The Minute I Saw You

by Paige Toon

  ‘I should know.’ He sounds deflated. ‘About my daughters’ eye tests. I haven’t been around much, but I’m trying to change that.’

  ‘Is that why you didn’t go back to Amsterdam?’ I ask gently.

  He nods. ‘Partly.’ He sighs. ‘But my life is generally a bit of a wreck at the moment.’

  My mind whirls as we veer off to our left on the footpath that leads down to Grantchester Meadows. On our right is the Orchard tea garden and through the breaks in the trees, dozens of sea-green deckchairs and wooden tables are visible, spread out on the grass beneath the apple trees.

  ‘I haven’t been to the Orchard in years,’ Sonny says.

  ‘Me neither. Oh, their scones . . .’

  ‘Shall we?’ He halts in his steps, his face breaking into a grin. ‘Or does Bertie need a walk?’

  ‘No, she’s already been out once today. This was all about getting a sunshine hit.’

  ‘Let’s do it,’ he urges, and his boyish excitement is infectious.

  ‘Okay!’ I reply with a laugh, taken aback at this turn of events.

  Are we becoming friends?

  The thought makes me feel surprisingly warm.

  We opt to sit in the sun. Sonny, who carried the tray from the café, places it on the table.

  After pouring with rain for much of the weekend, the weather is a welcome change, but I check my chair for dampness before daring to sit down.

  On the weekend in summer, it can be hard to find an empty table, but today it’s perfectly tranquil. There are a few people dotted around at the tables surrounding us and we can hear their low chatter and the gentle sounds of cutlery clinking against crockery as people stir sugar into their tea. The air is warm and smells of cow parsley – the tall wildflowers are crowded together under the shaded bushes and fruit trees, the scent of the white umbrella-shaped blooms bringing back memories of summer.

  I pour my tea and sigh with contentment. Sonny leans in and picks up his own teapot.

  ‘So the friend you were talking about to Matilda on Friday night . . . I heard you saying—’

  ‘Nina,’ I interject. ‘She was sixteen when Umeko suspected a tumour.’

  ‘Umeko spotted it?’ he asks with surprise, his milk jug paused in mid-air.

  ‘Yes.’ That’s two rare brain tumours my boss has had to contend with in eleven years, and they’re just the ones I’m aware of.

  ‘You’ve known her for a while?’

  I nod. ‘Years. Her husband and Charles, my uncle, are old friends.’

  ‘But you only started working with her recently?’

  ‘Yep.’ Not for my uncle’s want of trying. I slice my currant scone in half and proceed to smother it with strawberry jam and clotted cream. ‘Before that, I was in India.’

  ‘What were you doing there?’

  ‘Travelling at first, but I ended up settling in Mumbai for a few months and helping out at an eye clinic.’

  ‘That must’ve been interesting.’

  ‘It was a lot of things. Interesting was one of them. Challenging, traumatic and frustrating are other words I’d use to describe the experience, but above all it was rewarding.’

  After finishing my degree, I landed a work placement in Bradford, but within a year, I got cold feet. Perhaps it was my cranky boss, perhaps it was because I never really felt at home in my university city for various reasons, but I decided to take a break to re-evaluate what I wanted from life. I was unconvinced that a career as a dispensing optician was for me, and I didn’t see anything on my travels that persuaded me otherwise, but in India I crossed paths with an American girl at a youth hostel who was complaining of headaches. When she lost vision in one of her eyes, I suspected she was suffering from ocular migraines. The poor girl was completely and understandably freaked out, but I took her to a charitable eye hospital and was so blown away by the help she received there that I was inspired to ask if they needed volunteers.

  It was definitely a baptism of fire kind of situation because it was the first place I’d worked practically unsupervised, and to say I was thrown in at the deep end is an understatement. I learned a lot in a short space of time and came across a wide variety of eye problems, from cataracts to corneal ulcers, inflammations and infections.

  Later, when Charles told me that Umeko had a position opening up, I found the prospect of returning to a permanent position in the UK far less daunting than I otherwise would have.

  Day-to-day life at Umeko’s is a whole lot easier and less stressful, but I do sometimes miss the madness and unpredictability of Mumbai.

  ‘So is your friend, Nina, okay now?’ Sonny asks.

  ‘Yes, she made a full recovery, thankfully.’ I bat away a wasp. ‘She’s the one who lives in Amsterdam.’

  ‘What does she do there?’ He leans back in his deckchair, taking his teacup with him. He’s wearing a white shirt, rolled up at the elbows, and grey shorts with light-coloured canvas Vans on his feet.

  ‘She runs a design shop with her boyfriend. He’s Dutch.’

  ‘Do you know where their shop is?’ The wasp bobs up and down over the remnants of his scone. He frowns at it.

  ‘I think it’s near the Anne Frank House. I can’t recall the street name.’

  ‘That’s a nice area.’

  ‘I will make it over soon to see her,’ I vow, batting away the same pesky wasp.

  There are wasp catchers hanging from the tree branches all around. We’re lucky to only be bothered by one. Later in summer, when the ground is scattered with sweet-smelling rotting apples, they’re everywhere, lazy and drunk on fruit juice.

  ‘What about you?’ I ask. ‘You’re not planning on going back for a while?’

  His expression becomes instantly strained and I regret asking.

  ‘Sorry, I don’t mean to pry.’

  ‘It’s okay.’ He stares into his teacup and something about his manner – the way he glances at me, slightly thoughtfully, before looking away again and taking a sip of his tea – makes me act on an impulse.

  ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

  It’s odd. We barely know each other, but it doesn’t feel like that. It’s as though something between us has clicked into place. I think it’s the same for him.

  Sure enough, he begins to speak.

  ‘A mate of mine died recently,’ he confides.

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ I put my last piece of scone back down on my plate.

  ‘He’d been on a downward spiral for a while.’ He meets my eyes, but only momentarily. ‘He overdosed. We don’t know if it was accidental or deliberate.’

  ‘Oh no, that’s awful.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he agrees heavily. ‘It hit me pretty hard.’

  ‘That’s why you’re seeing Evelyn?’

  He shrugs. ‘It’s part of it.’

  He falls silent and looks across the orchard. A small boy is climbing one of the apple trees nearby.

  An elderly, eccentrically dressed lady calls out to him. ‘Please don’t! Some of these trees are over a hundred years old! They’re very frail.’

  The child’s mother looks mortified as she rushes over and urges the boy to get down. He jumps off the branch, narrowly missing some stinging nettles.

  Sonny smiles at me. ‘I remember coming here as a kid. I’d love to bring the girls. I don’t know if Rochelle ever has.’

  ‘How long were you and she together?’

  ‘Not long,’ he replies glibly, placing his teacup down on the saucer with a clatter. ‘If Matilda hasn’t already told you, she soon will: I’m a fuckwit when it comes to women.’

  My stomach inadvertently does a somersault.

  ‘But you can relax because I’m currently sworn off them,’ he adds with a rueful smile.

  ‘You’re sworn off women?’ Now I’m intrigued.

  He nods. ‘Sex too.’

  ‘You’re not serious.’

  ‘I am, at least for the next year.’

  ‘Shut the front door!’

  H
e lets out a low sardonic laugh and shakes his head. ‘Well, maybe six months. I haven’t decided yet.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘I can’t form lasting relationships. It’s something I’m working on with Evelyn.’

  Oh God, he is serious. There’s absolutely no humour in his tone as he continues:

  ‘She suggested a period of abstinence and I’ve agreed. I don’t remember the last time I felt this determined to stick with something.’ He gives me a candid look. ‘So you can tell Matilda that no warning is necessary.’

  ‘What makes you think she’d warn me off you anyway?’ I ask, feeling surreal about the fact that we’re having such a straightforward conversation about something like this.

  ‘She’s done it before with other friends.’

  ‘Was she right to?’ I ask.

  He grimaces. ‘Yes, unfortunately.’

  Hmm.

  Chapter 6

  The warning comes the very next day.

  ‘He’s a nightmare, that one,’ Matilda says on our way out to lunch.

  We’re walking across Lammas Land – a stretch of green parkland – on our way into town.

  We’ve been talking about Friday night, saying how we both want to do it again soon. Matilda hadn’t expected Sonny to turn up, even though she’d known that Archie had invited him. She revealed that he’d been going through a bit of a rough patch, but didn’t go into detail before launching into the ‘nightmare’ comment.

  I knew it was coming, but curiosity ensures that I take the bait regardless. ‘Why?’

  ‘He’s such a dickhead to women. I don’t even know if you’re interested, but please don’t go there.’

  I laugh. ‘I wasn’t intending to. He did say you’d warn me off him though,’ I drop in casually.

  She’s taken aback. ‘When did he say that? At the pub?’

  ‘No, yesterday. We bumped into each other when I was out for a walk. Ended up going for tea at the Orchard.’

  Afterwards, Sonny and I wandered along the river together for a while before parting company. Rochelle had given him permission to take the girls to a local café. She has full custody, so any contact he has with his daughters has to be on her terms.

  ‘And he said I’d warn you off him?’ Matilda asks dubiously. ‘What did he say exactly?’

  ‘He said that he was “a complete and utter fuckwit when it comes to women” and then claimed to be sworn off them entirely.’

  ‘Bullshit!’ she shouts, and a couple of joggers take a wide berth as they go round us.

  ‘He’s taken a vow of abstinence,’ I add.

  ‘Oh my God!’ she says slowly. ‘What a load of crap! What will that guy do to get into your knickers?’

  I laugh while at the same time feeling bad that we’re laying into Sonny like this. But he must’ve expected this reaction when he asked me to tell Matilda that there was no need to warn me.

  ‘He really said that to you? That he’s abstinent?’

  I nod.

  ‘I’ll get the lowdown from Archie,’ she states.

  We go to Hot Numbers coffee shop, a cool little indie on Trumpington Street, not far from the Fitzwilliam Museum. I hunt out a table while Matilda places our order at the counter. We don’t have long so there’s no time to waste.

  ‘I liked Archie,’ I say when she returns with our drinks.

  I managed to nab a sunny table in the courtyard.

  ‘Yep, I’m a lucky girl,’ she says flippantly.

  ‘He’s lucky too,’ I point out, sipping my raspberry lemonade through a paper straw.

  ‘I am so glad you and I are friends,’ she states.

  ‘Me too.’

  We grin at each other and then she shakes her head with bewilderment. ‘I can’t believe Sonny said that crap about abstinence.’

  ‘Go on then, spill the beans,’ I command. ‘If you’re going to warn me off him, do it properly. Why’s he so awful?’

  She screws up her nose. ‘He’s a perpetual one-night-stand man. In the time I’ve known him, I don’t think he’s had a relationship that’s lasted more than a day. Plenty of women have fallen at his feet, though. He crushes hearts with every footstep.’

  I snigger at her melodrama.

  ‘Archie says he often sleeps with the models he photographs.’

  This comment sobers me up. I try not to show that this, of all things, bothers me, but it’s hard not to feel threatened by perfect female specimens when I feel like I’m lacking. I cross my feet at the ankles, glad to see a server arriving with our lunch.

  I’ve gone for avocado on sourdough toast with feta, chilli and mint. Matilda has opted for a bacon sandwich.

  ‘Has Sonny slept with any of your friends?’ I ask as we tuck in.

  She looks fed up. ‘At least two that I know of. Nessa was planning on coming out on Friday night, but changed her mind when she heard that Sonny was invited. Faith is over it, I think. She’s seeing Cameron now, one of the other guys who plays cricket with them.’

  ‘Do you know Rochelle?’

  ‘No, but Archie does. She went to the same university. I think they did some work on the student magazine together. He said she had a crush on Sonny well before he slept with her. I didn’t know him back then, but from what I’ve heard, he’s barely had anything to do with his kids’ upbringing since he buggered off to Amsterdam.’

  ‘What a shit.’

  ‘That’s putting it aptly.’ She polishes off her sandwich. ‘So did I do a good job?’

  ‘Good job of what?’ I ask.

  ‘Warning you off him?’

  ‘Yeah, but there was no need. Even if I was interested, he’s sworn off women.’

  ‘I’ll believe it when I see it,’ she comments wryly.

  Chapter 7

  On Friday evening, there’s a jaunty knock on the cottage door. I’ve changed out of my work clothes and am on my way downstairs, trying to decide what to cook for dinner.

  Bertie rushes past me and lets out her requisite five-bark warning, her tail going so far sideways that her whole backside moves with it.

  ‘Come here,’ I mutter, pulling her back by her collar.

  Sonny is standing on the doorstep.

  ‘Hi!’ I say with surprise, looking up at him.

  ‘Hi!’ he replies buoyantly.

  He’s wearing shorts and a light-blue T-shirt and, if his sun-kissed skin is anything to go by, he’s been spending most of his time outdoors this week.

  Bertie strains at her collar, panting, so I release her and straighten up while Sonny crouches down to give her a proper greeting. She licks his face a couple of times, but he doesn’t recoil.

  ‘Have you come from Evelyn’s?’ I cock my head towards the southern end of the building.

  ‘Yes. Thought I’d say hi.’ He grins at me, his blue eyes made even bluer by the colour of his shirt. He’s clearly in high spirits.

  ‘Hi,’ I say again, with amusement. ‘Do you want to come in?’ I open the door wider.

  ‘Sure.’ He stands and follows Bertie inside, while I back up against the hallway wall to make room. Two steps later, he hesitates.

  ‘Go right,’ I prompt, closing the front door.

  He rounds the corner to the kitchen, looking around at the cosy space with its old-fashioned copper saucepans hanging on the whitewashed walls.

  ‘You seem well,’ I can’t help but say.

  ‘I feel great,’ he replies with a heartening grin. ‘I always feel better when I walk out that door.’

  ‘That’s awesome to hear,’ I say warmly, glad to know these sessions are making a difference. It appears he’s going twice a week. ‘Would you like a drink?’

  ‘I’d kill for a beer.’

  I go to the fridge and peer inside, chewing on my lip. ‘Sorry, don’t have any beer. I have wine? I’m a bit low on supplies.’

  ‘How about a drink at the pub?’ he asks hopefully.

  I slam the fridge door shut again. ‘Why not?’

  ‘I’ll te
ll you why not,’ a voice in my head says, and in my mind’s eye I see Matilda, looking furious, with her hands on her hips and her foot tapping.

  Inwardly laughing at the image, I sit on the stairs and put on my sandals – sorry, Matilda, but I’m going for the pretty ones.

  June’s roses are in full swing. The evening air is perfumed with them and I’m suddenly very glad of an excuse to get out of the house for the evening. I was supposed to be seeing my old school friend, Danielle, but she asked to postpone, claiming exhaustion. I’ll meet her newborn baby on Sunday instead.

  Sonny, who took it upon himself to attach Bertie’s lead while I was getting ready to leave the cottage, doesn’t relinquish her to me as he sets off at a keen pace. I can’t keep up with them and I’m not about to break into a run. He soon notices, looking over his shoulder at me.

  ‘Sorry.’ He seems chastened as he slows down.

  ‘It’s fine. Green Man?’ It’s the closest pub.

  ‘Sounds good. Does it hurt?’ he asks after a moment, glancing at my left leg.

  ‘Er . . . Sometimes. Usually it’s fine.’ I change the subject. ‘I meant to tell you! The little girl!’

  ‘Yes?’ he asks expectantly.

  ‘Her sight came back after the surgery. Not only the one they were trying to save, but the eye she’d lost vision in.’

  ‘That’s incredible!’

  ‘She’s not completely out of the woods: she has to have chemotherapy to reduce the size of the tumour. It’s benign but in a malignant place. The chemo will give her time to grow so she should be able to have less invasive surgery at some point. The doctors think she’ll make a full recovery.’

  ‘That is such good news.’

  ‘I know. I’m so relieved.’

  We walk past the busy tables out at the front, under the canopy of wisteria heavy with cascading purple flowers, and straight inside to the bar.

  After grabbing some drinks, we make our way to the beer garden, a long, narrow stretch of grass lined with bench tables. At the end is a footpath that leads directly to the Meadows. It’s the perfect pub for a post-dog-walk drink, as I know, having been here with Charles on countless occasions.