by Helga Jensen
I feel myself blush slightly.
‘Yup, I still can’t believe you came up to a stranger like that,’ I say.
‘I always go for what I want. I don’t waste time,’ he says. ‘Life is so short. You know how I mentioned a trauma in my past? You see my parents were killed in a car accident when I was five years old. I grab life with both hands; you don’t know what can happen. I don’t know how long I have left.’
‘Oh no, I’m sorry, that’s awful. I lost my dad when I was young and so I can only imagine how it must have been.’ I want to ask him what he means about not having long left but can’t bring myself to say it out loud.
‘It’s okay. I was just a kid; I don’t remember much. I only know that you have to live your life. Don’t waste time, that’s my life motto. Although I should probably find a new job since I am wasting my life with my mean boss.’
‘You seem well qualified; I’m sure you could get anything. How come your boss is so bad? What did he do?’
‘It’s a she, not a he.’ He laughs.
‘Aww, she’s mean to you.’
‘Harriet, yup… I’m not able to leave my job right now. I wouldn’t find anything else that pays so well. There aren’t that many jobs around in the current market. You said you work in a bookshop. Do you like your boss?’
‘No, not really. I mean, she’s okay, but my dream is to do something different,’ I say.
‘Yes, what would you like to do?’ he asks. ‘Set up a charitable foundation, or something?’
A charitable foundation? Don’t you need to be one of those rich classy American women to do that?
‘Umm, no.’ I laugh. Perhaps my outfit has given him the wrong opinion of me. ‘My dream is to become a dementia nurse and help others the way they helped my mum.’
This is the first time I have ever told anyone of my secret dream. Not even Sian knows; somehow it feels easier to confide in someone so far away.
‘Can’t imagine that being a dream, but… Anyway, when you coming to New York?’ Patrick asks.
‘I’d love to, but I’ve some other things going on right now,’ I say, disappointed that Patrick didn’t say anything positive about my dream job.
‘You live in a castle; you can do anything you like. You’re not “skint” as they say over there, are you? You don’t have one of those castles with a leaky roof, do you? Do you have a butler?’
‘I don’t live in a castle, Patrick. I live in a cottage.’
‘Castle, cute cottage, those roofs made of straw, all the same. I love British houses. I should have been an architect. Anyway… When are you coming over?’
‘I don’t know that I can. I can’t really leave the boys and…’ I want to say that I don’t know him that well, but he interrupts.
‘Can’t their dad take them? Surely mothers get time off too. All mothers deserve some free time. I’d love to show you the sights, wine, dine and… you know the rest.’
I hope he doesn’t mean what I think he does. Surely not.
‘Please come and stay in our wonderful city,’ says Patrick.
‘I hardly know you, Patrick. And I could never stay at your place, even if I didn’t have the boys,’ I say.
‘Oh, honey, I would never dream of you staying at mine.’
Why on earth did I say that? Perfect Patrick is bound to be a gentleman, apart from when he is being led astray by Sian, of course.
‘It never entered my mind that you’d want to stay with me,’ he adds. ‘I know of lots of hotels in Manhattan; many won’t break the bank, though that won’t matter for you I’m sure. Hey, I think a colleague of mine may have written a piece on getting a good hotel deal downtown. I can send you the feature if you’re interested?’
‘Okay, well, that would be nice. I’d love to read about the hotels in Manhattan anyhow.’
‘Don’t read about them, come over and check them out. We waited over twenty years for this date, let’s finally have it!’ Patrick says excitedly.
Oh, why can’t Patrick live in Tenby, or somewhere closer? I can’t go to New York. I haven’t got the money and, much more importantly, I have got the boys. They come before absolutely anything in the world. There is no way I would ever jaunt off to New York in a million years.
‘Okay, well, send me that article and I’ll have a look into it,’ I manage.
‘That would be awesome. Please say you’ll come; we’ll have the best time, I promise. Can I ask you one more thing? You seemed quite up for some fun when we first talked. Now you seem so much more, um… what shall we say… reserved,’ says Patrick.
Oh no, I don’t know how to explain this.
‘Helllloooooo!’ Without warning, and before I can answer, a lady’s voice sounds in the background.
‘Shit. Heinous boss on the loose. Can we chat again tomorrow? Gottago.’ And the line goes dead.
Chapter 16
Aldi – an unexpected phone call
Over the next few weeks Patrick doesn’t stop messaging. When I wake up, instead of opening my eyes to spam, or rants about homework from Mrs Jones, I receive heartwarming messages.
This morning I am greeted with:
Hello beautiful Amelia, wishing you the most wonderful day. Xxx
So many positive adjectives to wake up to! I have even started humming along to the radio as I take the boys to school, and I practically skip into work. Patrick has remained a secret from Lisa, though, as she can be a bit of a gossip-monger. Last week she asked me if I was taking something!
I’m heading to Aldi after work, to try and find something edible for tea that the boys won’t waste, when I notice a WhatsApp call trying to come through. Of course, my first panicked reaction is that the boys have been smacked over the head by the school bully and are now in hospital. Thankfully, it is nothing like that. It is Patrick and he is calling me on a video call. A video call in the middle of Aldi! Oh my, I can’t think of anything worse. My hair is scraped back into a greasy ponytail as I didn’t get time to wash it this morning, as previously planned. This was all thanks to Rupert spilling his cornflakes over him and me having to quickly iron yet another school shirt.
A lady in front of me is fighting to get to the poppy-seeded bread rolls whilst I juggle my basket and a French stick. The French stick is threatening to topple over my basket at any moment. How on earth does he expect me to pick up a video call in this situation? I stare in horror at the screen as the ringtone blares out. Hopefully, he will have left a message by the time I get out of here.
However, by the time I return to the car there is still no message from him explaining what his call was about. I wonder if the phone had gone off in his pocket and he didn’t mean to call. Curiosity gets the better of me and I decide to ring back on my terms. That means definitely no video call. He picks up right away.
‘Amelia, how are you?’
‘All good, thanks. I’m not sure if you tried to call me?’
‘Hey, I did indeed. I was calling to say hi, see how your day’s going. What you’re up to, that kind of thing. I’ve missed you.’ My heart immediately skips a beat. I am reminded once again that someone missed me who was over the age of ten.
‘That’s nice.’ I don’t say that I missed him too. It’s nice to hear from him, but I am not sure I am at the missing stage quite yet.
We exchange a few pleasantries, what the weather is like with both of us, how work is going at the moment, when his tone changes. He clears his throat and something instinctively makes me feel nervous.
‘I have to tell you something, Amelia. I don’t know if it will affect your feelings for me but…’ I knew something was coming.
‘Go on…’ I say.
‘Amelia, I just want to tell you that…Well, I get a bit depressed at times, to be truthful. My therapist says it’s because of my parents, all the trauma I’ve been through. I also have an illness to deal with… But, for once in a very long time, I feel as though I have some hope in my life. You give me a reason to want to get up i
n the morning.’
The poor man, no wonder he suffers from depression having lost all his family and suffering with an illness. I hope he doesn’t ever feel suicidal and that is what his poem means. Or is it the illness that is the reason for the poem on his phone? Perhaps it isn’t surprising that he struggles to get up in the morning with everything he has to deal with. How terrible.
‘Oh, Patrick. Why would this change my feelings towards you? I’m so sorry to hear this. Are you okay? I mean does your therapist help? If you ever need someone to talk to please know that you can tell me anything.’
‘Yeah, she’s a great help. You and her… Well, I guess you both saved me.’
Goodness, it just proves that you never know what goes on in someone’s life.
I saved him! Well, along with his therapist, of course. But the most handsome, polo-playing journalist that I have ever met has been partly saved by Me: Amelia. His candid confession floors me.
‘I’m sorry you’re going through this. I just want to give you a big cwch and…’
‘A couch?’ says Patrick. ‘Like my psychiatrist’s one?’
‘Umm, no. Never mind. Look, I totally understand what you’ve been through and how difficult it must be for you. I know when Sian’s husband died, she was depressed. I think she still struggles; you just wouldn’t realise. I’m sure it’s more common than you think.’
‘Yup, grieving is so hard, no matter how long ago it happened,’ says Patrick.
‘Absolutely,’ I agree.
An awkward silence develops and I try to think of ways I can change the subject, but I’m not sure if he wants to talk further about his grief, or perhaps disclose his illness. I don’t want to misjudge the situation and seem brusque. Fortunately, Patrick changes the subject first.
‘So, umm, yeah, anyway. Now I got that out of the way… I just wanted to say hello, I guess. It’s a shame I couldn’t see more of you every time we Skype, but that’s why I thought of calling you on a video chat. To have a frank discussion with you. And I wanted to see you, Amelia. I know this might sound odd but I feel so drawn to you. Like we did when we first met all those years ago, I guess. It’s like time stood still when we talk. I could very easily fall in love with someone like you.’
Has Perfect Patrick tried to say he could fall in love with me, whilst I am in the middle of the Aldi car park? I would pinch myself and check that I wasn’t dreaming, except two cars in front of me have just collided and so I am definitely not in a dream.
‘Well, I’m glad we get on so well,’ I say, trying to drown out the noise of the angry exchange going on outside.
I am confused about my feelings. I am not in any real rush to fall head over heels in love with anyone after what I have been through.
It is as though Patrick reads my mind though.
‘I don’t mean to come on strong, Amelia. I hope you don’t think that. It’s just that life is short, as I always tell you. It’s not often you find someone so compatible and I don’t know what tomorrow has in store for me, I take medication that prolongs my life but…’
‘What? Medication that prolongs your life? Oh, my goodness, what’s wrong?’
‘Oh, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m so sorry, forget I said that. I’ve said enough for one day.’
I sit staring out the windscreen. What on earth is Patrick not telling me?
‘We need to make every single day count, Amelia. That’s why I decided not to waste my time. I’m not going to play games with you. This is why I wanted to be honest,’ he says.
Maybe this is why he works so hard. The poor beautiful man needs money for his medication. They do say it is very expensive in the States. We are so lucky to have our NHS.
‘I’ve had such bad times, Amelia. Now I want the remainder of my days filled with love and happiness. I want to meet up with my beautiful British lady again.’
‘Oh, Patrick. That’s so lovely. I hope I can make you happy. I truly do.’
‘Then say you’ll fly to New York, Amelia. Fly to New York and meet me, then my dream to see you again will come true.’
Chapter 17
A Welsh castle – The Annual Medieval Day
‘Are you wearing tights, Jamie?’ I can’t stop staring at his skinny little legs in a pair of white tights.
‘I’ll have you as one of my wives if you’re not careful, Amelia,’ laughs Jamie.
Bless him, I should probably stop laughing now, but he really doesn’t suit Henry VIII. He would have been much better dressing up as a court jester or something. He is far too slim and his white tights just emphasise his comical matchstick legs.
Sian is dressed as some kind of warrior queen and is squeezed into a very tight basque. Part of me is relieved that Rob has to attend a hen party in Bristol later so couldn’t make it. He would be fawning all over her in this. She looks as though she might burst out any second, so as her friend, I may have to keep an eye on her modesty as the day progresses. Especially as she is already guzzling mead and it is only 11am. My peasant girl costume, however, is loose enough that I have none of those worries. In fact, walking around in these loose rags is quite comfortable and airy. There is even plenty of room to enjoy the medieval feast laid out in front of us. I grab a chicken drumstick and bite on it as I walk around.
The sun shines down on us, and I feel so grateful that I am finally emerging from all the misery of the past year or so. I am with my amazing best friends and, for the first time, am beginning to see a whole new future in front of me. I don’t know how long Patrick and I will have together, but perhaps I should make the best of any time we have left. I feel immensely positive as I send Patrick a selfie of the three of us at the castle. He answers immediately.
Hey, I knew you lived in a castle! Ha! I laugh at Patrick’s response.
I return to sipping on my mead and consider what Patrick’s friends are like. I hope he has close friends who support him with his medical condition, whatever that might be. He hasn’t talked about any friends really; he seems a bit of a workaholic. Perhaps he throws himself into work to take his mind off things.
‘Ooh, isn’t that the boys over there, with Dick?’ says Jamie.
‘Oh yes, it is, and Tanja Tart too. Look, she’s dressed as a wench, how appropriate,’ says Sian.
Fortunately, Dick and I are not often in the same circles. He had his golfing friends, who only ever discussed their golfing prowess, and I had Sian who baulked at them all. Therefore, we don’t often bump into each other. However, he has the boys for the weekend and had warned me that he would be here with them today. Thus, it comes as no surprise to bump into them. Before I approach, I take a glug of mead to drown the hurt of this being the first time that we are not here as a family unit. I want to shield my boys’ innocent little eyes as Tanja picks up a leaflet she has dropped. Perhaps she genuinely forgot to put a skirt on with the belt she is wearing. She certainly doesn’t look very medieval with her silicone breast implants bobbing about. I think she should be flogged personally.
‘Hi boys, don’t you look cute. Your hats look lovely. Lucky we had all that felt left over from World Book Day, hey? You having a nice time?’
‘Yes, Mummy. Dad took us to do some archery,’ says Jasper.
‘Yeah, and he missed and nearly killed someone. Didn’t you?’ says Rupert cheekily.
‘No, I did not,’ says Jasper.
‘Yes, you did,’ says Rupert.
‘Don’t lie,’ responds Jasper.
‘You’re the liar. Liar, liar, pants on fire,’ shouts Rupert.
‘Oi! Stop it, you two,’ I demand.
They finally quieten down, and I notice how Dick and Tanja have no control over them. I can’t imagine what will happen when they take them on holiday.
We all stare at each other awkwardly until Dick finally breaks the silence.
‘So, we need to discuss the dates for Disney. I was thinking next month? I need to use up the holiday time,’ he says.
‘Yeahhhhhh!’ shouts
Jasper.
‘When’s that conference in New York again, Jamie?’ asks Sian.
‘October.’
‘Isn’t there a half-term in October?’ says Sian incredulously. ‘You can time it perfectly, Amelia. Didn’t I tell you you’re destined to meet Patrick? It’s all lining up for you. The Disney trip, Jamie being there. You must do it,’ she whispers.
‘Message Patrick and tell him you’re coming. Go on,’ she says a little louder.
‘I don’t have the money, Sian.’ I laugh. She does get carried away.
‘Who’s Patrick and tell him you’re coming where?’ says Dick.
‘None of your bloody business,’ says Sian, before I can answer. ‘Come on. I can’t bear to be around this wench any longer,’ she adds, pointing a long finger at Tanja. ‘I’m off to check out the jousting.’
‘Sorry, she’s had a bit too much mead,’ I explain. I don’t need any animosity lingering in the air. It’s not nice for the children to witness and so I change the subject quickly.
‘Do you want to talk about Disney then? Half-term would probably be best,’ I say.
‘Yay,’ says Rupert.
‘Pleeeeeese,’ says Jasper, making a cute face and jumping about as if he needs a wee.
‘Sure, let’s go half-term week. I’ll have a look when I get home,’ says Dick.
‘Daddy, that’s brilliant,’ shouts Jasper excitedly. ‘And now your shares have gone up, we can bring back a present for Mum.’
‘Your shares have gone up?’ I repeat. ‘The same shares that plummeted so badly they left you penniless when we signed the final settlement and you had no money because of them?’
Dick and Tanja turn to each other nervously.
‘Dad said he knew he’d invested wisely. Didn’t you, Dad? He told me I need to invest my pocket money wisely too,’ says Jasper innocently.
‘Did you intentionally buy shares you knew were going to go down and then rise back up, so it looked like you had no money?’ I ask Dick. Why did I not realise this before? It is just the type of thing he would do.