His White Rose

As Milo stood in front of the grey steps of her London townhouse, the thick curved lip of each step leading to the tall black door framed by two pillars, was a feature he always admired. It was a welcoming façade, despite it being somewhat unremarkable on that particular affluent street. Maybe it was because of who was behind the door of this particular property. He recalled for a moment how she would sometimes present herself as she opened the door, as though she was being revealed to the world as the stage curtain was withdrawn. But there was no crowd, it was just you, it was just for you. She had a smile and confidence that made you feel both welcomed and inspired. A quality every T.V host aspires to embody. After pressing the bell to her flat, Milo was tempted to take several steps back down the stairs to take his seat in the stalls as it were, to admire her entrance properly. All it took was a moment of hesitation for him to convince himself it was a silly thought, after all, they were just friends. Right on cue she opened the door and took the stage. Klara was what your stereotypical 90’s ‘wanker banker’ might stereotypically call ‘exotic’. However, in the purest sense of the word that’s exactly what she was. She was quintessentially English, her speech was as refined as her demeanor, you knew she was educated without her ever having to tell you. She was a part of the world that surrounded her, she knew the value of being ‘of good stock’ not just because you were born into it but because it was who you were, the values and responsibilities that came with that tradition, beyond airs and graces and any false sense of superiority. And yet, there was no mistaking the golden tanned skin, the dark brown eyes that curved as though drawn with a calligrapher’s brush, and straight dark brown hair that cupped her refined cheekbones and sat across her shoulder like an Indian headscarf. Her connection to another culture, to more than one, in fact, was clear to see. Which ones could easily be the final question of any pub quiz, it was hard to tell for even the most cultured eye, but her connection to that something other radiated from her with an unspoken presence. Like a sapphire found in the chambers of the Royal Palace, it at no point seems out of place and yet you know this gem was not discovered beneath any Stone Henge. That day in particular Karla was noticeably different, she seemed especially alive.

“You look really good, really happy”

“Oh, do I? Thank you. I do feel good actually, I’m really good”

They sat on the sofa under the bay window overlooking the back garden, as the sun slipped into the night. They relaxed into what had now become each other’s familiar company, with a glass of red wine in hand, and laughed and teased as they always did. They never played games, they never watched Netflix or sought distractions. They happily sat time after time, fully entertained in each other’s company, with barely a second glance at an Instagram story or group chat the whole night. Yet they had a strange connection, a tension that was just subtle enough to ignore. They had met through a friend many years ago but it was only recently that they ever spent any time alone together. Karla was the type of woman you’d likely have heard about before you met her. It took Milo some time to see past the fun, sexy, sociable avatar of Karla he had heard about. It was only in those red wine-infused couch conversations with her years later that he began to learn who she really was. He had never put her on a pedestal, and if he had it was only ever a superfluous one of a woman who knew how to expertly wield her feminine wiles. An admiral trait but one he took pride in not being overly hypnotised by. No, the pedestal she now sat on was one she built herself, as she shared her life story, each tale of triumph over adversity, every act of charity and love, and tale of heartbreak and tragedy lifted her higher and higher. What had started as a pin-up poster idea of a woman, had become a novel. And each time Milo sat with her and soaked in the tannings of red wine and conversation, he was flicking through the pages of her life, captivated by what was becoming one of the greatest stories ever told. Milo knew this person was special but he wasn’t quite sure how she felt about him. They were friends of course, but as they spent more time together, just the two of them, he did wonder. He couldn’t help but wonder if there was something more. That evening, before he had even arrived, he couldn’t shake this feeling in his gut that tonight was different, that this very night he might find out the answer.

“So, I have some news”

“Oh, pray tell?”

“Francis and I have split up”

“Seriously!?”

If Milo was of fairer skin, he would have blushed with excitement. He was grateful at that moment he was not. He felt as though the universe was speaking to him, could this really be the moment when he’d finally find the answer to his question. There was a rush of excitement that ran through him, more than he even expected as he adjusted himself in his seat trying to absorb it from showing. He was so happy he could have laughed out loud. Milo never liked Francis. He felt he took far too much from Karla and gave far too little but he also knew trying to understand why two people love each other is like trying to navigate the woods in the dark, it's ground even angels fear to tread and he was wise enough to do the same.

“Oh no, I’m sorry to hear that. Are you ok?”

They both knew he was lying, but it was the right lie. If Milo had a mirror within sight, he would have looked at himself just to check he wasn’t smiling as he said it. He was happy for her more than anything. As a friend he wanted her to be happy and he knew from the moment he saw her she was.

“It was a couple of months ago; it’s been hard but I’m in a good place now. It was long overdue if I’m honest.”

“Well, you know I wasn’t his biggest fan and I did say you looked like you were in a really good place the moment I saw you”

“I am, I really am, I’ve actually started seeing someone new if you can believe it.”

These were not words Milo simply heard, they immediately became words he had to swallow into his very bloodstream. He could feel them clog his arteries as he squirmed in his seat once more, focusing his every effort on not show his inner feelings. As the words churned along his Subclavian artery through his Brachiocephalic trunk and into his Aortic arch, they dragged and he could feel each one. Finally, they reached his heart and pierced it like a dagger. It was a pain that took him by surprise, he was genuinely shocked that it hurt so much. At that moment, at that very moment, for the first time, he knew for sure that Karla was more than a friend to him. He’d never had hope before, it was always a flight of fancy at best, a distant admiration. Yet to have hope delivered and dispatched in the very same conversation, struck him so cleanly that all he could do was feel the moment. He mustered words of congratulations and feigned excitement he was supposed to. He dug deep and buried his heart's true voice, and spoke only faint echoes of what he truly felt. He did it to make her feel comfortable, to leave her in her moment of happiness so hard-earned. He put on a performance Daniel Day-Lewis would have been proud of as he battled the realisation of his own feelings internally while celebrating hers outwardly. Many things can be said of Milo but he was a good friend.

As the night drew on and Milo found himself swapping wine for the more anesthetic effects of Gin he knew it was time to go. He grabbed his coat from the hallway and braced himself against the wall while he wriggled his feet one at a time into his trainers. Karla stood next to him with a smile.

“Thank you so much for coming, I had a really good night”

“Oh no my pleasure, thank you for having me, and thanks again for dinner”

“Next time I’ll cook, I promise”

“You better, you’re breaking my heart here”

Milo fixed his coat collar as he stood tall and smiled at Karla before taking a step towards her to give her a warm hug, a friendly hug. He held his breath through the entire embrace as if his body’s instinctive reaction was to hold back something as tightly as he was holding back his feelings. Knowing if only for a few seconds, he could keep it all in. Milo turned back once again as he walked down the very stairs, he had stood on with such naive optimism earlier that very evening. And there she was, just as she was then, no less enchanting, no less wonderful but this time Milo was less. He’d left behind the little hope he had carried with him, like a small bag of magic beans he’d kept in his pocket. He waved goodbye one last time and continued to walk home. It was a long walk but just as his body knew to hold its breath in her embrace, it knew just as sincerely that it needed to walk and keep walking. Disappointment, turned to sadness turned to regret but as Milo conjured moment after moment of the night again, tormenting himself over the arrogance of his optimism, he realised something. What seemed like a tragedy was the very opportunity he was waiting for. The man he never thought she’d leave she’d left; she’d called him to come round, she wanted to see him, and they spent the entire night just enjoying each other, being honest and cheeky and generous with each other. Whoever this new guy is what are the odds he’s the one!? Every note of sadness became a trumpet of hope, who was he to think this would be easy. He turned the tables on his fate; he was not a man to be so easily set from his path not when he had only just begun. No there was still hope, there was a lot of hope. Some things are worth fighting for and some things are even worth fighting and losing for. It was a long shot to be sure but whatever happened he knew he had to try.

And heck this new guy is called Alex, who was ever worried about an Alex, right?