Lucky I met you
1
The envelope
Our first tiff started with an envelope. Susi didn’t believe we’d had a tiff, just a misunderstanding, she’d said. I disagreed, mystified by her fantasies and what had given rise to them. She’d invented a story about me, which was bunkum. Normally so rational, she’d accused me of behaviour I would never have contemplated, making me wonder if she was of sound mine. I feared for her. Later, when she’d apologised and said she’d been wrong, I wondered if her actions were the harbinger of what might come, heralding the end of us. That would be sad, and without any valid reason.
It wasn’t just an ordinary envelope. Clean, thick, crisp, cream-coloured, good quality, about 6x9 inches, propped up at the back of the wicker tray Susi had left on the grass with my breakfast, next to my garden lounger. Like a magnet, it seemed to draw my hand toward it, intriguing and important-looking, the sort of envelope that contained invitations.
But I’m not expecting any invitations, I’d thought, as I stared at my name and address written in a handwriting I vaguely recognised.
Jono
17, Broad Street
Chiswick, W14 4EU
Nobody who sends me invitations calls me Jono. Hardly anyone except Susi, my parents and my brother use that nickname. My agent and publishers don’t. Who the hell is this from? I wondered, as I started to tear it open.
Earlier, I think the dog had woken me. He was licking my face with his long, slobbery tongue that hung down, covered with saliva, from his open mouth. ‘Oh Josh,’ I’d yelled at him, putting my hand out to pat his head. ‘I love you, but that’s not an endearing way to wake someone up.’ I looked at his pleading expression. ‘You want feeding, don’t you?’ He followed me to the kitchen with his wet, doggy grin. It was eight-thirty, Susi had woken me at eight, saying she was going out for the day with our three kids and she’d get supper. I must have dozed off to be woken by my canine friend. I’d been working all night until six am, finishing my latest novel. I typed the last line, reread my night’s work, and seeing the bright sun flooding through the window, headed straight for the garden, crashing out on the first chair I found.
Cream coloured paper, crisp and good quality like the envelope, folded into four squares. My eyes flashed to the bottom to see who had sent it. I gulped. It was handwritten. Waves of anxiety brimmed up inside me.
Hi Jono
I’ve posted this, using old fashioned snail-mail as I figured email would go straight to junk.
Are you going to the alumni reunion at Falmouth?
I thought our group - For Change - were such a dynamic, close, friendly group, and I don’t think any of us have seen each other for twenty odd years, that we must all go. We’ve a heck of a lot of catching up to do.
I’ve sent this to all the other members.
You must go. I know you will. We had a riot at uni. You were such fun. Let’s have a couple of days reliving our past.
Email me to let me know what time you’re arriving.
Until then, best wishes,
Julie
JulieB10@gmail.com
‘Oh my,’ I said out loud.
How does she know my address? I haven’t seen or heard from her for about twenty years, and in that time, I’ve moved about four or five times. She must’ve searched for me through my website or some other way. Is she stalking me online?
I stroked my chin a few times and thought about our past relationship. It was fiery, passionate and went on almost all the time at uni. We only broke up as we were going separate ways. Her to do an MA in America, me to work for the British Council. Within months of splitting, I met Susi and have never looked back. I stared into space. After about thirty seconds I shook my head.
For change was a lively group of about six to eight like-minded fellow students who hung out together for most of the time. We were fun-lovers, partied and drunk a lot and vowed to change the world for the better: a cause in which we’ve spectacularly failed and the reason I didn’t want to go to the reunion. I remembered I’d sent an email to Brian, the Alumni Society secretary, after I’d received the invite a couple of weeks back, telling him I wouldn’t be going. I tossed Julie’s letter onto the tray in an insouciance manner and looked around, mentally listing my day’s tasks in the garden.
By six, when the heat from the hot sun had lessened, it’s glowing red ball hiden behind the garden wall, the temperature a few degrees lower and long shadows on the lawn, I thought it time I made some contribution to the supper we were all having later. Laughter and animated conversation spilled out from the house and I knew Flick and Jo, our thirteen-year-old daughter and her eleven-year-old sister were helping their mother with the preparations. We were eating outside, and I took it upon myself to lay up the old wrought- iron, slate-topped garden table. Wil, our fifteen-year-old son, who’d been watching TV came to help me. When the table was set up, I started to fire up the BBQ, thinking what a good lad he’d turned out to be, as had the girls. Susi and I were lucky with the kids, but then I was lucky with Susi and perhaps our happiness must have rubbed off on our offspring. We’re all such good friends, I thought, and turned to see Flick holding a dish of spicy prawns for me to cook.
All the prawns were eaten, as was the squid, the scallops, the three different salads, the chips, cheese and the homemade bread. The plates and dishes were empty, left looking like a swarm of locusts had descended. I looked at the fairy lights, intertwined with the clematis and honeysuckle that hung from the three flint walls, twinkling in the fading light, making the glasses and cutlery glisten. In the middle of the table Susi had placed a large vase of garden flowers. An enchanting setting, an intoxicating atmosphere.
Not wanting the evening to end, rather than clearing the table, Wil took to enacting his lifelike impersonations of politicians, sending us into spontaneous laughter. Flick and Jo, not to be outdone by their older brother, followed him with their favourite karaoke act: a funny and well-sung rendition of many of Taylor Swift’s songs. ‘Your turn now, dad,’ they both said, turning to me when they’d come to the end. ‘Do The Lobster Story,’ Flick said, referring to a true story they’d heard many times. Some years earlier on a family holiday, I’d fallen into the sea, drunk, trying to pull a full lobster pot onto a small boat only to slip and let the lobsters, seeing their chance to escape, swim fast to safety. It seemed to get many laughs whenever I’d told it in the past and that night was no exception. But I noticed Susi didn’t laugh. She had her head down, looking at the ground. Perhaps she was bored with the story, I’d thought and looked at her across the table. She seemed subdued, almost in a world of her own, and wouldn’t look at me, turning her head to strike up a conversation with Wil, who sat next to her.
Susi and I have been married for twenty years and seem as happy now as we were all those years back: well, that’s what we tell each other, and I have no reason to think otherwise. She’s fun, outward, engaging, kind and attractive; with long dark hair, brown eyes set in an unusual face; slim and medium height. She’s forty-five, three years younger than me. Wil was born first, fifteen years ago. Flick’s thirteen, Jo’s eleven. For most of the time they get along well together.
We’ve been lucky in our careers. I’m a writer of fifteen books, most best sellers, and Susi’s a successful TV actor. Home is a comfortable family house in Chiswick, West London. Life wasn’t always easy. We struggled at first: Susi doing TV commercials to boost her meagre earnings and me working in a bar while writing my earlier novels: the first two rejected. We had to scrape around to get by and put off having children for five years.
She didn’t talk to me while we all cleared up. There’s something up, I thought as I turned on the dishwasher. Susi passed behind me and headed out of the room and toward the stairs. I caught her arm and said, ‘Hey, what’s up. You look upset.’ I’m sure I saw a tear in one of her eyes.
She looked at me. Her expression unfamiliar: worried, concerned, maybe a little hostile. She stared at me for a few seconds, considering her reply. This is unusual. She’s troubled about something and I don’t know what.
‘Let’s talk? She said in a trembly voice. ‘Outside; the kids are watching TV.’
‘Sure,’ I replied, pouring us both a glass of wine while Susi made for the garden table in silence. I was anxious. Her behaviour uncharacteristic. Maybe it’s bad news. A sick friend or relative, or worse, I thought as I carried the two glasses of wine.
With her eyes screwed up, her face tense with a worried expression the likes I’d never seen before, looking more concerned than when I nearly cut my finger off doing some work in the garden and she’d rushed me to A&E, more fraught than when Jo fell out of a tree at the age of six, she stared into my eyes and said, ‘How long have you been having an affair with Julie?’
To say I was gobsmacked does not describe my utter astonishment. No word that I know would do that. This is madness, I thought, looking at Julie, wondering if she was experiencing a mental issue, like a breakdown or similar. ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. Julie? Julie who?’
Her expression turned to astonishment. She gaped. ‘Don’t try to blag your way out of this,’ she responded in a raised tone. ‘You know who I mean. The Julie who sent you a letter this morning…’ she scowled at me. ‘You left it on the worktop for everyone to see. The Julie who asked you to relive old times. The same Julie you told me you had a long, passionate relationship with at uni. You know exactly who I mean. How long…?’
‘Oh, come on,’ I retorted, raising my voice and shaking my head, ‘This is ridiculous. You’re making a drama over nothing. I haven’t…
‘You come on,’ Susi said, raising her voice again. ‘You get a letter from an old lover who had she not gone off to America after uni, you could be married to her now instead of me, asking you to go for a weekend with her, ‘reliving our past’, in her words, and you think I’m making a fuss. Why,’ she almost shouted. ‘Why’ve you done this to me’ Susi stared into my eyes. She shook her head. ‘I thought we’re solid, but I obviously got it wrong’ She burst into floods of tears.
‘Susi,’ I said, reaching across the table to take her hands. She withdrew them and raised her head and looked at me through her tear-stained eyes. ‘Why, Jono? Why’ve you down this?’
‘I haven’t seen Julie since I left uni,’ I said in a strident manner, staring into Susi’s eyes. ‘I’ve no idea where she lives or what she does. I haven’t had any contact with her and don’t wish to. How she found out my address, I’ve no idea. I’m not going to the reunion, have no wish to go, and have already, last week, told Brian, the secretary of the Alumni Society, exactly that.’ Susi looked confused. ‘And I’ve no intention of replying to her.’
I turned my head a touch to ensure I had Susi’s intention. ‘I’ve no idea why you thought what you did and why you came to such false conclusions, but I don’t know what else to say. Err, apart from…’ I smiled a little. ‘I love you as much as always.’
Susi looked away and stood up, asking me in a cordial manner if I minded finishing off the clearing up as she wanted to go to go to bed – she had a headache. While I was damping down the BBQ and locking up, I wondered what had set Susi off. I even retrieved Julie’s letter from the bin and reread it.
Hi Jono
I’ve posted this, using old fashioned snail-mail as I figured email would go straight to junk.
Are you going to the alumni reunion at Falmouth?
I thought our group - For Change - were such a dynamic, close, friendly group, and I don’t think any of us have seen each other for twenty odd years, that we must all go. We’ve a heck of a lot of catching up to do.
I’ve sent this to all the other members.
You must go. I know you will. We had a riot at uni. You were such fun. Let’s have a couple of days reliving our past.
Email me to let me know what time you’re arriving.
Until then, best wishes
Julie
JulieB10@gmail.com
The warmth of the first slug of my ten-year-old Ardbeg malt whisky trickled down my throat. I sat in the old leather chair we had in the living room and tried to figure out what had come over Susi. Once I’d told her I’d hadn’t seen or heard from Julie since uni, her expression changed and she’d just wanted to retreat to bed. I’d thought it best to leave her. But what was behind her fantasy, make believe, I had no idea. I’d never slept with anyone else during our marriage and never given her cause to think otherwise. Maybe she’ll be more rational and talk more in the morning, I thought, draining my glass before making for our bedroom.
She was asleep. I slipped in next to her, but my concern over her mental health kept sleep at bay for some time.
2
On the last Friday in September at ten am, I set off to drive the three hundred odd miles to Falmouth to attend the weekend alumni gathering for all who’d graduated from the university in 1998/99. I wanted to be there sometime in the afternoon, ready for the six pm meet up drinks followed by dinner in a local restaurant that we’d taken over. It wasn’t until I’d left the outskirts of London and joined the A4 westward that I started to think about how my absolute decision in July not to attend had been turned on its head. I can’t blame it on Susi, but she did start the process, I said to myself, slamming on the breaks to avoid piling into the back of the car in front, the consequence of not paying attention to the road, rather than my thoughts.
‘Jono,’ she’d said, stroking my cheek as I was waking up on the morning after our tiff, or misunderstanding as she’d called it. It was ten am, and she was sitting on the edge of our bed wearing her PJs with a mug in her hand. ‘I’ve brought you some tea, and owe you a big apology for last night.’
‘What,’ I exclaimed, siting up with a jolt. My astonishment must have been as obvious as a red warning light. The previous night, she’d accused me of having an affair. I hadn’t considered what sort of mood I’d expected her to be in that morning; certainly subdued, probably remorseful and keeping out of my way for a day or two, but a straight up apology I had not expected.
I didn’t want any recriminations and welcomed her forthrightness, but needing to know more, I chose my words. ‘Thank you, no hard feelings, but if you don’t mind, can you tell me why you said what you did?’
‘She reached out for my hand. ‘Sorry, Jono. I was tired, emotional, and jumped to the wrong conclusion and really don’t want to talk about it anymore.’
Emotional from what, I wondered. Was she holding something back? I looked at her. ‘Okay. All forgotten; but what’s upsetting you? Want to share it with me?’
She looked into my eyes. Her face sad, almost tearful. ‘Meg’s got cancer, breast cancer. She’s having a m…ast…ectomy and I…’ She burst into tears, dropping her head onto my lap. I placed my hand on her head, stroking her hair. Meg was her sister. They were close and I knew how this awful news must have shocked her. This was a real explanation for her mood and accusations the previous evening, and I felt for her, but worried where her wild thoughts had originated?
After a few seconds, she raised her head and stared at me, wiping her hand across her face and looking a little cheerful. She took my hand. ‘I’m so sorry about last night.’ She looked away for a moment, dragging her hand again across her face. ‘I’d just got in with the kids and started to prepare supper when Bob called and told me the news. He said Meg was too upset to tell me herself, but would call me later.’ She looked into my eyes. ‘She hasn’t called yet. I feel I should leave her to call in her own time.’ She looked away again.
‘I came off the phone and got stuck into supper, trying not to think about it. I saw the letter from Julie lying on the worktop, read it, which I shouldn’t have done, and drew completely the wrong conclusion.’ A tear welled up in one of her eyes. ‘I’m so, so sorry, Jono. Are you cross with me?’
I shook my head and took her other hand. Our arms crossed on top of the duvet. She looked at me as though she wanted to say more. I remained silent.
‘After I’d read it. I felt numb. Flick came up to me and asked if I was okay. I hadn’t told her or the others about Meg, and held the letter close to me to stop Flick reading any of it. I told her I had a stomach upset and said I was just going to get some paracetamols. I came up here and bawled my eyes out for some time. Realising I had a supper to get ready, I tried to make my face as normal as possible, rushed downstairs and tried to act as though nothing had happened.’ Susi looked into my eyes again. ‘You know what?’
I nodded, saying, ‘Go on, but only if you want to.
‘All three of them had just about done everything. All I had to do was make the dressings and marinades. They’re a great bunch, those kids. We’re lucky.’ I nodded again and was about to reply when she squeezed my hand and locked onto my gaze. ‘You must have thought I was out of my mind. Did you?
‘No, not at all,’ I lied. ‘Just thought something was bugging you.’ I shrugged. ‘And it was.’
‘No grudges or hard feelings then?’ she asked, her expression hopeful.
If I’d had any, the news about her sister and my sympathy had neutered them. Susi needed help and understanding. Meg was her sister and best friend and the news tragic. I shook my head and pulled her to me.
The weather for the weekend had been forecast to be dry, sunny and warm. Paying little heed to the charge of being a hypercritic, I’d decided to take my old Mercedes SL two-seater convertible for the trip to Falmouth. It was first registered in 2006 and I’d bought it from its first owner in 2010 after the world-wide sales of one of my books had been beyond expectation. Sleek looking, finished in Brilliant Silver metallic with a grey leather trim, sports wheels and an automated, collapsible roof; and in perfect condition, it was a handsome car. For its age – year of manufacture – it had been fitted with many advanced technological features like a built-in mobile phone, satnav, and music system. I didn’t use it much and knew the journey to Falmouth would be its last. I promoted environmentalism, campaigned and spoke in public about man’s destruction of the planet and was a member of Green Peace, hence my belief I’d be labelled a hypocrite, driving a petrol guzzling example of man’s selfish attitude to climate change. I’d planned to sell the car once I’d returned from Falmouth.
‘I think you should go to that reunion weekend in Falmouth,’ Susi said, sitting up sharply, minutes after she’d told me about her sister. She sat on the edge of the bed, wearing a t-shirt and shorts and drinking from my mug of tea – we often shared drinks. I stared at her. She smiled back and said, ‘I guess you think I’m nuts.’
‘I don’t think that,’ I snapped in a quick response, trying to work out again how her mind was working, normally so rational. ‘But I’m interested in why you think that.’
‘Because they’re all your old friends, and it’s good to keep in touch,’ she answered with an earnest look.
‘Yeah, okay, but I’ve nothing in common with them.’
‘How d’you know, you haven’t seen any of them for more than twenty years?’ She shrugged. ‘You told me you were all inseparable.’
‘Yeah, but I don’t think I’ll like them now.’
‘You’re being illogical. How do you know that.’
I didn’t have an answer, just an irrational and unfounded inkling that I’d be disappointed – a group of radical youngsters wanting to change the world for the better changed into to comfortable forty-something-year-olds, happy in their comfort zones.
And then there was the Julie question.
Aware Susi was looking at me, waiting for my answer, I said, ‘Just a sneaky suspicion.’ I shrugged. ‘And I don’t really want to go.’
‘Oh gee, Jono. That’s not you. You’re getting old. It’d be good for you. You’ll enjoy it.’
‘Maybe. I’ll think about it. Come on, we’d better get up. We’d promised the kids we’d go to that new skate park.’
Not a motorway, I thought, looking for the quick way back onto the A4. I’d taken a slip road by mistake, not concentrating, thinking about my flip-flopping over going to the Falmouth reunion or not. After that morning, the morning Susi had apologised to me, we didn’t talk about the Falmouth trip for a while. We were too busy. Susi handed over most of the children’s needs to me while she helped Bob look after Meg after she’d had her mastectomy. Her consultant was pleased with her post operative condition, saying the early checks and tests indicated they’d caught the tumour early, and there were no signs of it having spread. He stressed it was early days, and she would be constantly monitored, but should be able to return to her normal life within months, maybe weeks. So, although frantic and stressful, we as a family survived, as did our sex life.
Come the 4th September, when the kids had gone back to school and Susi and I were having lunch she turned to me, her phone in her hand, ‘Oh, wow,’ she exclaimed, with a big smile. ‘Meg’s been given the all clear. Ongoing tests, but clear for the moment.’ She looked happier than I’d seen her for months, and I was happy for her and Meg and her family. She rushed to me, put her arms around me, and we hugged for some time, clinging on to each other while we danced around with joy. ‘This is such wonderful news,’ she said, pushing away from me, looking into my eyes, and saying. ‘I must go and see her. You’ve been great with the kids, do you mind just one more school run, so I can go and see Meg?’
‘No problem,’ I replied. ‘Go as soon as you want.’
She stayed the night at Meg’s. When she came back, she said she wanted to take Meg away for a weekend and would it be okay to go the weekend I was going to Falmouth, and she’d get her parents to come down and look after the children.
I looked at her. ‘But I haven’t said I’m going to Falmouth, just that I’d think about it. You go anyway, I’ll look after the children.’
She came up to me, put her arms around my neck and kissed me. ‘You’re going to Falmouth. You’ll enjoy it,’ she said as an instruction.
And that was it, I thought as I headed off the road toward Falmouth. I hadn’t wanted to dampen any of the happiness; the family had been through enough trauma. So, I just went along with her and started checking for accommodation.
As the satnav guided me through the backstreets to my hotel, I thought about Julie, how I’d deal with meeting her after so long, and how we’d get on over the weekend. In truth, she was the real reason I hadn’t wanted to go. Susi’s word’s, ‘you could be married to her now instead of me,’ came to the forefront of my mind.
~~~
She wore jeans, a white cable-knit sweater and black boots. Her blonde hair touched her shoulders, her blue eyes and face looked much the same as when I had last seen her. She hadn’t put on any weight, and looked as though she kept herself fit. For someone born in the same year as me she could have passed as being in her mid-thirties. ‘Jono,’ she said with a large beaming smile. ‘Great you’re here. When you didn’t reply to my email, I didn’t think you were coming.’
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I get so many emails; some just pass me by.’
‘Well, I’m really glad you’re here. We’ve a lot of catching up to do. Let me buy you a drink?’ I agreed and she bought me a beer, a G & T for herself, and we moved to a seated area not far from the bar, where we’d see the others arriving. I hoped they’d come soon.
Small talk at first, like travel to Falmouth, our accommodation arrangements, and the weather. I asked who else was coming from For Change. Julie told me only Afua Johnstone and Peter Boyd were definite, the other two maybe. ‘But there’ll be plenty of others who we’ll know, anyway you’re here,’ she said, looking into my eyes. ‘You were such fun at uni, we’ll be looking for you to liven things up if we’re flagging.’
‘I can’t remember that.’
She looked and smiled. ‘Oh, you were,’ she said, placing a hand on my knee.
‘Another drink?’ I said, standing up with the intent of losing her hand. She asked for a glass of white wine and I made for the bar, wondering if she was making a pass at me or just being friendly. When we’d met, we hadn’t kissed on the cheek or hugged like old friends. We’d shaken hands, odd really for two ex-lovers, passionate ex-lovers who hadn’t fallen out, just split amicably knowing we were both going separate ways. If I recall correctly, we’d parted in our own personal way. Breakfast together in our favourite café after sleeping together for the last time, then goodbye and we went our separate ways. Julie had cried, I’d been upset.
The area around the bar was packed. Many I’d vaguely known, many I didn’t. But they all seemed to know me, or so they said. I guess they’d seen my website. By the time I said hello to most, bought the drinks and returned to where I’d left Julie, she’d gone. About a hundred people filled the pub, most alumnus, and I didn’t see Julie again until eleven pm, when I left the pub to go back to my hotel. ‘Hey, wait for me,’ she yelled from behind.
I turned to look at her. She’d caught me up. I looked at her with surprise. ‘You staying in the same hotel as me?’
‘Yes. No problem is it.’
‘Of course not, but you didn’t tell me earlier.’
‘Because I didn’t know then. I called them on the off chance after you’d told me you were staying there.’
This is stalking, I thought as we approached the hotel door.
‘Want a nightcap?’ Julie asked as we saw the bar was still open.
I shook my head. ‘I won’t if you don’t mind. Had a long drive, and feel a bit tired. Got to build up my stamina, we’ve got another evening tomorrow like this, and I haven’t talked to Peter or Afua yet. I’ve waved to them, but not had a chat.’ We reached the lift. I pressed the button.
‘You haven’t had a long chat with me either. Offered to buy me a drink and never came back.’
I shook my head and laughed. ‘I did, but you weren’t there.’
Julie laughed. ‘Only joking. The party suddenly took off.’
The lift door opened. ‘You coming, what floor,’ I asked.
‘No, not me. I’m down here in a cute little cottage at the back. Only room left. It’s old, oak beams and crinkly, lathe and plaster walls. Want to see it?
‘Not now. Some other time,’ I said stepping back into the lift car and giving Julie a wee wave. ‘Goodnight, see you tomorrow.’
Is it me, or is she really making a pass at me. Maybe Susi was right when she read, ‘reliving our past’ in her email as wanting to sleep with me, I thought as the lift travelled to my floor.
Before I went to sleep, I texted Susi telling her I missed her and loved her.
