Her heart hammered in her chest. His legs were long and slender, and his body was solid. It had to be him. That burnt-toffee hair. Her whole world spun on its axis.
She reached out and felt the cold, solid wall beneath her fingertips as she steadied herself. There was no going back. She stared ahead of her and blinked a few times. She watched, transfixed, as he slowly bent down to kiss the girl he was chatting to goodbye. Then he turned around and stood completely motionless as their eyes met.
Both of them were silent. His gaze searched her face, eyes wide and hoping for clues. No words could fill the divide between them, stretch across the years of reticence, broker a language of what – forgiveness? How do you forgive twenty years of silence, of dreams smashed, of wondering? Of your finger hovering over the button on Facebook to send a friend request, then snatching it back again.
Oh, she’d seen him all right. She’d looked at the profile shots. She’d had friends in common who would share a photo or two, affording her tantalising glimpses of him, and of his wife, who she assumed was the golden-haired goddess hanging off his arm… She realised she was hardly breathing as he slowly came towards her. ‘Maddie’ was his first word to her in twenty years, accompanied by twinkly eyes in the hazy light.
And there it was. The spell was broken. The wondering. He was here. Right. In. Front. Of. Her. With one hand in his pocket.
Those same earthy brown eyes, the crinkles a bit more etched into his tanned face, with cheekbones that really should be on a model… She couldn’t help glancing down at his left hand to confirm what she already knew. Ring. On. Finger. It was as if someone had stabbed her. She took a deep breath in and tried to keep her smile fixed on her face.
‘Greg.’ She was rooted to the spot.
‘How are you?’ A lifted eyebrow, offhand. It was the one underneath the little scar. Yes, it was still there. He laughed, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He leant towards her and in that moment she felt both faint and exhilarated. He kissed her on the cheek and she was immediately back. Back to graduation day in 1998: the smell of leather, the woody aftershave, that feeling of a quickening heartbeat – but then the pain, how she felt out of place. Then heartache. The sickening feeling. The disappointment in her mother’s eyes, how Maddie had watched her lips twitch. Oh, Maddie.
There was a reason why she’d hesitated when the invitation for the university reunion had come through, forwarded by Liz, ‘Twenty Year Reunion!’; it was more than just a bit of Botox and a push-up bra that was stopping her going. Those weighty trunks of emotion stored in her personal attic were heavy to bear. He won’t be there, Maddie, another mutual friend had assured her. She’d decided to go, to find a bit of the ‘old Maddie’ – whoever that was. She’d disappeared under a pile of 50 per cent polycotton duvets waiting to be ironed a long time ago.
But now she was in a room with him. Talking.
He was still looking at her, but not really seeing. She was back to being twenty-one, glued to the spot and short of breath. And there it was, the bitter bile rising up, the pain seeping into her heart. The memory of all those years ago. Oh, Greg. She gave a nod and smoothed down her hair.
‘I’m fine.’ A tight smile.
Fine. Stupid Maddie. You didn’t want it to be like this, did you? Polite. Smiling. Fucking friends.
He tipped his head to one side and awkwardly smiled. Then he took his hand out of his pocket and for a moment she wondered if he was going to reach out. Touch her even. She inhaled sharply.
‘Actually, I’m on my way out of here,’ he said, straightening up and adjusting his collar. He looked at her intently, and she was sure it was still there: that bond, that unspoken connection. Neither of them wanted to mention the past. They couldn’t right now, but she could feel the undercurrents, the tow of emotion running deep between them, pulling them towards each other like a rip tide; the unsaid words, the silence before he spoke, saying only what he could say, not what he seemed to want to say.
It was the familiarity, the way she knew that he had a mole right there, just under his left ear, where the earlobe met his jaw. She glanced up at him; yes, it was still there. How can it be that you remember the landscape of your lover’s face twenty years on? The detail, the way nature has carved out particular idiosyncrasies that you know about, the ones on show and those buried beneath clothes: the scars, the birthmark, the lopsided nipples. She blushed, remembering. A ripple ran across her skin.
Suddenly, there was a clattering of heels.
‘There you are!’ Ellie came toward them, as Greg frowned at Maddie.
‘It’s Elliot,’ she whispered to Greg – the electricity between them was almost tangible. But as soon as Ellie appeared, Greg made his excuses and shot off through the doors to the dinner hall.
They sat at separate tables. Maddie picked at her food and allowed her glass to be refilled several times, and eventually emerged from the fuggy hall, where the fog of drinks, steam and aromas of the four-course dinner came up against the sharp evening wind outside.
It was dusky, the horizon swallowing up the smear of crimson streaked across it, like a watercolour painting turning dark at the edges. Maddie looked around as she inhaled the air heavy with the scent of honeysuckle. She could see him standing at the bottom of the steps, his face glowing in the eerie white light of his mobile phone. Then he was taking a call, his shoulders hunched over. She pulled back and waited by the doorway, unsure of her place.
She swayed slightly on her heels, knowing she’d had too many drinks. Whatever the conversation was, it was heated. He was gesturing with his free hand towards the grass, as if conducting his own private, invisible orchestra. After a minute, he spun around and jammed his phone in his pocket. Then he saw her, walking slowly down the steps. She pulled her wrap around her shoulders tightly as she got to him.
‘I have to go,’ he muttered, and jerked his head to the left.
Like the last time, Greg? she wanted to ask. But instead she calmed the butterflies in her stomach, as the wave of emotion overwhelmed her and forced a smile. Theirs was a story from the past.
They used to miss lectures on a Friday as they both only had one – they’d stay in bed most of the day. He’d wander around her tiny bedsit in not much more than a towel tied around his waist after a scalding-hot shower. In fact, she realised with a shudder, that’s what she missed the most: the easy intimacy. He used to wash her hair sometimes, with gentle hands on her scalp, circling the back of her neck with his strong thumbs. He’d sit her down in front of the basin and gently wet it all, pour over shampoo then put on honey-scented conditioner and comb it through.
It was wonderful and so relaxing. Sometimes it had led to something more… but normally he’d wrap her hair in a towel and they’d sit, watching her tiny TV, and she’d feel like the luckiest girl in the world. And now, here he was, in a dinner jacket and black tie, standing right next to her. Stony-faced. She bit her lip, tasted the blood, so she could focus on the present.
And with that he walked briskly away.
She watched him. Watched as he strode across the concrete courtyard, heels clicking, like he did all those years ago. Perhaps she’d been stupid to come, to open up all those old wounds again. She folded her arms across her chest and shivered.
‘Maddie!’ It was Ellie, weaving her way towards her in purple slingbacks, clipping on the hard surface. ‘There you are! C’mon, we’re all going to the Student Union bar for Snakebites! Maddie, c’mon!’ Ellie had stopped by one of the pillars and was fiddling with her shoes.