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What if it’s her? I can’t go in. How will she react? How will I react?
His thoughts rushed along, taking him further into a mild panic. Why should
there be a big deal? They were both adults now. They both had children.
She might not even remember him, although he doubted that. She might have
dumped him, but she had always liked him and he had never been able to
get angry with her about it. He always felt that they had something unfinished
between them, like the man and his girlfriend in the Stephen King novel.
He had been in a car crash, and when |
he woke up he was
twice as old as his memories. To him, he had seen his girlfriend yesterday,
but she had lived a whole other life, got married, had children, yet still
there was that unfinished feeling between them that they had to sort out,
in the only way possible. His last meeting with her, alone, was etched
in his memory even though it was half a lifetime away. It was a year after
they had split, yet she had spent a celibate night with him, and in the
morning they had kissed and cuddled and stroked like you do when you’re
young and don’t know what to do next. Do teenagers still feel like that,
he wondered, or do they just go for it, with or without all their safe-sex
training? He laughed to himself in acknowledgement, guessing that nobody
with a three at the beginning of their age was ever likely to know the
answer to that one. He had only two clear memories of her after that:
the brilliant Queen concert at Alexandra Palace and when she had been
waiting for a lift outside her grandfather’s flat, wearing the most amazing,
eye-catching red jumpsuit. He supposed that those were probably the last
three times he had ever seen her.|
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