Page 1 of You Were Always the One

1

HOLLY

It’s years since I’ve been to Covent Garden. Back in the day, I used to come here at weekends, loving how cool it was; perusing the shops as I whiled away an afternoon before meeting my friend Rita in one of the bars. But that was then. Now, between work and my kids, there isn’t the time.

Today, the buzz of life takes me back as I walk towards the Italian where we’ve arranged to meet. On the way, my phone buzzes with a message, from Rita.

Sorry, running late. Order me a large glass of wine, will you? Be there as soon as I can xxx

It’s unseasonably warm for April and, reaching the Italian, I sit at an outside table, then order a bottle of a white wine we both like. Sitting back in my chair, I sip my drink, and from behind my sunglasses watch the world go by, people of all ages and walks of life, wondering what their stories are. After all, everyone has one.

It’s a gorgeous afternoon, the sun low in a deep blue sky, the trees coming into blossom which is almost luminous where the light catches it. I’m halfway through my first glass of wine when I notice a man. He’s tall, wearing jeans and a faded shirt, and his hair is untidy. I feel myself frown slightly. He reminds me of someone. Someone who used to be important to me. Someone who once, a long time ago, I thought I’d spend the rest of my life with.

Then he turns, and as the man stops and looks straight at me, a whole stream of coincidences seem to collide all at once. That I am sitting at this table, today; that Rita is late. That he happens to be here when I am. That my life is not what I thought it would be. All this in a fraction of a second. But this is way beyond the remit of coincidence, I’m realising.

A look of incredulity crosses his face as he comes over.

And in that moment, I come alive; it’s the only way I can describe it. It’s as though all those little nerve endings that have been sleeping for the last eighteen years are suddenly revitalised. All I can think is that life has conspired to bring us together again. Not just that – it’s as though we saw each other yesterday.

‘Riggs?’ I stare at him.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. ‘Holls?’ he says incredulously. Then his face breaks into a smile. ‘How are you doing?’

‘Good. Really good. How are you?’ I can’t stop smiling back at him.

‘I can’t believe this.’ He looks dazed. ‘Are you with anyone?’

‘I’m meeting Rita. She’s running late.’ My heart is fluttering; a million little dazzling silver butterflies dancing on my skin.

‘I can’t believe it’s you, Holls.’ He can’t take his eyes off me. ‘How long has it been?’

‘About eighteen years, I think.’ But it’s one of those facts I have at my fingertips. It’s eighteen years exactly to the day we broke up; somewhat appropriately on April Fool’s Day.

‘I have so many questions,’ he says softly. Then he glances at my hand. ‘You’re married?’

I nod. ‘I have two kids. Max and Grace.’ My kids are my entire world. ‘How about you?’

‘Married. No kids.’ He sounds less than enthusiastic. He looks at his watch, then back at me. ‘This is terrible timing, but I have a meeting to get to.’ He says it reluctantly.

Disappointment washes over me. ‘It was so nice to see you again.’

‘You, too.’ He lingers. ‘Holls…’

As he looks at me, something unspoken passes between us, a muddle of shared regrets, of beautiful dreams that never came to be; of the love we somehow lost. But there’s something else there, too. A spark of the flame that used to burn between us.

‘Sorry I’m late, Holls.’ Rita plants a kiss on my cheek ten minutes later, before sitting down, a whirlwind of her trademark perfume and armfuls of shopping bags, her dark hair gleaming in the sunlight. ‘Isn’t it a lovely day? And you’ve ordered that glorious wine!’ she exclaims. ‘This is on me, by the way.’ Pouring herself a glass, she has a sip. ‘So, how are things?’

By things, she means my relationship with Miles, my husband. I shrug. ‘Much the same.’

‘You look exhausted. Have you talked to him yet?’ she says more gently.

I shake my head. ‘I’ve tried, but he doesn’t listen. Or he does, and then tells me he made a mistake, but it’s in the past. He thinks I’m tired and hormonal. He’s probably right.’ My elation at seeing Riggs is suddenly gone. In its place, the familiar lowering weight of my husband’s infidelity that, two years on, I still can’t get over.

‘Easy for him to say.’ Rita isn’t a fan of Miles. ‘He’s the one who had the affair. To be honest, I wouldn’t have blamed you for leaving. But you’ve stayed together, Holls. He chose you.’ She frowns. ‘Didn’t he?’ Repeating what I’ve told her more times than I can remember; at the same time, persuading myself I should give him another chance.

‘He did.’ And he’s been faithful, as far as I know. But it doesn’t help. When the affair happened, it broke something between us.

Seeing Riggs has made my mind wander back. As Rita goes on talking, my mind is drifting, to before I met Miles. To a time when everything was different. When I was different; when I felt free, joyful, uninhibited. When I lived in the moment.