Different Genes

  Simon was nervous about the phone call. He wanted to ask to meet Louise, but was worried she might say ‘no’. It had been three years since he split up with Julie, and he felt out of practice at talking to women. He decided to eat some dinner and then make the call. The packet lasagne took ten minutes in the microwave and emerged congealed.

  ‘Oh to have a meal cooked for me… but I mustn’t say that. It’s sexist,’ he told himself. Simon was a good cook, but rarely prepared proper food for himself, now he lived alone. He poured himself a glass of wine and gulped down the processed pasta. The phone was on the table beside him. He picked up his handwritten note with Louise’s number on it.

  “For god’s sake, man, just ring her!”

  He keyed in Louise’s number.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s Simon.”

  “Oh hi. Thank you for ringing. Did you have a good supper?” Simon liked her voice, and Louise instantly realised she had just asked a really mundane question.

  “Packet lasagne. I’m afraid I don’t look after myself so well now I’m on my own. I bet you cooked yourself something fresh.” Simon instantly realised he had just replied with a really mundane answer.

  “I forced myself to make a stir fry,” said Louise, “I will eat the rest tomorrow.” She wanted to say how much she hated eating alone, but it smacked of self-pity, so she changed the subject.

  “What were you doing in Fairlight on the day of my mum’s funeral?”

  “I’d been to Rye market, for a wander, as you do, and I stopped for a cuppa on the way back. I had intended to walk in the Firehills on the clifftop, but it started to rain. You and few others were wandering away from the Church.”

  “Did you have a long chat with Michael?”

  “Just a few words. He was obviously desperate for a cigarette.”

  “That sounds like Michael. It was a very long service. The vicar went on and on… you know how they do, all about Mum’s history and salvation etc. It was good to catch up with family though. We went on to ‘The Lodge’ for refreshments, tea and sandwiches.”

  “Have you always lived in Sussex?”

  “No, I spent my childhood in Hertfordshire, but I was born in Singapore. My dad was in the diplomatic service. We returned to England when I was three.”

  Simon began to wonder if Louise’s birth parents were natives of Singapore. That didn’t make sense though. Louise was blonde… at least he thought she was.

  “I went to Sussex University in Brighton, and stayed down here for my PGCE. After that I lived near Tunbridge Wells until my divorce. Mum moved to Fairlight after my dad died. What about you?”

  “I come from a Sussex family. My parents owned a house in Westfield until they died. I moved to Ninfield with my ex-wife, when we married. One of my sons still lives with her in Ninfield. Do you have children?”

  “Sadly no. It just never happened. At least it made my marriage break up a bit easier.”

  “How long have you been on your own?”

  “Nineteen years. Dad died shortly before I split up with Charlie, so I’ve spent most of my time looking out for my mum.”

  The conversation began to slow. Simon found it hard to imagine how anyone could survive so long on their own. She might be very set in her ways, then again she was an artist. Weren’t artists meant to be a bit chaotic? His thoughts were rambling. It was difficult to turn the conversation around to a lighter subject. Eventually, Simon took the lead.

  “I was wondering, would you like to meet up? I mean you don’t have to, if you don’t want to… or you think it’s too soon.”

  “I would love to meet up,” replied Louise

  “When shall we meet then? Where would you like to go?”

  Louise thought. There were plenty of lovely rural pubs between Robertsbridge and Battle, but she knew that, for her safety, a first meeting ought to be somewhere reasonably busy and not too remote. “I realise this is an odd suggestion, Simon, but what about the Garden Centre in Sedlescombe? There’s a coffee shop there.”

  “Do you have a garden?”

  Louise laughed, “No, but I can dream.”

  “Garden Centre it is then.”

  A meeting was agreed for 11 am in two days’ time.

  Louise fell into a deep dreamless sleep. But just after midnight she woke in a sweat. Her arms felt heavy, and there was a dull throb inside her head. She took a gulp of water and realised that her throat felt gritty and swollen. She carefully moved her feet onto the floor of the bedroom. As she began to stand, the room seemed to float around her. She sat down on the edge of the bed. Her throbbing head was sending painful waves above her eyes. She stood up carefully and took the few unsteady steps to the bathroom. She returned with a jug of water, a thermometer and two paracetamol. Her temperature was 38.5. She slid under the bedclothes and fell back into an intermittent sleep. By the time the morning sunshine invaded the room, she could feel a stabbing sharpness in her throat, and an irritating and persistent cough. She felt miserably ill and depressed with a growing awareness that she would have to cancel, no postpone, her meeting with Simon. She was fearful that he might think she was somehow messing him around. She managed to make herself a hot, drink, grabbed her laptop, and crawled back to bed.

  Simon woke with a feeling optimism. He rose early and walked into Battle for a coffee and breakfast. A familiar car passed him, and a child waved through the window. He recognised his granddaughter and daughter-in-law on the daily school run and waved back. By the time he arrived back home, it was 10 am. The phone rang. It was his older son, Joe, ringing from work.

  “I hear you were looking very perky this morning. Caroline said you almost danced into town.”

  “Sometimes I think you are monitoring me by CCTV.”

  “Well if you insist on bouncing into town at school-run time… So come on Dad, tell me what’s made you so happy?”

  “Actually, Joe, you are not entitled to know all my secrets. I’ll tell you in a few days.”

  Simon finished the call.

  Joe phoned his wife back. “You’re right. He’s in a very good mood, but he wouldn’t say why. Maybe he’s booked a holiday.”

  “Maybe he’s got a girlfriend,” Caroline challenged her husband.

  “I very much doubt it. He’s still nursing his hurt about Mum. At least I think he is.”

  “Would you mind, if he found someone else?”

  Joe thought for a moment. “No, I don’t think I’d mind. It would be a good thing. As long as the lady wasn’t after his money, or tried to interfere in our lives. I still think it’s unlikely though. Must go now, Caroline, I have an appointment.”

  “And I need to go to work.”

  Caroline had recently increased her hours as a part-time accounts assistant and was still adjusting to her new routine.

  Simon turned on his computer. There was a message from Louise.

  Dear Simon,

  I am so so sorry…

  Simon hesitated, fearful to read on.

  I have woken up this morning with a temperature and a wicked sore throat. Would you mind if we postponed our meeting for a few days? I don’t want to pass my germs on to you. I am really sorry.

  Best wishes Louise.

  Simon felt despondent. He didn’t want to doubt her, but he wondered if Louise had changed her mind.

  Dear Louise,

  I’m sorry that you are unwell. There are a lot of nasty bugs around at the moment. Let me know when you feel better and we can reschedule.

  Kind regards,

  Simon

  He reread the sent message and thought it sounded unsympathetic, so added in a second message.

  PS Do you need anything?

  Louise would have loved a visit from someone who would bring her endless hot drinks
and sympathy, but she certainly didn’t want to be seen. Her hair was already suffering from her high temperature, and she couldn’t stop coughing. She felt exhausted and depressed. Tears began to slide down her cheeks. She barely had the energy to wipe them away. She acknowledged that her body was paying her back for the anguish of the past few weeks. She buried herself under the bedclothes and cried herself to sleep. Her inflated temperature induced an endless stream of dreams. She would find herself alone in the dark with paintings of farm animals circling around her throbbing head. Gillian appeared and separated her fingers from grasping an easel full of wet-painted paper. Philip took her by the hand and dragged her towards a large group of waiters who were coughing into the seafront waves. The heat of her body burned away at the virus, as she lay in bed unable to sit up. Eventually, after two days, of restless dreaming, the searing temperature began to subside. Louise woke, relieved that her nightmares were over. The headache had gone, but the remnants of a cough were clearing her chest from the last of any infection. She knew from experience that it would take several more days for a full recovery. She dragged her failing limbs into the studio and boiled the kettle. It took two journeys for her to carry her hot drink and her laptop back into the bedroom. There were two unanswered messages from Simon asking how she was. She began to type.

  Dear Simon,

  I’m really sorry that I didn’t reply earlier to your messages. I have been asleep, on and off, for almost two days, but I am beginning to feel better. Please believe me, I don’t get ill often, but I think Mum’s death and everything just caught up with me, and the bug or virus or whatever it was took possession of me. Perhaps we could agree a date to meet in a week’s time, when I am sure I will be fully recovered? I want to enjoy our first meeting, not be coughing all the time. I didn’t have a flu jab this year, and I am now regretting it.

  With very best wishes,

  Louise

  Simon had convinced himself that Louise was not interested. When the message arrived, he expected it to tell him that she didn’t want to meet him after all. He finally persuaded himself to click on her name in his inbox. He read the message several times. These were not the words of someone who didn’t want to meet him. These were the words of someone who had been genuinely ill. However hard he tried to doubt her, he was convinced that she had been really unwell. He began to feel guilty.

  “Can I ring you?” He saw she was online.

  “Yes, as long as you don’t mind me coughing down the phone.”

  “Can I catch your germs over the phone?”

  “I’m sure you can. I expect I am horribly contagious.”

  “I’ll risk it.”

  Louise’s phone rang. She picked up the handset and coughed.

  “Sorry about the cough. Is that you Simon?”

  “No, it’s the doctor, I’m officially prescribing a flu jab for you next year.”

  “You don’t have to tell me. I have suffered enough. Simon, I’m so pleased to hear from you. I am so so sorry I had to postpone our meeting. I was worried that you might think I had changed my mind.”

  “It never occurred to me,” Simon lied. “Have you got everything you need? Can I do some shopping for you?”

  Louise was very tempted to say ‘yes’. However, she knew she shouldn’t give him her address, and, in any case, she looked awful. Her vanity was enough to overcome her need for a visit.

  “I’m fine. The infection is beginning to subside, so I can get as far as the fridge.” She was beginning to lose her voice.

  “Louise, you are getting hoarse. I’m going to hang up now. Before I go, can I have your mobile number? Then I can text you.” Louise croaked her mobile number down the phone.

  Simon had a brainwave and found the book of Christmas cracker jokes, which he used to amuse his granddaughter, Sophie. If he couldn’t make Louise better, he would try and make her laugh.

  What do you get if you eat Christmas decorations? He texted.

  I don’t know, came the reply.

  Tinselitis.

  Louise laughed out loud and then coughed. She was enjoying Simon’s distant company. Each day he would text a joke and make a short phone call.

  What is Rudolph’s favourite time of the year?

  Tell me.

  Red Nose Day.

  Groan.

  When Simon phoned the following day, Louise sounded much better. “Are you enjoying my jokes?” he asked.

  “No, they are terrible, but well actually yes, they have kept me sane.”

  “You know how to stop the jokes, don’t you?”

  “How?”

  “Agree to meet me at the Garden Centre on Wednesday.”

  “What time?”

  “11 am.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Louise looked in the mirror and rang the hairdressers. She managed to make an appointment.

  Eleven

  The Garden Centre

  It was only a short drive from Robertsbridge to Sedlescombe. The garden centre was located off the main A21, a short distance from the village. Louise arrived early and parked her car in a remote space hoping to spot Simon arrive. She was not disappointed. He had given her his car registration, and the black Mercedes drove into the car park a few minutes later. She watched him climb out of his car and look around. He was tall with broad shoulders and a thinning hairline.

  She watched him walk to the entrance and then back to his car.

  ‘Time to go.’ She got out of her Astra and walked towards him. Simon soon spotted Louise as she strode towards him. He remembered the lines of her body, as he watched her approach. “Louise?”

  “Hi,” she felt herself blush. “We made it then.”

  He smiled broadly. She liked his face.

  He wanted to hug her, but lost confidence. “At least the sun is shining. Are you feeling completely better now?”

  “Almost completely.”

  “Well you must say, if you need to rest.”

  “I will, Simon.” Louise was grateful for the concern and smiled at him. Simon was struck by how good looking she was. He found his eyes wandering around her body and hoped she hadn’t noticed.

  The Garden Centre at Sedlescombe was the largest in the area. Although it was only just November, as soon as Simon and Louise walked through the double doors, they realised that the whole centre was lit up with newly installed Christmas decorations. One end of the large conservatory was full of decorated trees with a wide variety of white and coloured lights twinkling in different sequences. The effect was like a giant fairy grotto.

  “Wow,” gasped Louise.

  “Happy Christmas,” said Simon. “Do you like Christmas?”

  “I love it, though this year might be hard without Mum.” She felt tears rise in the back of her eyes. Simon put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s not easy, but the pain does numb after a while.” They strolled around the displays and glanced at each other, trying to appear natural. Simon found her very attractive, which increased his nervousness.

  Louise changed the subject, “What is your first memory of Christmas?”

  “Gosh, prehistoric times in Westfield. I guess I was about two. I remember the massive tree all lit up next to the church with carol singers on a Sunday morning. It was fun being brought up in a village. We enjoyed small pleasures. What about you? Do you remember Christmas in Singapore?”

  “No, it’s strange. I have no memories of Singapore, nothing at all, until I was three and I first met my grandmother on Christmas Eve in Sawbridgeworth. Apparently Mum and Dad kept me secret until they moved back to England. I’ve always thought that was a bit odd.”

  They weaved their way through the extravagant Christmas displays and admired the lights and decorations. “Do you usually have a real tree?”

  “I would, if I
could get it up those damn stairs at my studio!”

  Simon wanted to say, “I can help you this year,” but it was too soon to make plans.

  Simon took charge. “How about we wander outside, while the sun is still shining, and then head to the café for a coffee?”

  “Good idea.” The bright November sunshine was deceptively weak, and the cold air attacked their cheeks as they walked outside to meander through the hardy shrubs. Louise began to cough. After a few minutes Simon touched one of Louise’s hands. “Your hand is like ice. Let’s go in.”

  It was 11.30 am. They ordered coffee and seated themselves in the warm atmosphere of the café. “Do you like to be called Louise or Lou?”

  “I actually don’t mind. My ex insisted on calling me Louise, but my mum used to call me Lou sometimes.”

  “Well then, Lou, how about we drive away from here and head into Sedlescombe village for lunch? There is a very good pub there.”

  It was decided. Simon drove very carefully as he led the way, with Louise following in her own car. They parked in the pub car park and found a seat in the small snug.

  “It’s one big advantage to being retired,” said Simon, “The midweek pubs are not crowded at lunchtime. Shame we have to drive though, I could murder a pint.”

  Louise and Simon filled in the details of their family and work history over lunch. They touched on their former marriages, but each avoided too many details for fear of being perceived at fault. At 2.30 pm they walked back to their cars.

  “Louise, I have really enjoyed your company. I hope we might meet again.”

  “I would like that very much.”

  He pecked her on the cheek, and they parted company.

  Twelve

  Meeting Sophie

  By the time Louise reached her studio, she had begun to self-doubt. ‘Perhaps he was just being polite. He hasn’t arranged another definite meet’.