One Day in May

by Catherine Alliott

  ‘But… why didn’t you say?’

  ‘Why didn’t you?’

  ‘Well…’ I was flummoxed. ‘For obvious reasons! Women don’t – you know – advertise it.’

  ‘You didn’t want me to think I’d landed an old maid. And I didn’t want you to think I’d done nothing with my life.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘I’m thirty-two years old. I’ve got a stall off Camden Passage. What d’you think I mean?’

  ‘Oh, but…’

  ‘You’re only a few years older, but you’ve got a ritzy shop in Fulham, have had for ages. A proper business, written up in Interiors. You own your own house, I rent a room in Crouch End. We come from different backgrounds and mine has nothing to offer but a disabled sister.’

  My mouth dropped in astonishment. ‘But you’re you!’ I wanted to add: all sort of blond and gorgeous and funny. Instead I spluttered stupidly ‘You’re Ivan!’

  ‘And you’re you. Smart and sophisticated and savvy and beautiful – you’re Hattie. With landed gentry at the Abbey. My mum runs a café.’

  I felt overwhelmed. Here we were, the pair of us, with what felt like cupboards full of skeletons, rows of hangups, yet on opening the cupboard door, others might give it a once-over, a cursory nod and say, looks OK to me. I’ll take it.

  Would he? Is that what he was saying? Would I do? And was he asking?

  I felt my heart beat very fast, as if it were making a run for it. But I was afraid. I loved everything about this man. I loved the way he moved so effortlessly through life, striding on cheerfully in an uncomplicated manner. This little room seemed brighter already. When he’d gone, I knew I’d be back to carefully threading my way around it, avoiding invisible land mines, everything becoming much harder. I leaned back on the windowsill. He was perched on the arm of a chair. We regarded one another in silence.

  At length I reached into my pocket.

  ‘I’ve just reread your text to me in France.’

  ‘The one you didn’t answer.’

  ‘Because I misread it. Some of it was missing. I didn’t know what it said. I glanced at it: ‘Got you a flight from Nice in hour. I’ll take back lorry. xx’ I raised my eyes slowly. ‘You’d do that for me? Drive back while I flew?’

  ‘I’d do anything for you, Hattie.’

  The words hung in the air between us. Suspended. His eyes were steady: didn’t waver.

  And that should have been my moment. To cross the room, walk into his arms, as he surely would have opened them. My moment to let someone in again. And not just anyone. Instead, I got to my feet and moved carefully towards the front door.

  ‘Have you eaten?’ I plucked my coat from a hook, not looking at him. Put it on and opened the door.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then let’s eat. And talk. I have a lot to tell you. There’s a great deal you don’t know about me, Ivan. You may not feel you’d do anything for me, once you know.’

  He stood up: tall, blond and it seemed to me, dazzling. Filling the room. He attempted to look grave but his mouth twitched. ‘My, that sounds serious. Ominous, even. Yes, by all means let’s eat, and you can tell me all about yourself. I’d be surprised if it influences me, though. I think you’ll find you’re stuck with me whether you’re a closet vampire or not.’

  I glanced up at him as we went out into the night. It occurred to me I would be very surprised if it influenced him too. As I straightened up on the doorstep from locking the Chubb, he smiled at me.

  ‘Spill your beans, Hattie Carrington,’ he said softly. ‘But it had better be good. I could have knocked us up an omelette apiece in the time it takes to order a couple of steaks – one rare and sophisticated for you, one common and burned to a frazzle for me, in Le Bistingo. But sure, you go à la carte, sniff that wine and toy with your artichoke hearts. After all,’ he jerked his head back to the bedroom window, ‘it might be a while before you eat again.’

  Ditching my prissy demeanour, I threw back my head and laughed into the night. It struck me, as the sound combusted like a lightning bolt, that I hadn’t heard that sound from my own lips for quite some time. Joyous. Uninhibited. And it also struck me, as we set off down the road together for the future, matching each other stride for stride that although it wasn’t the meaning of life, it was surely the whole point?