Twice in a Lifetime

by Helga Jensen

That’s great. In that case, any chance you could do me a huge favor? I lost my credit card. Can you pop it on your card and I’ll give you the cash next week?

  I immediately agree as I am in such a compromising position.

  I suddenly hear my name being called out.

  ‘Amelia, how long does it take you to get changed?’ Thank goodness, Sian is looking for me.

  ‘I have to put this one on Facebook,’ she laughs as soon as she sees me behind the curtain. The moment she stops laughing, Sian tugs and pulls and, after quite a bit of hair loss and a broken zip, I am eventually set free. The minute I am dressed again I see that Patrick is still texting away; he obviously hasn’t got any so-called deadlines to think about today.

  Are you not working today?

  I start typing.

  If you’re bored, why don’t you send me a photo of your office? Send some pics. I’d love to see some. xxx

  I notice that, although he has read it, he immediately goes offline. I always ensure that I answer him back straight away and, even though I was in a compromising position, I still responded to him.

  I haven’t yet confided in Sian about my concerns with Patrick, but finally bring them out in the open as we enjoy a coffee after our wedding shopping spree. I tell her how I followed him.

  ‘Well, I’m sure there’s some reason. Maybe he called in sick after his coffee with the milk but then felt better; maybe he had a doctor’s appointment later and didn’t want to tell you. I mean, if he is sick then there could be a very reasonable explanation.’

  ‘Hmm, yeah. I hadn’t thought about it like that.’

  ‘Yup, definitely. I mean, come on, you said yourself he could be dying. He probably doesn’t want to scare you off by telling you the truth. I’m sure he’s doing it to protect you. It’s obvious. Maybe he has even had to quit work because of his terminal illness but doesn’t want to tell you the truth. So, then he pretends to go off to work and instead he goes to the hospital for treatment, or something. That’s deffo what it will be, lovely. Some guys don’t even tell their partners when they’ve lost their jobs and pretend to go to work every day. Perhaps he’s a bit like that and scared to say anything. He could even be trying to protect you from the truth as he’s just soooo perfect and dreamy,’ says Sian.

  My head hurts as I consider the possibility that Perfect Patrick is so lovely that he doesn’t want to tell me the truth. That he wants to protect me from all his pain. The poor soul. Nobody can possibly judge someone in this situation. Sian could be right.

  ‘And what about Jamie? Have you heard from him yet?’

  ‘No, we haven’t spoken. But that’s not surprising when he had to dash straight into work. He’s not due back down here until next week,’ I say.

  I don’t tell Sian that I had a sleepless night last night thinking about Jamie and Patrick. I feel as though I need to give Patrick a chance and to finally find out the truth behind him, but I know in my heart that nobody will ever be like Jamie is to me.

  However, I just can’t risk it with Jamie. I have far too much to lose, so instead I decide to look forward to Patrick’s visit and see if we can make it work.

  Chapter 38

  Laugharne – preparing for Patrick’s arrival

  I have cleaned the house from top to bottom and even scrubbed the oven in preparation for our visitor. Although Patrick won’t be staying with us, I still want to make a good impression in case he pops in. I am beginning to think Sian might be right about Patrick. I have never seen a man more excited to be with me than in our last conversation before he arrives.

  ‘Look at the champagne I bought us.’ Patrick smiles over Skype. Now that he has seen me in the flesh I can finally Skype in the bright living room. I guess we all have our secrets. Just as I kept my weight a secret from him, he keeps his health condition a mystery from me. Perhaps I should accept that every relationship needs to have a degree of mystery.

  ‘Ooh, I love champagne,’ I squeal. Handsome man, bottle of champagne. How can I not be excited?

  ‘This champagne is very special, a great year. Let’s enjoy it in bed together tomorrow.’ He laughs.

  ‘Wow, champagne in bed. I’ve never done that before, but it sounds good. By the way, did you get your new credit card yet? You may need it when you’re over here,’ I say.

  If he can treat us to champagne, I assume he must have it by now. Unless he is so rich that he paid cash. Although I don’t imagine that after the look of the place he secretly lives in. He looks a bit vague when a knock on the door interrupts our conversation.

  ‘You expecting anyone?’ asks Patrick.

  ‘No, hang on a second.’

  I open the door to discover a delivery man holding out the prettiest bunch of long-stemmed pink and white roses, my absolute favourite.

  ‘Hey? Flowers? Did someone send you flowers?’ Patrick says as I walk back in still holding them. ‘My god, I was so busy with the Sacramento trip I just realised I never did buy you flowers in New York. My dear, Amelia. Please forgive me. I’ll make it up to you, I promise I will. I love you so so much. I told you I’d spoil you and I will. Just you wait till I arrive.’

  ‘Oh, so these aren’t from you then?’ I say. For a moment I thought they could be a present from Patrick.

  ‘Jeez, no. My mind’s been all over the place. I guess I shoulda treated my girl to flowers. Sorry, it’s the illness…’

  I don’t say anything as a terrible wave of guilt rushes over me. Whilst he touches on his terminal illness, I realise who the flowers have come from.

  ‘So, if they’re not from me. Who are they from?’ he asks.

  ‘Oh, Sian, I think. Welcome back pressie,’ I lie.

  ‘Oh good, for a moment I thought it might be that creep of a friend of yours. You know, the one you were with in the airport.’

  The word creep stings and I automatically jump to Jamie’s defence.

  ‘Hey, he is definitely not a creep, Patrick. He’s my friend.’

  ‘Sorry, sorry, way outta line. I say such stupid things sometimes. Yeah, of course. Nice guy. But I still wanna know why he took my photo. I don’t like people doing things like that.’

  ‘I have no idea, Patrick. You must be mistaken. Perhaps he was taking a photo of the airport; maybe there was a plane nearby,’ I say.

  ‘Yeah, sure. Well, maybe we’ll find out when I’m there, hey?’

  ‘Yes, absolutely. Perhaps you can ask him yourself.’

  ‘Well, I don’t wanna see him, but… Anyway, enough of him. So, what shall we do when I come over? Any plans?’ asks Patrick. ‘Will I see your castle? An Englishman’s home is his castle, right?’ he continues.

  ‘Absolutely, Patrick. But I told you before, it’s not a castle and I am in Wales, not England.’

  ‘Wales, cottage, yada, yada, yada… Yeah, you told me. My bad. Well, I look forward to seeing your cute cottage and taking you to bed with champagne. Perfect, right?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ I agree. ‘Though obviously, with the boys, you’ll be staying in a hotel, right?’

  I have told him a thousand times, but I am terrified he thinks he is staying at mine, as he doesn’t seem to take things in sometimes. ‘I’ve booked you a nice hotel,’ I reiterate.

  ‘Fantastic, let’s hope there’s room service and a minibar too,’ he says with a laugh. ‘Well, I’d best pack this bottle and get ready for the flight. See you tomorrow, my darling Amelia. I love you more than anything.’ He waves the bottle in front of him. ‘Hell, even as much as I love this stuff.’ He grins.

  With our video chat over I read the card that came with the flowers.

  I’m so sorry. I should never have said those things on the flight. I thought we would die and I was scared. I didn’t mean any of it ☺

  Please forgive me, Jamie xxxxxxxx

  I look at the bouquet in front of me and take in its beautiful aroma. As the contents of the message sinks in, I can’t help but feel disappointed. Jamie never meant a word of it? I feel like such
an idiot. For that moment on the flight, I secretly let my true feelings for Jamie escape. I admitted to myself how jealous I was of Miserable Megan and everything. Thank goodness I talked myself out of it when we got back.

  I was right: Jamie was never worth the risk.

  Chapter 39

  Laugharne – Patrick has arrived

  As Patrick has the poem on his WhatsApp and has quoted some verses that I wasn’t familiar with once or twice, I considered his fondness of poetry when booking a hotel for him. Obviously, he hasn’t answered enough about himself for me to be completely sure that he has a penchant for poetry, but he does have that romantic poet persona at times. I am ashamed to admit that the only poems I truly know are the ones that my mum used to tell me. I don’t think they were written by a proper poet or anything, as it was mainly a poem about an apple tart making your bum go rat tat tat, or something. Of course, I won’t ever admit this sordid truth to Patrick.

  Making up for my lack of poetic knowledge, I have booked Patrick into one of Dylan Thomas’s favourite haunts, so I do hope that he will love it. The hotel dates back to the 1700s, but thankfully has been modernised a few times since then. Now the rooms have organic Welsh mattresses and even WI-FI, something that definitely was not around in Dylan Thomas’s day. Miraculously, with no WI-FI, it is thought that Dylan Thomas collected inspiration for his poetry through stories overheard in the local bars. Patrick probably doesn’t know any of this, so I can’t wait to tell him and teach him all about our beguiling little pocket in the Welsh countryside. Americans love history and, of course, Dylan Thomas ended up in New York and so I feel that this is all quite ironic. Girl from Laugharne meets boy from New York – I wonder what Dylan would have thought of it all?

  ‘This is so adorable, Amelia. I love it here,’ Patrick says as we greet each other in the small reception. I feel smug with my appropriate choice of hotel; I knew he would adore it.

  ‘Oh, my darling Amelia… I’ve missed you so much.’ He holds me tight and any reservations I have about our relationship vanishes.

  ‘Excuse me, excuse me,’ says a passer-by, trying to squeeze past.

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ I blush. I am once again oblivious to everything around me. Patrick has that charm about him. I don’t know how he does it, but he makes everything else disappear when you’re with him.

  Even though I have lived in the township all these years, I never tire of the sights of Laugharne. I want to show Patrick as much of it as possible. We walk hand in hand down to Dylan Thomas’s Boathouse first. Perhaps Patrick will like it so much that he will fall in love with it, just like I always have.

  Patrick thinks the Boathouse is fantastic, and loves the nearby writing shed, which is perched on a cliff commandeering the most breathtaking views.

  ‘I dream of having something like this,’ says Patrick. ‘A place where you could come and get inspiration and work in solitude. I love this place!’

  ‘I knew you’d like it,’ I say, secretly pleased.

  You can’t go inside the shed, which is a shame as I am sure Patrick would love to get in there, but as we look through the window, you can picture Dylan Thomas working in there. With its desk, scrunched-up pieces of paper and litany of cigarette ends it is a true writers’ paradise. Although, personally, I would swap the cigarettes for chocolate biscuits and cups of strong tea if I were a writer finishing a masterpiece.

  He wants to look at the castle next, but there is plenty of time for that. I want to take him somewhere truly special. I want to show him where I grew up. Mum’s old house. I haven’t been past for months, so it takes some courage to see it once again. With Patrick by my side, I finally feel that I can confront the fears I have. It still doesn’t stop the nerves about seeing the changes that the new people have made though.

  Pulling up outside, I notice the new residents have knocked down the front wall and removed our beautiful gates. They have even made the drive bigger, and jet-skis and two trailers are in place of my mum’s small Toyota. Even though she was not well enough to drive for a long time, I still expect to see that car when I look at the driveway. It doesn’t seem to be the same house at all.

  ‘Oh, looks very bijou,’ says Patrick. ‘I thought you just sold a big house.’

  Bijou? What is wrong with this lovely house? It is perfection in my eyes. It was certainly perfection when we had it.

  ‘So, any other famous places around here? Any more castles? Did I tell you I love castles? I think I read in a guidebook that there was also a cathedral not too far away,’ he says dismissively.

  I might be oversensitive but I can’t help but feel hurt. To me, my mum’s house is more important than any cathedral or castle. Though perhaps I was being insensitive, as he was very young when he lost his parents. I was lucky to have a home with my mum for all those years; he didn’t even have that.

  ‘Okay, I suppose I can think of somewhere else to show you,’ I manage.

  He smiles at me, and my heart melts.

  I am beginning to drive in the direction of the castle when Patrick moves his hand onto my leg. He squeezes it tight, and I want to jump. Had I known what he was about to do, I would have at least clenched my muscles so my leg wouldn’t feel quite so wobbly.

  ‘You know, I changed my mind. Why don’t we head back to the hotel?’ Patrick says seductively.

  One look at him with his soft dark hair, that smile and the way his cashmere jumper is casually slung over his shoulders, stupidly makes me want to agree. However, I have some questions before I jump into bed with him again and now is the right time to bring them up.

  ‘You know, Patrick, there is so much I want to know,’ I start. ‘I need you to be truthful with me. Why didn’t you take me to your home in New York? You never even took me near there.’

  Unfortunately, as I ask my first question, he has a sudden pain in his stomach and needs to rush back to the hotel. He thinks he may have food poisoning from the flight and writhes in agony for the rest of the drive. I am concerned that it is something much more sinister. Please don’t let him die here.

  ‘Shall I call my doctor?’ I ask. ‘You definitely need a doctor if you’re in that much pain.’

  ‘No, no, I just need to visit the john.’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘The restroom, whatever you call it. I need to use the john and have a sleep. I’ll be fine. Let’s maybe take a rain check on today, yeah. I have to catch up on emails anyway. I’ll see you for paintball tomorrow, and I look forward to finally getting to meet those lovely kids of yours.’

  He seems much better once he gets out of the car, and it looks as though he was faking it. He will do anything to get out of any questions I ask. I am now mad that I have arranged tomorrow. I don’t want the boys meeting him, but they will be so disappointed if I cancel paintball. I figured I would find out everything by today but, once again, he has managed to wriggle his way out of answering anything about his health and his home whatsoever.

  Chapter 40

  A paintball field in Pembrokeshire – this is war

  Camouflage colours have never suited me and, with my wobbly bum, overalls are another definite no. Sadly, a corporate party of teaching assistants is currently looking straight at me, and I swear they are giggling at the state of me. I hope none of them are at the boys’ school. Luckily, I can’t say I recognise any of their faces.

  Just when I thought that things couldn’t get any worse, the macho man who has checked us in hands me a pair of oversized protective goggles. I had put on so much mascara this morning too. Now my lashes are rubbing up and down like windscreen wipers on high speed, smudging my view against the plastic lenses.

  ‘Yay, let’s go,’ shouts Jasper the second we are fully kitted out.

  The boys run ahead, leaving me and Patrick trailing behind. He looks rather uncomfortable. I don’t know if it is the groin protector that the staff made him wear, or if he is afraid that I am going to start questioning him again, but he is certainly not happy a
bout something. I am still miffed with him too.

  The marshal leads us to a field with trees covered in splats of red, green, yellow and blue paint. There are lots of hiding places and I try to memorise where I can go. As well as camouflage trousers I don’t like pain, and I learnt on one of Dick’s corporate bank events that when a paintball hits you it can really sting. I don’t intend going home black and blue today.

  I also don’t want to hurt the boys. I know it is only a game, but how on earth are you supposed to shoot your own child? Of course, I am going to let them both win. I don’t want to shoot Patrick either. He might be a little enigmatic, but he is too beautiful to shoot, and I don’t know where the terminal illness lives in his body. Thus, I have no idea what the purpose of this game is going to be. I come to the conclusion that the only thing I can do is keep a low profile and hide behind every tree I find.

  The marshal tells us the rules and how important it is not to shoot anyone too close to you. I definitely won’t be doing that. I only hope the boys are listening, but surely they are not going to want to hurt their mum?

  I run and hide in some tyres that are piled up in the woodland, my bum getting slightly stuck as I climb in. I make a mental note to stop buying cookies during next week’s supermarket shop.

  I can hear the sound of the paint pellets being shot around me and Jasper and Rupert screaming wildly.

  As I hide, I am struck by a horrendous thought: what if Patrick gets carried away with the shooting and hurts them? I meant to tell him to go easy on them, surely he will, won’t he?

  ‘Ouch,’ shouts Rupert. ‘You hit me.’

  Oh God, I knew I should have said something. Is he okay?

  I poke my head up out of the tyres to see what is going on. In fairness, it is actually Jasper who shot him and not Patrick. Although I can’t see Patrick, so he must be hiding somewhere.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I shout over.

  ‘I’m okay,’ says Rupert. ‘I hurt my leg a little though.’