Forget Me Not

Drinnnggg!!

Heart banging, I peered down the hall. A tall figure loomed through the panels of coloured glass. I checked my reflection in the circular mirror at the bottom of the stairs, took a deep breath and lifted the latch.

Misery washed over me – then hope.

‘Miss Temple?’ A man was standing there, holding a bouquet.

‘Yes?’

‘These are for you.’

‘Oh. Thank you,’ I said weakly as he handed them to me. ‘Thank you.’ I thought I might weep with relief. Then I hated myself for being so silly about the whole thing: I was thirty-two, after all, not sixteen.

I carried the bouquet down to the kitchen and laid it on the worktop. It was a hand-tied bunch of bronze chrysanthemums, yellow roses and cream gerbera. I snipped the gold ribbon and it slipped to the floor. There was an envelope pinned to the tissue but I put it aside. I wanted to defer the pleasure of reading Xan’s card.

I found a white jug and put the flowers in it, adding a two-pence piece as my mother had taught me, because the copper makes them keep longer and I wanted these ones to last for ever. Then I picked up the envelope. It felt thicker than normal, I realised, as I slid my thumb under the flap, but that was because there wasn’t just a card inside it, but a letter. I unfolded it with trembling hands.

Dear Anna, I read. His handwriting was untidy. I’m sorryI had to leave so early, but I was on an early shift this morningwhich I’ve only just finished …

‘Hurrah!’ I shouted. Then I remembered what he’d said – that he had a ‘busy day’ ahead. I slapped my forehead, hard, with the palm of my hand. I’d been so uptight – and hung-over – that I’d forgotten. I might have behaved like a femme fatale but I was far from being one, I realised. I simply couldn’t keep my cool.

I would have called you, but I don’t have your numberand you seem to be ex-directory. I gave my brow another hard slap. Anyway, it was wonderful meeting you –

‘Yes!’

– and I’d love to see you again.

‘YES!’

But I think we need to talk first.

‘Oh …’ I felt a sudden sagging sensation.

Are you free tomorrow night? Xx.

I should have followed my mother’s advice and told Xan that I had a prior engagement – but it was too late for such manipulation. The horse had bolted, plus I was sick with anxiety about what he would say. So we met at the Havelock Tavern, a gastro-pub not far from me. I’d found a quiet table while he got us some drinks. A deliberately demure Virgin Mary for me and a bottle of Stella for him.

He lifted his glass and gave me a wistful smile. ‘It’s … good to see you again, Anna. You look lovely.’

‘Do I? Oh. You too,’ I added nervously, disconcerted by the fact that I found him even more attractive sober than I had done drunk. My knees were trembling so I slid my left hand over them. ‘Anyway …’ I took a deep breath. ‘You said we needed to talk.’

Xan’s expression darkened. ‘I think we should.’

My heart sank. ‘That’s fine … but I’d like to say something first.’

He looked at me quizzically. ‘What?’

‘Well’ – I sipped my tomato juice – ‘that … what happened on Friday night wasn’t … typical of me. I wouldn’t like you to think that.’

He shrugged. ‘I didn’t … think anything in particular.’

I stared at the tiny island of ice in my drink. ‘I wouldn’t like you to assume that I’m in the habit of jumping into bed with men I’ve known for five minutes, just because I did that with you.’

‘But …’

‘So I just wanted to say that that’s not how I am. Far from it. In fact, I’m normally quite shy with men.’

‘Really?’ His surprise annoyed me. ‘Erm … you weren’t very shy on Friday, Anna.’

I felt myself blush. ‘Well, as I’m trying to explain, that was a complete aberration. I’m not quite sure why,’ I added, still wondering what on earth it was that had gripped me. ‘Usually I go out with a guy for at least a month before anything can happen on that front …’

He sipped his lager thoughtfully. ‘I see …’

‘Or a minimum of ten dates. Whichever is the greater.’

He nodded slowly. ‘Right. And does that have to mean dinner, or can the dates include lunch and breakfast?’

‘Could you be serious about this, please?’

‘And what about afternoon tea?’

‘Look, Xan, if you could just listen for a minute, I’m trying to explain that I acted totally out of character – I really wasn’t myself for some reason – and so I feel …’

He’d laid his hand on my arm. ‘Relax.’ I noticed how beautiful his hands were: large and sinewy, with strong, straight fingers. ‘There’s no need to be so intense. This is the twenty-first century – and we’re adults, aren’t we?’

‘Of course – but I’d had far too much to drink – because of my leaving party – then I had loads more champagne after that – and I think that’s the reason why I leapt into bed with you actually. In fact, I’m sure it is.’

‘Oh.’ He’d withdrawn his hand. ‘Thanks.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I stuttered. ‘All I meant is I don’t normally have casual sex.’

‘What do you have then – formal sex? You wear a ball gown and tiara, and the guy wears a DJ?’

‘Don’t be silly.’

Xan put down his glass. ‘I’m not. I just don’t understand why you feel you have to justify what happened. You don’t, Anna. We were very attracted to each other.’

I stared at him. ‘Yes …’ I whispered. ‘We were.’

‘And we still are,’ he said tentatively. ‘Aren’t we?’

My heart was pounding like a kettle drum. ‘Well … yes,’ I repeated. ‘But you said we needed to talk, which sounded ominous, as though you’ve got something unpleasant to tell me.’

‘Such as what?’

‘Well … that you’re already seeing someone, for example, or that you’re engaged, or married, or cohabiting, or that you take drugs, or think you might be gay. As we don’t know each other it could be anything – erm … that you murdered your father and slept with your mother for all I know, or that you once had an affair with a sheep – not that I remotely think you look the type to engage in anything as sordid as inter-species congress but …’

‘Anna …?’ Xan was shaking his head in bewildered amusement. ‘All I said was that I thought we should talk first – as in’ – he turned up his palms in a gesture of helplessness – ‘talk.’