When Love Knocks Twice (A Contemporary Love Story) (2 page)

He
pushed the thought away, a conscious effort that was becoming easier,
not that he was trying to forget his wife or his marriage, but
consciously parking his grief, acknowledging that his life was his to
lead, as his kids were constantly reminding him.

His
reverie was disturbed by a young mother pushing a pram whilst trying
to guide a young toddler on a bike with stabilisers. The young boy
hadn't quite got the hang of steering and the bike appeared to have a
mind of its own, much to the frustration of the mother. Tom smiled at
the family life starting out, and deliberately moved off around the
lake in the opposite direction.

Before
long he reached the bank of earth that projected out into the lake.
It had always been there. Perhaps in the days gone by, when this had
been part of an old estate, there might have been a boating jetty, or
perhaps it was just the result of a landslip from the hillside behind
it.

He
watched a family of swans for a few moments, cygnets starting to
venture away from their parents, who kept a close eye on them and Tom
at the same time. Great-great-grandchildren of the swans he used to
watch as a boy perhaps, thought Tom as he continued his
circumnavigation.

Another
five minutes brought him to a junction of paths he remembered well.
Here he used to join the main path as he walked to secondary school
twice each day, first thing in the morning and then again after
lunch, striding between the rhododendron bushes, checking his watch
lest he miss Registration, with the inevitable punishments that would
ensue. Involuntarily he checked his watch, despite having no reason
to. It was eleven o'clock give or take.

Gail
stood in the hallway, stopped and carried out her routine checks. Car
keys, house keys, purse, vouchers for the supermarket, all present.
She turned to the mirror and checked, yes the hair was brushed, the
blouse was clean. Presentable, she thought, and it pleased her that
she could still look good in jeans. Gordon always liked her in jeans.
She opened the door, stepped out into the sunshine and closed the
door behind her, double-locking without thinking, and pocketing the
key.

As
she flipped the car remote she looked up at the blue sky. Good
morning day, she thought, what have you for me today. You're cracked,
she told herself. It's just as well no one can read your thoughts or
you would be certified.

Without
particularly intending to, Tom followed the path he had trodden to
school, as it moved away from the lake and up to the end of the road
that led to the school gate. Except that the school gate wasn't there
any more. Neither was the school for that matter, demolished two
years previously to make way for a new housing estate. It didn't come
as a shock, as he had come across the demolition plan on a internet
search several years ago, but somehow the reality was different. He
could almost hear the babble of children's voices as small groups had
meandered towards the school gate, exchanging opinions on everything
from the latest pop music chart, to the newest teen fashion, or
swapping the latest in collectable cards.

But
not any more. Neat rows of semi detached houses, cars in the drives,
satellite dishes pointing in unison, like soldiers on parade, rifles
all parallel, pointing to the sky. It saddened him, but as he stood
there he recognised the inevitable march of progress, for good or
bad, and once again the wisdom of his trip weighed somewhat on his
mind. Don't be an idiot he told himself, you're here, so like it or
lump it, but don't resent it.

Having
parked the school in the past, it left him with a decision. Where to
go next? A man of logic, he decided to carry on the mile or so to the
place where his junior school had stood, or may well still stand, he
thought. Who knows? And it was in a slightly more positive frame of
mind that he set off, each road bringing back some memory or other
from the recesses of his mind.

The
sun was high now, and the shade from the avenue of trees along the
roadside was very welcome. Subconsciously he would slow to a saunter
under the shade, speeding up when the sun beat uncomfortably on his
head. In this manner it took him a bare ten minutes to come within
sight of the town centre crossroads where his junior school had
stood, when he spotted the old parish church where he had gone as boy
and youth. If it's open, he thought, I'll go in. If nothing else it
will be cool.

He
altered his steps to approach the doors, finding that the large door
handles turned easily in his hand, and he stepped into the church. He
had forgotten how light the interior was, in sunshine, the brightness
glowing through the myriad stained glass windows all around. The
church had missed all the bombing of the Second World War that had
destroyed so many church windows, to be replaced by plain glass in
the post-war austerity.

He
strolled slowly down the main aisle, surveying the large space,
remembering the choir processing down the aisle at the start of a
service, followed by the cross and the minister, the congregation
standing until the minister himself sat down. So much ceremony, he
remembered. What had it meant to him as a boy?

Nothing.
Any significance had been lost on him. But he wouldn't knock it, he
had found faith here, and the faith had stood him in good stead
through dark times.

He
stopped short of the altar space, three rows from the front and
shuffled sideways into a pew to sit and contemplate, or meditate, or
pray.

Gail
stood back from the table in the choir room and surveyed her
handiwork. She did not claim to be a gifted flower-arranger but liked
to produce something at least competent that didn't jar. To that end
she adjusted some stems and added some more greenery. Now all she had
to do was get it through the doorway into the church without knocking
any of the stems. She lifted the heavy vase and carefully manoeuvred
around the table, managing to avoid tripping over any chairs, before
deftly sidling through the doorway and into the church.

At
which point she stopped. Someone was in the church, sitting in a pew
and praying. She couldn't remember it happening before, and stopping
where she was, put the vase down briefly on a side table. Only after
she had been watching for two or three minutes did it occur to her
how rude she was being, but yet something drew her in.

He
was mid fifties she decided, dressed neatly, slim build, fit perhaps,
someone who exercised regularly. Before her imagination really
started to run riot the man lifted his head, and whilst still seated,
continued to gaze into space, or so it appeared to her. She really
must stop sizing up men she thought, and picking up the vase moved
forward towards the alter.

Tom
finished praying, or at least talking to God. He always felt that
prayer should somehow be constructed, ordered, purposeful, but his
was generally a random conversation addressing nothing in particular
and everything in general. He looked up, recognising the stained
glass window above the altar, remembering how he used to count the
panes when he grew bored in church. Only as a young boy, you
understand.

Out
of his peripheral vision he caught sight of a woman approaching the
alter with a huge vase of flowers hiding most of her face. Only after
she had put it down and rotated it so that the arrangement was facing
the right way, did she turn around and caught him watching her. In
the circumstances all he could do was smile an apology, to which she
returned the smile.

“ Is
there anything we can do for you?” Gail asked.

“ No.
No thank you, I was just reminiscing,” replied Tom.

“ Reminiscing?
Then you've been here before?”

“ Boy
and youth I was part of the congregation some, oh, forty years ago.”

Gail
did some hasty mental arithmetic. “Well, forty years ago, I
would have been here.”

There
was a pause. Tom gave in to the feeling that he knew this person. The
shape of the face, the eyes, something triggered a memory...

“ Is
it, Gail Butler?” he ventured hesitantly.

“ Well,
yes. Now Gail Fisher though.” Gail was taken aback, suddenly
finding herself on the back foot, but played for time by looking more
closely over the man in front of her.

“ So,
who are you.....is it Tom? Not Tom Drysdale?” she offered
tentatively. His smile confirmed it so she continued. “My
goodness, how long has it been?”

“ Must
be close to forty years I suppose,” he admitted.

“ Forty
years. Heavens, we were young then.”

“ Twenty
one we were, when I left to go south for work.”

“ I
remember you going,” confessed Gail. “You sneaked off
very quietly, no long farewells.”

“ Well,
we'd all drifted a bit by then hadn't we? Not the tight knit group we
had once been.”

“ No,
I suppose not. Did you never come back to visit?”

“ Occasionally
in the early days, for a weekend. But it was never long enough to see
friends. And then the parents moved south so there wasn't the need.”

“Shame.”

“ So
you've stayed here,” suggested Tom, “you stayed in the
area.”

“ Yes
and no,” replied Gail obliquely. She glanced down at her filthy
hands. “Look, I'm in need of a drink. Come and have a coffee.
It would be good to catch up on some of those forty years.”

She
disappeared briefly into a side room before reappearing with clean
hands.

“ Good.
Come on then,” she instructed briskly, and with her leading,
they left the church.

The
town centre had changed dramatically. Buildings had gone, replaced by
smart clean-lined developments, built around the old cross-roads. But
in one corner of the cross-roads the junior school stood faithfully
still, and Tom looked out at it from their window seat in the new
coffee shop.

“ So,”
started Tom, continuing their previous conversation. “You
haven’t always lived around here?”

“ No.
I married here shortly after I qualified as a pharmacist but five
years later Gordon, my husband, an engineer, was moved to Birmingham,
and we lived there for ten years.”

“ And
then?”

“ Then
Gordon was transferred back here. Back here for another thirty
years.”

Something
in her voice gave it away.

“ Gordon's
not around any more?” probed Tom gently.

“ Pancreatic
cancer, five years ago.”

“ I'm
so sorry. You still miss him?”

“ Oh
yes,” Gail exclaimed emphatically, “Especially now the
kids have gone.”

“ Kids?”

“ One
girl, one boy, Emily and Jas. Jas is married with two gorgeous little
ones.”

“ What,”
exclaimed Tom, “You? A granny?”

“ Sssh,”
whispered Gail. “You make me sound like a hundred and ten.”

There
was a moment's quiet, broken by Gail.

“ So
what about you? What has life thrown at you since you left?”

Tom
considered for a moment. “A lot of happiness. A lovely wife.
Two sons, both now grown, married, and left.” He paused. “And
widowhood. Or is it widowerhood?”

“ Oh
Tom, not you as well. How long ago did your wife die?”

“ Just
over a year.”

“ I
have to say, it does get better in time, though it never goes away.
Was it sudden?”

“ Heart
attack, out of the blue.”

“ I
never know whether that's worse than a drawn out illness.”

“ Swings
and roundabouts I guess.”

“ So
what brings you back?”

“ Walk
down memory lane I suppose,” conceded Tom. “I retired
recently, and what with Abbie gone, I was at far too much of a loose
end, so the boys said 'take a road trip', so here I am, still
wondering if it was the right move.”

There
was a minute or two while they paid attention to their coffee, now
cool enough to drink.

Gail
broke the silence. “You look on your time here with fondness,
happy times?”

“ Yes,”
replied Tom after a moment's consideration. “Generally
speaking. Every teenager has their ups and downs but yes, I look on
them as happy times.”

“ That's
good. I do too, but when you've lived here most of your life I don't
think it segregates the place as much.”

“ What,
like I attach it to my youth, whereas you associate it with several
periods of your life.”

“ Exactly.
That's exactly it. Gordon could never understand it because he didn't
come from round here, but that's exactly what it is. It doesn't
generate the same level of nostalgia.”

“ Ah,”
sighed Tom. “Nostalgia isn't what it used to be.”

Gail
laughed.

“ That
sounds good,” stated Tom.

“ What
does,” asked Gail.

“ The
sound of you laughing.”

“ I
seem to remember you used to make us all laugh in the old days.”
“Ah
yes, always the clown trying to overcome my shyness.”

There
was an awkward moment, and Gail took the opportunity to check her
watch.

“ Oh,
I need to go. I've shopping to do before everyone comes round this
afternoon.” She hesitated. “Where are you staying?”

“ At
the Bull.”

“ Oh
no. Please don't eat alone in a hotel. Why don't you come round for
dinner tonight? I need an excuse to entertain.”

Tom
nodded. “If it's not any trouble, I'd really enjoy that.”

“ Good,”
confirmed Gail, scribbling down an address on the back of the bill.
“Come early, say, five-ish.”

“ Looking
forward to it. I'll see you at five,” agreed Tom.