Loves Lost and Found

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Loves Lost and Found Page 6

by E V Radwinter


  Back to the present

  So on that night, my second date with Ed, I was not going to fall foul of the same misadventure. I did a blood test just to be sure and was reassured to find it in the normal range.

  I headed up for my shower. Once clean and just as important cool, I set about picking an outfit. By the end, anyone would have been justified in thinking the house, or at least my bedroom, had been ransacked. There were clothes everywhere and worse still, I was starting to feel hot again. Time to calm down and think this through.

  I sat on the edge of my pine double bed and surveyed the disaster around me.

  He stopped to talk to me when I was wearing scruffy walking gear, I’m sure he won’t mind what I wear tonight, I reassured myself.

  I bent down and picked up the second item I had tried on, a black and white princess-cut dress with thin straps, a bodice that emphasised my one asset (or should that be two) and then a long flowing skirt. I selected some black, high-wedged-heel canvas shoes – not exactly the most fashionable but very comfortable nonetheless, and they did give my calves a good shape, should my skirt ever have occasion to rise up during the night’s escapades. And of course they would raise me up closer to Ed’s gorgeous lips and addictive kiss.

  Dressed, with Oscar de la Renta eau de parfum dabbed on my wrists and chest, and with my face covered in war paint, I headed downstairs to wait and to practise looking cool rather than the desperately eager person I was feeling.

  My hands were sweating. In truth I felt my face burning up, sweat beading on my brow. I was shaking slightly. A glass of wine would really help right now, I thought. Short term only though, I remonstrated with myself and turned on the TV to distract myself. It was a solution, of sorts, and at least it helped pass the time.

  7pm came and went and my heart sank. Surely he couldn’t have bailed at this point, or was he being fashionably late?

  I didn’t have to wait long. My phone trilled, shaking me back into reality. I glanced at the screen with trepidation. It was Ed. I unlocked the screen. It was a text. It was short, to the point and a complete relief as it read, ‘Sorry, I’m on my way, I’ll be there soon.’

  OMG, I thought, I’m not sure I like this rollercoaster. I’m not sure I can put myself through this again, not after the last time.

  With Fred 2, of course, the rollercoaster had been the same – the ecstatic highs, plummeting to the depressive lows and everything in between. With Fred 2, however, the first proper date had been more of a surprise. He had gone to the music festival with the boys, so I hadn’t expected to see any of them that weekend.

  I was curled up on the sofa watching TV on the Saturday night. I was a little sad about not going out, but I had a glass of wine in hand. I was surprised when there was a knock at the door, but not overly concerned about my shabby appearance given everyone was away. I opened the door and there in front of me were my mates all beaming at me and in the centre was Fred 2.

  They piled into my front room. At that point I was living in the ground floor flat of a large Victorian villa on the edge of the city. I had my own front door, although the other flats had a communal entrance on the other side of the property. I had two very small rooms at the front – a study and a spare room, only large enough to squeeze in a bed but no room to walk around it, let alone have any additional furniture. There was a tiny kitchen with half-height, cowboy-film, wooden, swinging bar doors. Next was a massive sitting room, with a large bay window overlooking the garden – not that I ever went out there. Down in the basement were the bedroom and bathroom, but I had long since moved out of the bedroom as the mould took over.

  It had started as mould on the back of the wardrobe and spread to my clothes. There were large mushrooms growing out of the carpet near the emergency exit window, and the last straw was when it started growing on my bed and I developed a permanent cold. At that point I saved what clothing I could and started sleeping on a fold-down futon in my living room. Luckily it was not my job to fix the problem as I was renting the flat which, other than the health issues it presented, I liked as it was convenient for work, friends, shops and bars, plus I couldn’t afford to move.

  As the boys settled in they explained that the venue was flooded so they decided to come home for beers instead. And here they were, full of beans and happiness, and looking at me to join them.

  I quickly changed (in the privacy of the spare room), threw on some makeup and was ready to join the party.

  Fred 2 and I had kissed on that fateful night when we first met and we had stayed the night together – not that anything physical happened, we had just fallen asleep, while talking, curled up in each other’s arms.

  The following week we talked every night on the phone and he had promised I would see him one Saturday. In hindsight I think that because I was younger and was more confident, I was more inclined to believe what he said. Also, as my friends were involved and he was theoretically staying with them, it never occurred to me that he would lie or let me down, well, not at that stage.

  Following the unexpected turn of events on the first time we met and the unexpected second meeting, then it became very expected. We saw each other the next weekend, and the next, and our relationship developed and our feelings deepened, and then the rollercoaster started.

  Back to the present

  But on that day, as I sat waiting for Ed to turn up, the rollercoaster was already at full speed and I was experiencing the terrifying highs and stomach-churning lows. How much I could take was yet to be seen, but for now I was excited, I was almost trembling with anticipation. I couldn’t stop smiling.

  I was brought back to the present from my ruminations by a loud, confident knock at the door.

  My beaming smile was mirrored by the face that greeted me when I opened the heavy oak door to Ed.

  “Evening,” I said, stepping aside to let him in to my cottage-style front room.

  “Evening,” he said, pausing to plant a cheeky kiss on my cheek, instantly putting one of my fears to bed. Clearly we both knew the direction this evening would go and immediately relaxed.

  I practically flew across the room, I was so excited, like a giddy child who had an ice cream in one hand and a bunch of brightly coloured balloons in the other, skipping through the park on a sunny afternoon with my family and looking forward to the walk around the lake; feeding the ducks, looking out for squirrels and when the ice cream was finished, holding on tightly to my father’s hand.

  That was how I was feeling as Ed took a seat on the sofa, leaving plenty of room for me to settle in beside him. But one thing at a time, first it really was time for that drink.

  I poured us both a large glass of chilled Pinot Grigio. My favourite white wine is a Chablis or at least a petit Chablis, but they were both more than my budget would allow, not that I’m a skinflint, but it’s nice to sometimes keep something as a treat, something to look forward to.

  I carried the glasses through to the sitting room, handing a glass to Ed, who took it and thanked me. I curled my feet up under me as I took the spot next to him on the sofa.

  “To your good health,” I said, still unable to wipe the inane grin off my face.

  “And yours,” he said. He lifted the large, heavy wine glass in acknowledgement, pausing for a moment before putting it to his succulent lips and taking in a considerable gulp. To my great relief he swallowed silently. There is nothing that annoys me more than noisy eaters and drinkers. How can you make such a din just swallowing a mouthful of liquid? Enough of my gripes, Ed was not a ‘urg-urph-umer’. The only noise in fact was an almost audible sigh as the nectar slipped down his broad, manly neck. Clearly he had been waiting for a tipple as much as I had. To confirm this he said, “Ahhhh, that’s good, I’ve been looking forward to this, oh, and of course seeing you, all day,” he added in haste.

  I laughed at his awkwardness and to show him no offence had been take
n. His face relaxed and we started chatting in a more natural way.

  He was obviously unable to go into details about his work, but by all accounts it had been a challenging few days even for an experienced officer. He had been late in arriving at my home which, he hastened to point out, he hated. I mentally chalked up another massive tick in Ed’s book, not that I was keeping a record, not yet anyway. I’m unsure where my hatred of tardiness originated from. It could be because my parents were late for everything, which inevitably resulted in the blame game rolling into an argument, followed by apologies to our hosts when we turned up late, again. I, on the other hand, made it a point to be early for everything. If I hit traffic the palpitations would start as I recalculated the timings in my head to reassure myself I would still make it on time.

  I guess as a police officer, being punctual must be an important factor and characteristic. He explained that, on this occasion, his lateness had been due to having to complete the tedious recording of everything that had happened during an investigation. He could not, would not, leave without completing his duty, no matter how much he hated being late.

  I forgave him, obviously. In truth there really was nothing to forgive.

  As we sipped our wine, now relaxing into the evening, no longer feeling the need to gulp down the anaesthetic wine, I talked a bit about my day. It seemed foolish, or even childish, somehow to talk about the mundane office-based jobs I had been doing when he had, for all I knew, been putting his life at risk. I hoped, as we sat chatting, that one day he might be able to confide in me more, to let me into that part, the bigger part, of his life. Maybe with time that would change. For now though, it would have to wait, and as we had a table booked at a restaurant in town we finished our drinks and made our way there.

  As we walked, hand in hand, Ed stiffened up a little and I asked if everything was okay.

  “Ah. Well. There is something that I should mention. It’s a little awkward but I think it best to get it out in the open at the start of the evening. You know, in case I need to do anything about it.”

  I could have curled up and died. My heart was racing, my palms began to sweat. What on earth is this confession going to be? I thought. Just a matter of minutes before I had been praying he would be able to confide in me, and here he was about to do exactly that and I was rapidly turning into a hedgehog, rolled up in a ball.

  He pulled my hand, bringing me to a stop, and turning in to me he smiled reassuringly.

  “You see,” he continued, “I still live up North, I don’t move down for another month or so and obviously was hoping we would have a few drinks and see where the night takes us. I thought about booking a room in a local hotel, but it turns out there’s only one in town and it’s full. I…”

  I could see he was starting to flounder and luckily I could see where this was heading. Calmness returned. I smiled reassuringly, almost laughing at his nervousness. I put my palm flat against his hard chest for reassurance and said, “You can stay with me. If you would like to of course?”

  Ed had obviously been holding his breath, as I felt him let out the most almighty sigh, at the end of which he replied, “Yes, I’d like that, I’d like that a lot.”

  I was relieved he had broached the subject so early in the date. It got it out of the way, we both knew where we stood and now we could relax without the impending awkward moment on the front doorstep at the end of the evening. It did of course beg the question as to where he had stayed after our last date. But there was no point looking back, tonight was all about the future.

  Ed had booked one of the high-street Italian chains. I understood his choice. We had eaten at the Turkish and a pub before so it made sense to try somewhere new. The restaurant was on the corner of two streets in the town centre, with windows on three sides giving it a commanding view of people coming and going. And besides, beyond the opportunity for people-watching that it provided, the food was always delicious and there were lower-carb choices so I didn’t have to break my low-carb rules. The atmosphere was also good. It was not one of those noisy places where diners had to compete to be heard. It meant we could continue our conversation, catching up on life, who we were, our loves and pet hates.

  Our loves chimed – long walks, warm fires, family, the smell of a barbecue, sunshine and spring flowers.

  Our pet hates were also in line, from rude drivers who didn’t say thank you when you went out of your way to let them in, or being cut up by equally ignorant and unobservant drivers. Bins not being collected on time, potholes that remain unfilled even when a crew has been out and filled in all the holes around it.

  We talked about his ex-wife and how he genuinely felt happy to see her so happy. He shared stories about his son, funny anecdotes from his childhood and how proud he was of all that he had achieved. That he never let adversity get him down. He battled through any obstacles put in his way in order to achieve his goals. Ed described how alike they were, both in personality and in looks, and how even in a crowd of people they were easily identifiable as father and son.

  He admitted, with genuine sadness in his voice, how he sometimes regretted not having more children. But his goddaughter helped and as they were all really close it was almost like having a second child.

  The questioning now turned to me. Had I ever wanted children? It felt like a slightly edged question, so I paused for a moment to gather my thoughts before opening up. “Yes, but in all honesty the opportunity has never arisen. Obviously I’ve been in relationships before, but none of them lasted the distance. In truth I always thought that by now I would be married with children, living happily in a little cottage.” Well, one out of three is not bad, I thought to myself. I had been smiling the whole time I spoke, not wanting him to either be worried by what I said, or even worse, feel sorry for me. I hope he doesn’t think I’m desperate, I thought, before shrugging as I finished off, “Fate had other ideas.”

  I looked down at my hands, avoiding eye contact, a little concerned I may have said the wrong thing and uncertain of how we got here, or for that matter how we would get out of it.

  Ed reached across the table, moving the tiny flower pot that housed a fake, pink flower and the candle that spent more time extinguished than alight, and took my hand in his.

  “Fate has a lot to answer for,” he said softly, looking into my eyes, “after all, it separated us too soon after we first met. Then again, it’s not all bad, as I’m pretty sure fate played a large role in us meeting again last weekend. Maybe fate can provide a rocky path at times, often without clear directions, but at other times it will give a massive…” and at this point Ed let go of my hands, opening his arms up wide to indicate how massive, almost taking out an innocent waitress carrying food to a nearby table. He did all this while saying, “… sign, that says, ‘here you are and here is where you’re going’ and for that,” Ed picked up my hands again, “I, for one, am really grateful.”

  Phew, disaster averted. We sat there in silence for a moment, only letting go of each other when our food arrived.

  I’m always nervous eating in front of others. I have a terrible habit of being clumsy and often drop food on, what as others have described as, my ample breasts. I was extra careful this evening, not wanting to make myself look like the type of person you really didn’t want to be seen in public with. For all the good and positive signs earlier in the evening, I was still a little on edge that somehow I would end up ruining it as I had done so often before.

  I laughed slightly and Ed, looking up from his meal, asked what I was chuckling about.

  “Well, I probably shouldn’t tell you this as you’ll get a bad and lasting impression of me,” I said, still laughing.

  “Go on,” he said slowly and cautiously.

  “Well, I’m a little bit, well, actually a lot, clumsy.”

  Ed looked amused and encouraged me to tell more.

  “Well, there was one tim
e when I was in the office, I was sitting in a high-backed wheeled chair which had no arm rests. I was working on a project and accidentally dropped something on the floor next to me. Now, most normal people would stand up, bend down, from the knees of course, and pick it up. Not me. Without a second thought, I leant over the side of the chair, stretching down to pick up the piece of paper. But as I reached, and stretched, I guess I overbalanced the chair and the next thing I knew I was on the floor, chair still under my bum, and I was rolling around in fits of laughter. Luckily my colleague at the next desk also found it hilarious and just managed to ask if I was okay through her fits of laughter, but I don’t think I ever really lived it down.”

  Ed’s first reaction was to look concerned either at my complete lack of common sense or out of a duty to care for my wellbeing. Either way, his face began to soften and he soon joined me in laughing at the recollection.

  There were many more examples of my clumsiness, but that would have to do for tonight.

  The conversation continued to flow as we finished our meal, drank our wine and enjoyed each other’s company.

  Ed was, as expected, a true gentleman, picking up the bill despite my offers to go Dutch. We walked slowly back towards my house, arm in arm. No need to make a pretence of extending the evening by going to the pub. No need to make excuses to stay together for longer. No need because we knew we had all night and, as it turned out, most of the weekend as well.

 

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