by Helga Jensen
Of course, I don’t tell him, but if I did make it to New York I wouldn’t dream of letting him pick me up. I want to make a good impression on him when he first sees me. I don’t think coming off a transatlantic flight stinking of spicy airplane food, too many vodkas and general travel-induced stinkiness will somehow create the first impression that I want on him.
‘Yes, I really wouldn’t need you to come to the airport if I fly out. You’re busy; I understand,’ I say.
‘I’m so glad you understand, baby. You’re my number one, but you know what my job is like and then there’s my polo… I have to stay fit. I worry about my health, you know…’
‘I understand. Tell me more, Patrick… About your health, what is it? I don’t really know what’s wrong.’
‘I feel like we don’t need to talk about it, you know,’ he says. ‘It is like we know everything about each other. We have this undeniable connection. Like a rope that binds us together.’
‘Well, no, I still want to know more, Patrick. We have so much to talk about. Perhaps you know more about me than I do about you. You’re so good at listening,’ I say.
I’m not sure I like the mention of a rope tying us together, to be frank. I hope he doesn’t want to tie me up. I haven’t had sex for years, let alone anything remotely kinky. I don’t want to flare up my sciatica or anything.
‘You don’t know me as much as you’d like to because you talk too much.’ Patrick laughs.
‘Well, yes, I do talk a lot. It might be a Welsh thing. We love chatting to people. If I come over I promise to give you a chance to speak,’ I tease.
‘Great, but do you think we would do much talking? I mean…’
He stares into the camera with his beautiful hazel eyes that are not the colour of the Med, as I envisage when I think of him, but more like a Brazil nut you’d find in a bag of Co-op mixed nuts. His long eyelashes blink flirtily. I feel my cheeks redden. I am so not used to flirty moments in my life.
‘Ahem. Well, um, I don’t know, Patrick. As you know, I like talking. I enjoy learning about people. It is very interesting and…’ I realise I sound utterly boring and out of my depth. My sexiness level is an absolute zero.
‘Okay, we could talk.’ Patrick smiles. ‘I love talking to you. But you know what I would love even more?’
I hold my breath, dreading the next words. What if he says he wants to make love to me? I don’t know how I will respond. I would never be brave enough. No, that is definitely not happening.
‘What would you love, Patrick?’ I ask, dreading the answer.
‘To love you until my dying breath.’
I let out a relieved sigh. Well, not because of the dying part, but that he doesn’t want sex. What a relief.
‘Oh, phew. Haha. Yes, that would be nice,’ I answer clumsily.
‘Could you love me, Amelia? I have told you that I can see myself falling in love with you.’
‘Well, I, umm… I suppose I could. But it takes me time to fall in love, especially as I’ve been so badly hurt.’
‘We’re not all the same, Amelia. You have to learn to trust again one day,’ says Patrick.
‘I know; I am getting there,’ I say.
‘I’m glad, because I would never want to hurt you. I hope you believe this. Let’s just see how things go and take it one step at a time, hey,’ he says.
‘That’s great, I would like to take things slowly. A bit like my tortoise.’ I laugh nervously. Why do I say stupid things when I get nervous?
‘But you don’t always have time in life, Amelia. Remember that. So try not to put off what you can do today, hey?’
I think that saying normally means for chores and things, not rushing to fall head over heels in love with a stranger across the Atlantic. His mention of timing yet again makes me probe further with my earlier question.
‘How much time do you have, Patrick? What are you trying to say here?’
‘My darling, Amelia. Nobody has much time left. It’s like one of those egg timers. You reach fifty and the egg timer starts going faster and faster,’ says Patrick.
‘What on earth does that mean?’ I ask. He does say some strange things sometimes. Perhaps it’s the cultural differences. ‘Patrick, are you holding something back from me about your illness?’
‘Yes, I am. But I don’t wish to talk about it when I’m so happy. Please come and see me and we can talk,’ he says.
‘It’s just not possible at the moment, Patrick. You are lovely and perfect, but… The circumstances are too difficult to come over,’ I say.
‘Why do you make things so hard for yourself? You said your sons are going away with their dad tomorrow. Your friend will be in New York. Why can’t you come? This is crazy.’ He is starting to sound annoyed.
‘It’s not as easy as you think. I’d need to ask my boss for time off. I have so many responsibilities. I can’t jump on a flight the way other people might be able to with no commitments,’ I explain.
‘Well, I don’t see where any of this is going. If you don’t come to New York, there is not much of a future. It’s your choice,’ says Patrick abruptly.
I look in horror at his perfect features on the other side of the Atlantic. I don’t want to stop communicating with him, but I can’t possibly arrange anything now.
The boys leave in less than twenty-four hours and I’ve faffed about so much that I have left it far too late to go to New York, even if that means I will lose Patrick.
Chapter 20
At home – saying goodbye to the boys
Dick arrives early morning to pick the boys up on the way to the airport. Tanja looks at me disgustedly from the passenger seat of the car that is waiting outside. I can’t help it if I am still in my towelling dressing gown. It was more important to have the boys all packed up and organized. Self-conscious, I wipe at the butter stain from yesterday’s toast that covers my left boob.
‘Oh, Jasper, Rupert, let me give you a double hug,’ I say as we bid goodbye.
This is horrible. It was bad enough when they went on the school trip to a Welsh language camp in Pendine for a few days, but this is Florida I am sending them to – and with Tanja Tart. I want to cry my eyes out and have a little tantrum. Of course, I don’t. I put on a brave face and wish them all a wonderful holiday with a smile on my face.
‘Mum, I’ll miss you, but I promise to bring you something nice back,’ says Jasper.
‘Yes, Mum, we’ll find something for you. Would you like a big Mickey Mouse?’ asks Rupert.
‘Ooh, anything you choose would be lovely, Rupert,’ I say. ‘That’s so thoughtful of you.’
‘Right, boys, time to get in the car. Don’t want to miss the flight,’ says Dick from the doorstep, refusing to come any closer.
I hand over the luggage to Jasper and Rupert, and they carry it towards the boot of the car.
‘No room in the boot. Tanja’s suitcase filled it up. You’ll have to squeeze in the back with the bags,’ I hear Dick saying to the boys.
Of course, her suitcase has filled the boot, I mutter to myself.
I maintain the smile until the car is a dot at the end of the road, and then my chin starts to quiver and I burst into tears behind the closed door.
Calm down and think of the positives, I tell myself.
I can have a long, hot soak in the bath without the boys needing to urgently search for something that they haven’t used for the past five years.
I can eat all the Maltesers in the bag without having to offer them any.
I can join the runners at the park, as I don’t have to rush home from work. Is that actually a positive? I’m not sure.
I can…
Before I finish the mental list of things I can do, I see that Lisa is calling me from her mobile. I hope she doesn’t want me to do extra shifts. There go my plans for running in the park.
‘Amelia, are you already on your way in?’ she asks.
‘No, I was going to have a quick cuppa and then start gett
ing ready. I’m a bit later than normal because the boys have just gone off,’ I explain.
‘Right, well, for once I’m glad you’re running late. I’m ringing to say, don’t bother coming in. There’s been a leak from the flat above; the ceiling’s collapsed in the shop. We’re going to have to close for at least a week, by the looks of it. I’ve spoken to the insurance company, and they said I have to get two quotes from builders before they even look at the claim. I can’t get a builder till Friday. It’s going to take ages to sort. They’d better give compensation for loss of earnings.’
‘Oh no, well, shall I come in and try and help move the books, or anything?’ I ask.
‘No, luckily the books are fine, but the seating area and the lovely pink sofas are ruined. Absolutely bleeding ruined,’ says Lisa.
‘Oh dear, what a nightmare. Well, if I can do anything at all,’ I say.
‘No, until the insurance sorts everything out there isn’t a lot we can do. I’ll ring you next Monday when I know more,’ she says.
I put the kettle back on and make a fresh cuppa. What am I supposed to do with no work and no boys? The house is small, yet I suddenly feel as though I am rattling around in it.
By 10am I’m incredibly bored. I call Sian to explain that I have an unexpected week off and see if she fancies lunch.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, I’ve got to visit Rob’s mum this afternoon. Ivy had a fall and is a bit down in the dumps,’ she explains. ‘We’re thinking we might stay over with her for a few days. Are you okay?’
‘Yes, fine. No problem. Of course, that’s much more important. You go and help out. I’ll see you when you get back,’ I say.
‘Why don’t you see if Jamie can still get you those air miles, Amelia? Go on. What else are you going to do this week? There must be a flight available somewhere. It’s now or never,’ says Sian.
‘I don’t know. We’ll see,’ I say.
I put the phone down and make yet another cuppa and sit down to watch daytime TV. This is nice, I tell myself, it’s not often I get any time for myself.
Ten minutes later, I can’t bear to hear the woman on telly explain about the bunions she had removed. I walk around the house aimlessly. I enter the boys’ bedroom and feel sad as I look at their empty beds.
I wish I was in work; it would be much better than this quiet home.
At 1pm I message Patrick. I apologise for being so undecided and explain that I have a week off from work unexpectedly.
‘Well, honey, what are you waiting for? Get on the flight,’ he says. This idea is getting more attractive by the second.
By 2:01, I am even more bored and by 2:29 I can take no more. I can’t bear to be home alone like this. I pick up the phone to Jamie.
‘Hey, if I was to come to New York with you, do you know if those flights on air miles are still available?’ I ask.
‘Well, I can certainly check. It would be amazing if you could come with me. Give me two minutes. What about a hotel though?’ says Jamie.
‘If you can check availability on the flight, I’ll ask Patrick about the hotel he mentioned before,’ I say.
‘It’s a deal,’ he says.
I message Patrick and ask if he can find out if the hotel has any rooms for this week.
I have never been so spontaneous in my life and it feels exhilarating.
Patrick answers five minutes later.
Honey, yes, it’s available. If you give me your card details, I’ll book it for you now because I get a discount, remember? Xxx
Okay, let me double check the flights and I’ll get back to you xxx
Jamie finally rings back to say that he can’t get me on the outward flight he is on, but there is a last-minute seat available on tomorrow’s flight to JFK.
‘It’s a bit soon for you, but you might be able to make it. We’ll be on the same flights back, if that helps,’ he says.
‘Book it,’ I blurt out. ‘As Patrick says, life is short. Let’s do it.’
‘This is going to be fantastic, Amelia. This makes my business trip so much better having you there. You know, having company,’ says Jamie.
I ring Patrick to tell him the good news.
‘Oh baby, I get to hold you and spoil you and do all the things I’ve wanted to do for so long. Maybe you can meet my friends, we can go for dinner… I’m so happy. Is my beautiful Amelia happy too?’ he asks.
‘Yes, I am,’ I say. ‘I truly am. I can’t wait to see you and see New York again.’
With everything in place, I realise that I need to do some urgent shopping, as I am not in the slightest bit prepared for a trip to New York, so head to the shops quickly.
* * *
I am at least two stone heavier than I have made myself out to be, and so my first stop is the ladies’ lingerie department to invest in my first ever pair of Spanx-type things; at least that way I will look good with clothes on. It is not like he is going to get to see what is underneath my fat-busting protective layer.
I pass all the racy red, glamourous black and pastel shades of underwear and head to the big pants section. I look for underwear that will immediately shrink me from a size 14 to an 8. I am not going to be greedy and want to become a size zero or anything, a size 8 will suffice.
I eventually find a massive pair of black knickers that promise to give you a flat tummy and drop a dress size; how very different to the red thong that Patrick may think I still wear. I choose a size larger than normal, as they look so tight and I would like to have the option of breathing while being sucked in. I’m also worried about getting deep-vein thrombosis in an artery in my pelvis somewhere, especially after the long flight, so I want to keep as much of my circulation going as possible.
Near the knickers stand, I notice a padded bra that makes you look two sizes bigger. Ironic that I need my pants to make me look three sizes smaller. Why does it have to be that my bottom is ample but not my chest? I sometimes wonder if my body got things the wrong way around. Not to worry, though, as thanks to this miraculous underwear, at the age of forty-eight, I am finally going to have the body I have always wanted. Patrick would probably be a little disappointed if he discovered my pendulous breasts under the superfluously padded bra, but never mind as he may never find out.
Since we will not be having sex at any point, I do wonder what sort of places Patrick will take me. He did say we would go for dinner. I hope dinner isn’t our first date, though, as it would be so embarrassing if I started to choke on a shiitake mushroom as we exchange pleasantries. I do hope he is not one of those people who eats noisily and makes some kind of chomping noise.
As I consider Patrick’s eating habits, something catches my eye in the clothing section. It is the most beautiful black floaty dress. Not only is it utterly fantastic, it also has a tag saying that there is 50 per cent off; there is even a size 14 left.
As I am looking at it, a woman beside me goes through the rail, stopping at my dress. She touches the fabric, gently stroking the silky material. I watch in horror as her hand starts heading for the hanger. I have this strange primal urge and grab the hanger before she can, almost pushing her out of the way. I’m sure there is something wrong with my hormones at the moment.
She gives me a startled look, and I run to the changing room with my dress. I need to lock the fitting room door in case she comes after me. I hear her ask the assistant if she has any other size 14s, to which the answer is a resolute no.
Unfortunately for the lady, the dress fits me like a glove and goes in at all the right places: it is perfect for a first date. Perhaps I should go for something a little less glamourous and sexy, but I’m going to be in New York, after all, where everyone oozes sophistication, and I desperately need something new. I certainly don’t want to dress in my normal fashion that says I am a mum of twins who has gone through a bereavement and a divorce in the past year, and who hasn’t had sex in a very long time.
This is my ‘dress of hope’, a dress that makes me feel empowered, sexy, glamorous a
nd is a dress of a divorcee who is about to embark on a whole new life.
It might only be a dress in the sale for some, but to me this is the beginning of something wonderful. It’s the start of a bright new future with love, happiness and an intelligent, handsome polo player sweeping me off my feet.
‘I’ll take it,’ I say to my reflection in the mirror.
Chapter 21
Somewhere over the Atlantic – the future is bright
The distinctive musty aircraft smell hits my nostrils as I approach the crew member who is reaching out to check my boarding card. I hand it over and notice I am shaking. I haven’t admitted it to anyone, but I am so nervous about everything right now: flying alone, being without the boys, and, of course, meeting Patrick. I may as well be an unaccompanied minor on a flight for the way I feel.
The male flight attendant smiles at me as he hands back the boarding pass, which is tucked away in the passport. I was lucky to find it behind the microwave last night. I’d almost forgotten I had left it there after needing it as proof of identity for the lawyer all that time ago.
‘We’ve upgraded you to upper class, Mrs Simpson.’
Oh my, the words I have always wanted to hear.
Except, I didn’t actually hear them. Instead, I am now sitting in an economy seat – the seat I rightly deserve thanks to Jamie’s free air miles. I am at the back near the toilets. I do seem to go to the toilet a lot more nowadays. I think it is the endometriosis, so I suppose it will be handy to be so near the lavatories. I mustn’t complain. It turns out that I am also the first to get served, as the drinks trolley starts at the back of the cabin. So, it is a bit of a win–win situation really.