Page 20 of Pictures of Him

‘I don’t feel the same, that’s for sure.’

‘Two kids,’ you say, missing the point. ‘So grown up.’

‘Did Liv tell you what’s happened?’

‘She did. I’m sorry.’

You have balanced our coffees on a black plastic tray and you carry them outside to the table nearest the lake. There’s a moment of silence, both of us searching for the right thing to say. I watch you pick up your cup and put it down again without taking a sip.

‘You’re in pieces, aren’t you? I’m sorry, perhaps this was the wrong thing to do.’

‘I’m not sure I am. In pieces, I mean. I think, underneath it all, there’s a feeling of relief that at least we’ve started talking.’

I think but do not say that things were never quite right between us. How could they have been? How could anyone have been right after you?

You lean a little closer towards me, only an inch or so, but enough to send shock waves through me. Your face,a little older it’s true, is still stupidly handsome, though it was never about that for me. Unthinkably, I want to reach out and touch your hand.

‘I can’t quite believe it’s you,’ you say, like you’re reading my mind. ‘I’d given up hope of ever seeing you again.’

My heart is beating wildly. It’s hard to breathe.

‘Me too.’

I think how much easier it has been for me to keep tabs on you, checking the papers or surfing the net for new photographs and almost always finding them. With me there’s no Facebook, no Twitter, no Instagram. I wanted to disappear and that’s what I did.

You push your cup to one side as if you mean business, and now I’m coiled inside, sensing the question, counting the seconds until you ask it. I know it’s coming. I see it. I see it.

‘I’ve been trying so hard not to ask you this, but it’s no good. I have to know. Will you tell me what happened? Why you ran away?’

The wash of coldness is instant, the feeling that there’s nowhere to run. Memories I don’t want crowding my brain.

I stand up abruptly and my chair tips over, rattling to the ground.

‘Catherine?’

You stand up too.

‘I can’t do this.’

You reach out to take my hand and we stand there on either side of the table, connected by this strange, extended handshake.

‘Why not?’ you say, tightening your grip. ‘How can itmatter after all this time? I know something must have happened. Something I don’t understand.’

‘I can’t talk about it.’

You let go of my hand and it feels cold and lifeless without yours.

‘Do you want me to go?’ you ask.

I feel the grip of panic, a tightening in my chest.

You leaving now, after all this time apart, is the last thing I can bear.

‘Could we just walk for a while?’

We leave our coffees and begin to walk slowly, in silence, around the lake. The things I want are impossible. I’d like to find a tree and lean against it and press myself into your arms, not to kiss, just to feel you against me, the warmth of your skin, your stubble on my face, your breath against my cheeks, and then I’d like to freeze the moment for an eternity. Impossible not to remember the first time we kissed, in your student bedroom so many years ago. We’d toppled onto your bed and you kissed every bit of my face: eyes, nose, throat, finally my mouth.

‘I’ve wanted to do that for days,’ you said.

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