Lucy circled the town in her car for the eighth time that morning, her fingers drumming a tattoo of frustration on the steering wheel. For nine months of the year, she loved living in the small seaside town, but for the remaining three months, when the tourists invaded, life became a nightmare. Today, she had left home early needing to visit the bank but now, unable to find a parking space, all she could do was watch as, with each circuit of the teeming streets, the queue forming outside its doors grew longer and longer. On her tenth circumnavigation she got lucky, but by the time she arrived at the bank, the queue snaked out of the door and round the corner. Sighing, she joined at the back, beginning the painfully slow shuffle towards the cash machine.

As she waited patiently in line, she became aware of the man standing three people in front of her. There was something vaguely familiar about his back, some dim and distant memory that told her that she ought to recognise him. She racked her brains, as the queue moved slowly forward, one baby step at a time. Was he the husband of a friend? No, she didn’t think so. Was he a local shopkeeper? No, however hard she tried she couldn’t place him behind a counter anywhere. It was only when the queue turned the corner and she caught a glimpse of his face in profile that recognition dawned, causing her to freeze to the spot, so that the woman behind her bumped heavily into her back and tut- tutted impatiently.

Lucy mumbled an apology, her mind racing. It was definitely Michael. He was a little balder, fatter and just generally older than she recalled, but she was still positive that the vaguely familiar man in the queue was Michael, the ex-husband she hadn’t seen for more than twenty years.

She had married Michael while she was still a teenager and they had intended to live happily ever after. In fact, Lucy would have argued that they were blissfully happy, until the stomach pains started.

At first, the pain was mild. A nagging sensation at the pit of her stomach, relieved by a hot water bottle and a couple of Paracetamol tablets Then, gradually, week by week, the pain grew sharper and more insistent, until one day Lucy collapsed at work and was rushed to hospital.

The last time she had seen Michael was as she lay in her hospital bed. He had brought flowers and chocolates and seemed the very model of a concerned husband until the consultant arrived at the bedside. Drawing the curtains around the bed for privacy, his voice was quiet and his tone serious, yet Lucy recalled very few of his words. Her eyes were fixed on Michael’s face as the consultant spoke. “…complications…surgery…extremely unlikely that you will ever be able to have children.” At those words, something died in Michael’s eyes. Almost instantly, he distanced himself from her and her failure. The next she heard from him was a solicitor’s letter, coldly and clinically informing her that he wanted a divorce.

It had seemed futile to argue. Lucy had always known that Michael desperately wanted children and, if she were unable to bear them for him, then she felt it only fair to set him free to find a woman who could. Still fragile after her recent operation, she tearfully packed her bags and moved out of their marital home to a rented flat on the other side of town.

Six months later, there was a heavy rainstorm and the roof of Lucy’s flat leaked. Snuffling and sneezing with a heavy cold, Lucy placed her largest saucepans on the floor to catch the drips and huddled beneath the duvet in bed, trying in vain to keep warm. Suddenly, she sat bolt upright. What on earth was she doing in a miserable, rain-soaked flat in a town where she had no ties and only unhappy memories? She was young, free and single and the world was her oyster. With a determination born of desperation, she began to look for a better alternative and, within six months, was renting a beach side flat in the town where she now lived. A year later, she met her second husband and they had married two years after that. Still together, after eighteen years of marriage and still happy too, an achievement of which she was very proud.

So, why did the memory of her past have the power to make her sweat and shake as if it were only yesterday that Michael had walked out of her life for the very last time, breaking her heart as he left?

She considered leaving the queue, running away and returning later to do her banking. Then, she realised that she was being ridiculous – Michael couldn’t hurt her after all these years and, besides, he probably wouldn’t even recognise her. She closed her eyes, leaned back against the wall of the bank for support and took some deep, calming breaths. When she opened her eyes again, Michael was standing directly in front of her.

“Lucy? It is you, isn’t it?” He peered at her face as if expecting her name to be tattooed across her forehead.

Her mouth suddenly dry, Lucy was afraid to speak. She nodded. “Hello, Michael” she finally croaked.

For a moment, she thought that Michael was going to hug her, then, at the last moment, he seemed to think better of the idea, jamming his hands awkwardly into his pockets and scuffing his shoes like a child caught with his hand in the biscuit tin. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” he asked, then, taking her silence for agreement, he began to pepper her with questions. “Do you live here or are you on holiday? Where can we get a cup of coffee? Somewhere quiet and not too crowded where we can talk. Do you still take your coffee white with two sugars? See, I remembered after all these years. How many years has it been? Nineteen? Twenty? ”

He was so voluble that Lucy couldn’t have replied, even if the power of speech didn’t seem to have completely deserted her. Without speaking, she led the way to “Cafe Giles” carefully choosing a table near the back of the room where they wouldn’t be overheard. Michael took over. He ordered coffee and cakes then, once the waiter had gone, lit a cigarette and leaned back in his chair. “Tell me all about yourself,” he demanded.

“You first”. Lucy felt incapable of stringing together sufficient words to make a longer sentence.

Michael took another long pull at his cigarette, exhaling the smoke slowly.

“Seems a long time, doesn’t it?” he reflected. “What is it, nineteen, twenty years?” Twenty-one years and three months thought Lucy, still incapable of speech. She nodded assent. “Well, I married again. Actually, you might remember her…Sue, my secretary. We had two children, Simon and Amy.” He tapped the ash from his cigarette into the ashtray. “We didn’t last long, I’m afraid. Sue left me when the kids were just babies. Ran off to America with the sales manager. Of course, the kids are grown up by now and I haven’t seen them since the day she left. Not even photographs. I suppose Mr Sales Manager’s their Dad really, since he brought them up.”

He paused as Giles arrived bearing a tray of coffee and cake and fussed around with milk jugs, sugar bowls and plates. Then, when Giles had bustled off back to the kitchen, Michael stubbed out his cigarette and continued. “ Then I met Alicia and we had what you’d call a whirlwind courtship. She was pregnant when we got married” He laughed ironically. “Turned out the kid wasn’t mine, so we were divorced pretty soon after that. Now I’m a bachelor boy again. I drove my parents down here for a holiday yesterday. They’re getting on a bit and don’t drive as much as they used to What about you?”

Lucy took a gulp of her coffee, feeling it moisten her parched mouth and throat, freeing her voice at long last. “I’m married again too. His name’s Mark. Eighteen years last April and we’re very happy. We own a few holiday cottages that we rent out to summer visitors.”

“Any children?”

“Two boys. Ross is ten and Charlie is seven.” she fumbled in her handbag. “I usually carry some photos but they must be in my other bag.”

She looked up, surprised to see the glint of tears in Michael’s eyes. He swiped at them angrily with a paper napkin. “You have everything I’ve ever wanted,” he said, wistfully. “A happy marriage, children, a good business and a lovely place to live. Ironic, isn’t it? I walked out on you because I wanted kids and thought you couldn’t have them. Now, here we are, twenty-odd years later. You have your family and I’m forty-five years old, single, three times divorced, effectively childless and still going on holiday with my parents.” He sighed noisily. “I must have really hurt you.” The realisation seemed to surprise him. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Lucy replied briskly. “If you hadn’t left me, I’d never have met Mark and wouldn’t have had my boys. I’d probably never have lived in a cottage by the sea and had a successful business. You did me a favour. I’m happy, believe me. I have no regrets”

Mark played with the piece of cake on his plate “I’d love to meet your boys.”

Lucy shook her head. “I really don’t think that would be a good idea, Michael”. She looked at her watch and drained her coffee. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really must be going. It’s been nice meeting you again and hearing all your news, but I have to dash”

Michael grabbed her arm as she turned to leave, his eyes pleading with her to stay “There was never anyone like you, Lucy. I missed you so much. I knew I’d made the biggest mistake of my life when I left, but I was just too proud to admit I was wrong. Could we…maybe… I’m here for a few days. Perhaps we could have dinner one evening, for old time’s sake.”

“Sorry Michael.” Lucy leaned forward and brushed his cheek briefly with her lips. Then, before he could protest further, she walked out of the café, leaving just a trace of her perfume behind.

Her stomach churned as she drove home. Even after twenty-one years and three months, Michael could still make her feel like a giddy schoolgirl, damn him! With shaking hands, she turned the key in her front door.

“I’m home, boys!” she called, smiling to herself as they thundered downstairs to greet her. She sank slowly to the floor and hugged them to her. “I met a man today.” she told them. “A man I knew years and years ago, before you two were even born. He wasn’t a very nice man then. I told him all about you and I think he was a bit jealous. He would have liked to meet you, but I didn’t think it was a very good idea. What do you think?”

Ross and Charlie wagged their tails. They obviously didn’t think it was a very good idea either.

Copyright © Nikki Sly