, had seen me earlier and had been watching my progress.

It meant she knew where I would be and where I was staying.  It meant the accidental bump was anything but accidental.

My first question was, who was she and what did she want with me.

The next unwritten rule was to keep your friends close but your enemies closer.

“I had no idea you lived near here,” I said.

“Monty, what a pleasant surprise.”  She left off the rest of the question, ‘Do you live near here too’, trying not to be too obvious.

I’d just completed a scan of the marketplace for anything out of the ordinary.  Melissa was the distraction. The real enemy would be lurking close by.

I’d seen a likely suspect, a male, in his mid-forties, well-covered and almost indistinguishable.  He didn’t want to be recognised, and in being so, stood out.  Clever and yet not so clever.

“By yourself,” I asked casually.

She looked at me sharply again, then smiled to cover it.  “Of course.  I thought that after the bastard dumped me, I might as well make the most of it.  Are you here with someone?”

She looked around as if she thought that I should be with a wife or girlfriend.  After all, someone had once told me, that it’s Paris, the city of love.

For some.

“No.  Quite alone.”  I put an inflection into my tone that conveyed a suggestion that if inclined, she might offer to fill that void.

“That’s a shame, but perhaps not.  It’s like serendipity. We keep bumping into each other like this.”

A nice pun.

“Perhaps the universe is trying to tell us something.  Have you been to Paris before?”

“Once or twice, but I’m not the best tourist.  I didn’t have much spare time to see the sights.”

“Then it could be a case of the blind leading the blind if you have the time.”  Then, with an apologetic look, she added, “I’m sorry.  I have no idea if you’re staying or working, and here I am, prattling along, making assumptions.”

If I were any other guy, I would be flattered at the suggestion.  “I hardly know you, and perhaps it’s not the right time after what happened to you.”

I wasn’t an expert on rebound romances, but it was an excuse to make her work harder.

“You’re right, of course.  I’m being an ass.  Maybe some other time.”  With that, she gave me a smile and continued on with her exploration of the marketplace.

Rule number seventy-two, try not to be obvious you’re trying to set up a meeting or date with a target.  Try too hard they get suspicious.  Try to make it their idea, not yours.

Now I knew I was the target.  Why, I intended to find out.  I would not be surprised if she was staying at the same hotel.  It also meant someone either knew a lot about me or knew someone else who did.

That I would have to give some serious consideration.

The following morning arrived, and I was tired.  Several phone calls home to ask questions gave me no answers.  Was everyone lying to me?

Had I become expendable?

There was a time when your worth to the organisation became less because of fatigue, too long in the field, and the cost of retraining outweighed the agents’ worth.

Although the director had said my time was coming to an end, and expressed his surprise I had not been killed when clearly there were times when it was an almost certainty, he had given me a retirement option.

Except agents only ever retired when they were dead.  It was almost the first thing we were told at the induction.  And it was true.  Six of the eight in my intake were gone.  The other ended up in a facility in a coma he was not expected to recover from. 

It gave me no pleasure to be the last man standing

Then there was that other problem, the fact I was a walking encyclopaedia of the organisation’s inner workings, information an enemy could use to destroy us.

Melissa was potentially one of the enemy agents waiting in line to extract that information.  Her, the hidden man. He had disappeared before she had left me and may have confirmed my location.

Yes, paranoia was in overdrive.

I had expected an attack overnight, hence the tiredness and it only served to underline that it was time to get out.  Sleeping with a hand on the gun under your pillow was not the way to live.

It didn’t make me feel any better to find Melissa in the breakfast room when I walked it.  It was not a shock or surprise to find her there, and if she had been by herself, I might have shot her.

She was bright and breezy with the appropriate surprised response.

“Monty.  I had no idea you were staying here.  What a coincidence.”

I held my tongue.  A coincidence, my ass.  I looked around the room, but no one matched the man I’d seen loitering the day before.

She noticed.  “Looking for someone?”

I glared at her.  “Why would you think that?”  It was time to be a bad cop.

The bright breezy expression disappeared, replaced by concern. For me, I doubt it.  But she wisely didn’t answer that question.

“Right.  I’m going to be walking out the front door in about five minutes.  If I see your friend loitering out there, you will discover who I really am.  Just to be clear, I don’t believe in coincidences.”

I left her there. Perhaps the stunned look was real, but she had her mobile phone in her hand before I reached the stairs.

Sprung.  There was no doubt she was the honey trap.  Now I needed to find out who was after me.

When I made it out onto the street, I saw him just disappearing over the road and heading down towards the metro station.

I headed back inside and towards the breakfast room.  She would be very inexperienced if she was still there or incredibly stupid if she thought she could ride this storm out.

It was almost a relief not to find her there.  The idea of having to torture information out of her made me feel ill.  It showed just how far I’d fallen off the mission.  That sort of thing was a matter of rote and should not register any repugnance.

I sighed.  My cover was blown, and my usefulness in this mission was over.  I’d called in a replacement the night before, and he was awaiting the call. I made it.  Now I was free to go home.

Except…

I saw her scuttling out the front door, a complete change of clothes; a blonde wig, large sunglasses, and a backpack.  A student on sabbatical.

Would she check to see if she was being followed or for general surveillance?  She knew her cover had also been blown, so if she was well-trained, self-preservation would be paramount.  And had she checked the area earlier for a plan b escape?  It had been my priority when I first arrived. 

Not so far.  She was heading in the opposite direction to the man, to the gardens a short distance away.  I knew a shortcut, and it would come out ahead of her.  I waited, and then as she passed, I stepped out and said, “What a surprise to see you here?”

Foolishly, she stopped and turned.  In her shoes, I would have run.  I was not going to chase her, remember, don’t bring attention to yourself.

“How…?”

“Check the whole area where you’re staying.  You never know when things will go south.”

Of course, the darting eyes told me why she had stopped, and I had been almost expecting that it was a well-rehearsed trap.  The expression on her face told the story.  It also signed her partner’s death warrant.

Just as he reached out to grab me, I drove the knife in and up, then twisted it.  He was dead before his body could sink to the ground.  I almost carried him back to a doorway a few meters from the street and gently put him down there.  He looked like a drunk sleeping it off.

The face was familiar, I had definitely seen him before, but I couldn’t put a name to it.

She then decided while my back was turned to finish the job she was sent to do, except there was a mirror above the door that showed foot traffic from the street.  I saw her coming and easily disarmed her.

She thought about running but changed her mind.  A knife in the back before she made it to the street wasn’t appealing.

“What now?” she asked.

“A simple question; why?”

“I don’t ask.  To me, it’s just a job.”

“And the fact you failed?”

“It’s not the first time.  It was clumsily conceived.  I told them you’d work out what’s happening, but Benson, the guy you killed, was adamant.”

Benson.  Now, there was a ghost from the past.  Three years before, he was on another botched mission that got his partner killed and left him with severe injuries.  I was not surprised he would hunt me down.  Yet another rule; one should never be motivated by revenge – it was a matter of learning the old saying – first, dig two graves.

“What are you going to do to me?” she asked.

I realised that at that moment, she was still there.  Again, I would have run the minute I seemed distracted.  “Nothing.  Just tell me who he worked for.”

“I don’t know.  I don’t care either.  It’s just a job, my boss tells me where to go, and they tell me what they want.”

“Who trained you?”

“You don’t need to know.  I won’t be coming after you.  Revenge is a waste of time.  And I’m not worth the effort of chasing down if that’s what you’re thinking.  But I did learn a few valuable lessons if that’s any consolation.  I bet you sleep with a gun under your pillow.  I was going to visit you last night, but the fact you look anything but what you are told me that would be very unwise.  Now, if you don’t mind, I have a train to catch.”

“Do you like what you do?  It seems that if it was anyone else, you’d be dead.  If you had become a problem, you would be.  I’m retiring as of now.  I’m over this looking over your shoulder stuff, and it’s something you’re going to have to get used to.”

“And yet I sense a but…”

“I’m not the worst person you could end up with.  And you know I can protect you.”

“You were just a job, Monty.  I like what I do.”

It was a random thought that popped into my head.  I had the funds to disappear and have a very good life if I wanted it.  And I had got a strange sensation from her the moment she bumped into me.  That eye contact had been almost electric.

I shrugged.  “Then go get your train.  If you change your mind, I’ll be at the Charles de Gaulle airport, making up my mind which plane to get on while getting some lunch and champagne.”

She just smiled and shook her head.  There was nothing to say.

I ended up in terminal 3 and hadn’t realised that I’d not given her a more precise location.

It had the Bistro Benoit, the best of the restaurants at the airport, and there I ended up with a glass of champagne and the job of looking through the upcoming departures. 

It literally was much the same as throwing a dart at the world map and going there.  It would be more fun going with someone, but my life had been dedicated to service, and there never had been anyone special.

I’d felt a spark with Melissa, and it would have been fine to explore the possibilities.  Of course, she might take the opportunity to finish the job, no doubt it would be a request from her boss, so I might yet get a surprise.

An hour passed.

That notion that the airport was very large and had several terminals to explore increased the odds exponentially.

At that time my short list of places to go included Uruguay, though I was not sure why, Kenya, because the idea of going on safari appealed, New Zealand, because no one would believe I’d go somewhere so remote, Jamaica, in search of pirate history, or New York, on the way to somewhere more obscure like Montana.

I was buried in a page on Quebec in Canada when I heard the shuffle of a chair and looked up.

Melissa.

“Don’t tell me, your boss asked you to finish the job.”

“He did.”

“And….”

“I told him it might take some time to track you down.  In the meantime, I don’t see why I can’t have a little fun.”  She reached out and took my hand in hers, and there was that spark.  “And you sure look like you need a little fun.  Where are we going?”

“Jamaica.”

“Good.  My samba is a little rusty.”

If nothing else, I was going to die happy.

…

©  Charles Heath 2024

…

…

…

There is only one possible problem about starting a relationship in a city like New York, a melting pot of people from all over the country.  It’s quite possibly the home of what could become long-distance relationships, mostly because in essence it’s a long distance between your hometowns.

But, for everyone, it’s never the first thing in your mind, that’s just trying to get through those first few weeks, then months, then the steps that get you to the point where it’s time to go visit either your or her parents and family.

It’s a thing that some stave off as long as possible, particularly if you know your family are going to be over-inquisitive or likely to make your life hell with precious little details you hope no one would ever bring into the light again.

And of course, you know that is utterly impossible.

Of course, if you haven’t been home for a while, it makes the announcement all the more poignant at home, especially if you’re bringing the new partner, the one you have been praising to the hilt.

It was never going to be a problem for me, my parents were always on a cruise to somewhere or other and never home, and my brothers, quintessential men of the world, were scattered around the globe and it had been ages since we’d all been together.

But that first Christmas together, I knew Gabby was going to ask me to go home with her.  Like myself, she came from small-town America, a picturesque small city where opportunities were not as varied as those in the larger cities, where many migrated if they wanted better opportunities.

A lot often forget their origins, or more likely due to the pressures of establishing themselves in a new job, it took a while before going home.  Gabby had let three or so years slip by, and after being, as she put it, implored by her mom to come home, she had relented.

And since my office has decided to close for the holidays, she knew I didn’t have an excuse not to go with her.  And for better or worse, I turned up at the airport at the appointed time, and she was waiting.  I didn’t know until later that she had fully expected me not to go, the result of the last trip she had organised with what had been ‘the one’.

On that occasion, she had told the now ex that there was only one thing he had to do once they arrived home.  What she told me once the plane was in the air, “You will be meeting on various occasions my maternal grandmothers, Faith, Hope, and Charity.  They are, how should I say, somewhat strange, but they’re harmless.”

Usually, the mother-in-law was the leader of the Inquisition, and the father-in-law was the one that’s happy to tell you what he would do to you if you hurt his ‘little girl’.  Three essentially quirky old ladies were a new twist, and it was going to be interesting

I have always been a cautious fellow and very rarely dived into the unknown without a little investigation first.  I mean, that’s what an investigative journalist does, isn’t it?

Of course, that could be construed as uncool when it came to your hired friend, but I wasn’t very good at relationships, and this one with Gabby was a surprise.  She was different, but I knew that initial expectations were quickly dashed and over time completely shattered, or it could go the other way.

I had not expected she’d think our relationship was at the point where we would be meeting the parents, but to refuse would not be a good idea.

So, being the person I was, I wanted to know everything about her town, simply because it had a web page, the council, the sheriff, and upcoming Christmas activities.

It also had a sidebar about a certain Prom King and Queen, the town’s two most popular teenagers, and their plans, which were not the least of which was a long happy life together.  Gabby Saunders and John Prince.

It wasn’t hard to see why they were the golden couple.  John was the star of the football team; Gabby was the captain of the cheerleaders, and both families were prominent in the town.

Her father was the mayor and rancher, and John’s father was a farmer and agricultural industrialist.  She had said little about her father other than he ran a ranch, and her brothers and sister were ranch hands

I asked why she thought she needed to chase a career in the city when there was a perfectly good job at home, all it got was a pout and and a mumbled reply about being something more than a cowgirl.

I did a quick scan of the local paper’s digital back copies with her name and found two very interesting items.  The first, a month after the prom, was an incident involving Gabby and John that was remarkably short in detail, and it told me just how much pull each of their fathers had in that town.

The second, the prodigal daughter was leaving to go to New York to seek a career in fashion design, being a notable up-and-coming designer who designed and made clothes for her Aunt Faith to sell in her dress shop.  That raised a question: Why was she now simply a personal assistant to a crabby old lady?

John, in the meantime, had stayed home and was actively working in the management of his father’s business, with no inclination to join his bride-to-be.  He was happy enough, he was quoted, to bide his time whilst she shook off the desire to see what life was like on the other side.  The other side of what, I wondered.

Was this the reason why she had stayed away from home so long?

I thought about that whole scenario, and it was going to be a fascinating dynamic when I turned up with what he believed was his girl.  I came from a town like hers, and I knew how those ‘most likely’ scenarios worked.  He still carried a torch, as the saying goes.  She, apparently, was not.

I searched for a bed and breakfast to stay at if or when things started going south, and they would, no matter what she thought I felt about her.  When I rang up, I got a charming young lady by the name of Pricilla, and when I mentioned Gabby, there was a sharp intake of breath.  That was followed by a warning.  The last chap Gabby brought home to meet the parents was virtually hounded out of town.  He lasted two days.

I smiled to myself.  This might just be fun.  I asked her to be at the airport, just in case, and she said she wouldn’t miss it for the world.

Gabby was strangely subdued for most of the flight, unusual because she normally had what I called an effervescent personality.

I put it down to nerves, returning after so long away; and perhaps what lay ahead.  I had not told her that I knew a little about her former life and planned to keep it that way. 

She had said that her mother was coming to get us, but I fully expected to see John in his dilapidated pick-up where only two could sit in the front.  Yes, Hollywood romance movies had a lot to answer for.

It was one of those airports where the steps went down the front of the plane, and you walked across the tarmac to a small building that served as the airport terminal.  Alongside, a fence where people could line up to see who got off the plane.

I saw her scanning that fence line for her mother and not seeing her.

We went into the terminal, a modernised and extended interior, because of increased passenger numbers, or perhaps because a congressman lived nearby.  That always helped.

I saw John before he saw her.  I also saw Priscilla, who, catching sight of me, hung back.

We passed through the arrival gate into the main floor where about 30 people were waiting to greet arriving passengers, and the look on her face went from an impending smile to a scowl, and a mutter under her breath, “What the fuck?”

She never, ever swore.

“I hope that’s not directed at your mother,” I said.

She glared at me.  “This is not what I hoped would be your first look at my hometown.”

Just as that was said, John loomed all six foot six two hundred and forty pounds of a devilishly handsome cowboy.  It was not hard to see what she had seen in him.  But appearances were deceptive.

He tipped his hat.  “Hello, Gabby.  Welcome home!”

She switched the glare from me to him.  “Where’s my mother?”  It was not the politest of tones.

“She was unavoidably detained.  I offered to come in her place, and here I am.”

He had noticed but chose to ignore me.

In her annoyance, Gabby had forgotten to introduce me, so I just leaned against the handle of my suitcase and waited to see how this was going to play out.  Since I was not supposed to know anything about her and him, I couldn’t say or do anything.  Yet.

She had her phone out, calling her mother I guessed.  I heard an answer on the other end, then, “Where the hell are you?”

A moment later, “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.  This is exactly why I haven’t been home in years, and if you have any more of these surprises in store, I will get back on the next plane out, and I will never come home again.”

There was a minute when her face made various contortions, and then she disconnected the call.

She looked like she was going to scream, but didn’t, just counted to ten under her breath, then looked at me.  “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.  These things happen.”

“I’m afraid there’s another problem?”

“No room at the inn?”

Her face changed to one of surprise. “How…”

“Good hearing; your mother has a loud voice.  Storms are unpredictable, and I did check last night to see what the weather conditions were going to be, and I was surprised we were allowed to fly in.  That’s why I took the punt I might need somewhere to stay until your accommodation issues are sorted.”

Priscilla took that to be her cue.  “Hello, Gabby.”

“Prissy.”  It wasn’t a term of endearment.

“I told you I had no part in that.”  Straight on the defensive.  There was a mountain of issues that needed to be resolved, and I was now wondering if this trip was going to have a few unexpected surprises.

Even so, I knew despite everything I was witnessing now; Gabby was everything I could want in a partner, but she had issues.  And if I could help…

Awkward silence.  I broke it.  “So, instead of becoming the next hot news item for the Gazette, if we stand here much longer, I suggest, John, you take Gabby home.  Pricilla will take me to the B and B for a day or so, and I will get myself out to your place tomorrow.”

“This is not… “

“What you planned for.  No.  I fear the best-laid plans of mice and men can easily be waylaid in a small town like this.  I suggest you take the time to reunite with your family, I’m sure John will be happy to drop you off and give you some space.  He has the look of a boyfriend who hasn’t accepted that you’ve moved on.”  I looked at him.  “And I’m sure before the holiday is over you and I will have a chat about that.  In the meantime, I expect you to be a gentleman.”

That look of surprise on her face deepened.  “You knew?”

“I had an inkling.  I come from a small town too, as you know, that had a similar situation.  You are a gentleman, aren’t you John, not some creepy stalker?”

He was going to say something, but Gabby cut him off.  “I bet you brought that shitty little truck?”

His expression told the story.  “Best laid plans of mice and men, as you say David.  There would have been no room in the cabin, and I would not expect you to sit out back with the pig shit.”  She shook her head.  “I truly feel sorry for you, John.  I do.  You and I will be having words on the way to my house.”  Then a final glare in my direction, “I expect to see you tomorrow morning, David.”

In the end, I don’t think John wanted to be there.  And I did see an enterprising young lady taking various photos of us.  A reporter or photographer for the local newspaper?  Or would our encounter go viral on the internet?  I couldn’t wait to find out.

Priscilla had stood back and watched the fun.  So did a dozen or so others who probably knew exactly who they were.  We both waited until they had left the terminal building before moving on ourselves.

“You should just get back on the plane,” she said.  “You still can.  I know the airline staff.”

“It might seem a little rocky at the moment, but the test of a couple’s relationship is to be thrown from the frying pan into the fire.  The whole episode feels like a hiccup moment in a romance movie.  I’m guessing for a while that they were the star attraction given their school graduation and parents standing.”

“What did you read?”

“Nearly all of the back copies of the newspaper for a hundred years.  Might as well be prepared.”

“Did it tell you that neither of them wanted to become a spectacle?  That was Gabby’s mother, who had to take a simple childhood romance and turn it into headline news.  It might have worked had John not believed the story.  Yes, Gabby liked him, yes, they were cute together, but no, Gabby didn’t love him.  After it was broadcast far and wide and their friendship was put under such a large microscope, it became too much.  The only place for Gabby to go was as far away from here as she could get.”

“And he still doesn’t get it?”

“To be honest, John is not a man of the world.  He lacks sophistication, he is a hopeless scholar but is a good football player.  Good enough, but not that good.  He played college football but not NFL as such and just faded into obscurity.  He married twice, but his heart is not in it.  He thinks the only girl for him is Gabby.”

“Well, we’ll know soon enough if she is or isn’t.  I’m not going to force her to choose.”

“Do you love her?”

“Would I be here if I didn’t?  The girl I know from New York, that’s not her who got off the plane.  It’s like we stepped through a portal into another world with another Gabby.’

“For a lot of people, it’s hell.  if you come from a small town like this, you’ll know what it’s like.  We keep getting told it’s going to get better.”

“It isn’t much better in the big cities, just more people and more problems.    If I hadn’t met Gabby, I would have been going home myself permanently.”

“Farmer or rancher?”

“Ranch, though my older brother runs it while my parents see the world from a cruise ship, one long endless cruise, it seems.  Still, it could be worse.”

“You’re right.  That will be tomorrow morning when you meet the three witches.” 

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©  Charles Heath 2024

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