Dream Date

Dream Date

“Paul!”

“Lynn? Is it really …?”

“Three years since…”

“… we div-“

“NOT what I was …”

“ … going to say? Me neither – but that’s the awkward bit…”

“… out of the way, so we can talk …”

“ … so we can talk!”

It was no surprise they shared the last four words of the exchange in perfect sync. The rapid-fire segued seamlessly between the couple as easily and freely as every other conversation had throughout the ten years they’d been married. A casual observer who’d missed the first syllable of one significant early word spoken on Liverpool’s Bold Street that sunny summer day would have been forgiven for assuming the semi-strangled term referred to almost anything other than Divorce.

“Don’t try to tell me you don’t have time for a drink,” Paul insisted, pulling out a chair at the nearest pavement bistro table, “I assume you still prefer Merlot?”

“And I assume you still have the same attitude to Time!” Lymm teased, glancing at Paul’s naked left wrist. There was no faded hint of a watchstrap marring his deep, even tan. Paul caught the eye of a waiter, hovering close enough to have heard the wine mentioned, but not close enough to be an intrusion, He nodded.

“Two glasses please … and you can leave the bottle …”

“So – oo: how’s things? You still at the Royal hospital?”

“Yes, shifts still as crazy as ever. Sadly, people still get sick, need looking after! And you: still teaching?”

Paul shook his head as he filled their glasses.

“I … decided to take some time out The job’s not what it once was – the kids, mostly. You can’t even look sideways at ‘em now, or someone’ll be on you like a ton o’ bricks screaming about Infringing Rights or… or worse, The papers are always looking for a ‘shock, horror’ headline. Smut sells papers, we all know that!”

“I worked my notice and left at the end of the summer term. Rucsac, guitar, and hey for the open road. Nine quid bought me a single RyanAir ticket to France and I drank myself from one vineyard to the next until I finished up in Italy via Spain,”

“I did wonder … I mean, there was no reason I should have expected to. you know, see you or hear after …”

“After we parted? Yeah, that’s something else. You hear so much about someone deciding to ‘make a fresh start’ in a new town but I don’t know if that’s just idle chat. I’ve always felt comfortable here, a right ‘Home-ey’ you could say and you’d be right! I have to admit; that’s probably why I came back to Liverpool – let’s see, must be just over a year ago now!” He made a pantomime of counting on his spread fingers.

“What were you doing? Just travelling? That must have been quite exp…”

Paul grinned again. Suddenly, for no particular reason, Lynn realised this was what she remembered best about him.

“Casual labour, picking grapes or whatever was in season, cash in hand … it’s surprising how little cash you need to get by. Half the time I only bothered pitching my tent if it looked like it might rain that night, or I’d kip in a barn. The sun’s a better alarm clock than most farmers.”

“Still, working your way through Europe from one farm to another. That must have been …”

“Hard work? Nah, not really! If it got a bit industrial, a bit ‘antsy’ I could always choose to move on. I got to Italy about Christmas time. The crop picking season was over by then but a musician will never go hungry on the streets of Rome or Naples!”

Lynn frowned.

“Didn’t you say you’d been back about twelve months? You’ve hardly had time to work your way back home …?”

“Well spotted! I was just coming to that: let’s have a top up!”

He refilled their glasses: there wasn’t a lot left in the bottle.

“When it turned cool (yes, there is a winter in Italy!) I used some of my ill-gotten tax free earnings to buy a clapped-out Fiat and nursed it back north. On the way I learnt a lot about basic car maintenance, simply to keep the bugger running!”

“But there’s no point trying to bring a left-hand drive vehicle to the UK, and there’s so much fuss and palaver on the Calais-Dover crossing due to the Refugee and Immigrant problems. I decided to head for Brittany instead and sail from Roscoff for either Cork or Rosslare in Ireland.”

“How did that help? You still have a left-hand dr…”

“Uh-uh.” Paul shook his head.

“I told you it was a clapped-out banger and I got it for a song. Also, the papers were still in the glovebox, I never registered ownership (which I admit was deliberate and probably illegal.) But I was in no hurry, and I waited a few days. I hung around a truck stop until I met an Italian who was happy to pay me slightly more than I’d bought it for and thought he had a bargain! Cash transaction – Euros, naturally! – then a cash ticket for one pedestrian to Cork. A few days re-acquainting myself with the taste of Guinness, and transferring wodges of Euros (different banks each day) to the UK bank account I hadn’t used since who knows when …”

“And now, what? Back to teaching? Wouldn’t schools want to know where you’ve been working the last three years?”

Paul’s eyes glowed with mischief. He raised his glass in semi-formal toast.

“I’m enjoying this- dare I call it a ‘date’? Though I must admit, the term seems a bit odd for two people who divorced three years ago. My throat’s getting dry: why don’t you tell me what you’ve been doing …”

The waiter was hovering nearby. Paul caught Lynn’s eye and mimed coffee rather than a second bottle of wine: she agreed. Paul asked for a cafetière avec, sensing they were likely to be at the bistro for some time before leaving.

“I’m … grateful we could ‘settle our differences’ without bad feelings, Paul” Lynn began as she stirred cream onto her cup. “I’ve heard too much about “he said-she said” and blame-blame from friends and others. I’ll never forget you didn’t argue, in fact you offered to leave the house, stay with your . was it your mum, or a friend? I’m sorry, I really ought to rem …!”

“Bit of both, as it happens, but I was leaving a rented property, a house I’d never own – or, frankly, ever want to own! I’d already decided to quit teaching and move on. I knew it would only be a few months … you said you stayed at the hospital …”

“Mmmm, my days were a lot less exciting than yours! More patients, more treatments, a few worthless pay awards, even when I was ‘made up’ to a Senior …”

“That doesn’t surprise me either! You were always a hard worker. I hope you at least found one or more of your friends to share the rent? Or, even …?”

He stopped in mid-sentence and flushed red. Lynn took pity on him.

“Someone else? A ‘Significant Other’ as I’ve heard it called? No, life’s been too busy for any …” It was Lynn’s turn to pause and search for the mot juste.

“Distractions? Entanglements? Complications?” Paul teased, without malice.

“AS it happens” Lynn recovered her poise and continued calmly, ” Believe it or not, there’s still one wardrobe in the spare room nobody’s ever used: it contains clothes you … didn’t take with you …”

Lynn sipped from her cup and continued:

“Also, it’s been a bit like Narnia in the house! Do you remember War Drobe in the Spar Oom? I’ve had a stream of fresh faced newly-qualified nurses (almost always from out of town) staying for a while until they find their own digs or flat … or get married …”

Now it was Lynn’s turn to blush. She drained her cup and looked Paul in the eye.

“I know you haven’t told me the whole of your story, Paul: but there’s really nothing earth-shattering in mine, nothing I haven’t told you. This has been a lovely chance meeting- -as you said, almost like a first date! Maybe we could do it again – but what’s your secret? I know you, Paul. If there was Someone Else in your life you’d have told me straight away. I can sense it’s nothing you should be ashamed of, so it has to be something Good!”

Paul sat back and returned her gaze calmly.

“I dodged the bullet when you asked me if I went back to teaching, and the truth is: no, I didn’t.”

His right hand slid into his jacket pocket.

“I found out this morning that my debut novel, a historical romance, reached the Paperback Top Ten and is still selling well. I’d like to autograph a copy for you …?”

1513 Words