‘Like Will and Grace?’ I ask, romanticizing it all in my head. ‘And you don’t snore like a hippo, I take it, like Sam did?’
‘Well, I was thinking we might be more like Rachel and Monica fromFriends, but Will and Grace will do,’ she says.
I picture us living in peace and harmony together, coming and going as we please, no painful, lonely nights sitting here, like the ones I’d envisaged, pining over a man whotreated me as if I was some besotted fool who would never catch him out.
A smile creeps over my face and I feel so much better already. I hate being on my own, which I’m not entirely proud of, but Sinead’s suggestion makes sense in many ways and the deal is done.
‘Let’s do this,’ I tell my friend, feeling a whole lot better than I did just a few hours earlier.
I’ll hand in my notice to my landlord and will start the ball rolling tomorrow.
It’s on the night I officially move in with Sinead in the rather pretty south Dublin neighbourhood of Ballsbridge a week and a bit later that I take David Campbell’s business card from my purse and stare at it, trying to find the courage to go against his father’s wishes and send him an email.
For almost three weeks I’d built myself up to it and chickened out every time, though to be fair the shock of my break-up with Sam and moving out of my apartment did distract me quite a bit. Plus, apart from the blips of the past week, I’ve been travelling along a very positive road in my life. I’ve worked hard on my mental wellbeing and triumphed by helping others, but I’m afraid that David seems ever so slightly stuck in the past. Will my presence in his life, even with the Irish Sea between us, bring him more stress than comfort?
On top of all that, I’ve struggled with the huge political differences our backgrounds hold; I’ve struggled with going against his father’s wishes, even though I realize that at – I’m guessing – around 30 years of age, David is capable of making his own decisions in life; and most of all I’ve struggled with the fear of becoming emotionally attached to him in a way I’ve probably always been, in case he turns out to be horrible in real life and getting to know him properly might ruin the only positive thing to come out of that day of terror.
This evening, though, after a few celebratory moving-in drinks, I open my laptop and type David Campbell’s address into the recipient box. I stare at it for a few moments as I think of what to say.
I shouldn’t do this for so many reasons. I know I shouldn’t do this, but with Dutch courage, I decide to give it a go.
‘Dear David,’ I begin with.
Well, that’s that bit out of the way. I know nothing about him and have no idea where to start.
‘It was really good to see you after all these years,’ I type and, after hesitating for a couple of seconds (I’m not sure if it’s the few glasses of bubbles from earlier that get me going or the strange feeling that I know him already, even though I really don’t), the words suddenly come easily and I type and type and type until sleep takes over and I can’t type any more.
‘I hope you and your fiancée got back to England safelyafter the memorial service,’ I write to him. ‘It was nice, if surreal, to see you again.’
Although I’m doing really well, in many ways my mind is stuck in that strange place we found ourselves in that day, and a little part of me will be that frightened 20-year-old for ever. Does that make sense to you? It’s like, although life has moved on in so many brilliant ways, a part of me is still there with you in that doorway and it always will be, so I hope it doesn’t make things worse for you by hearing from me. In fact, I hope we can both learn to keep going forward, to hold on to the positives and learn from every lesson life throws at us, rather than hide from them.
What happened to us back then is a benchmark for life – I will never be so afraid of anything again, and therefore, if I’m ever scared, I remind myself how I’m strong enough to get through whatever comes my way.
I’m practising what I preach right now as my relationship with my boyfriend Sam is over. I won’t bore you with the detail but, rather than dwell on the negatives, I’m looking at it as another learning curve.
I realize we come from very different backgrounds, but I truly hope we see each other away from all of that. I saw humanity and kindness in you that day. I saw you for just being you and I hope it’s not presumptuous of me but I’m confident to say that I think you saw me forsimply the person I am too, and that’s the most important thing of all.
So until next time, David, please take care and know that as always I’m thinking of you and will always wish the very best for you, and all the happiness in the whole wide world.
Your friend, I hope.
Kate x
I press send without even reading it back and then I climb into bed where I fall asleep more quickly than I’ve done in a very long time. I don’t have nightmares for the first night in ages. In my dreams I only see David, and he is no longer the bloodied, injured ice-cream shop boy I remembered him as for so long. He is handsome again and he is strong and happy, he is smiling, and he is getting married next year to his fiancée from Wales. Knowing all this is enough for me to see that life is moving on, even if my own has encountered a bump in the road.
A bump in the road never stopped me before, I remind myself when I wake up, and it surely isn’t going to stop me from living a life that’s good from now on.
DAVID
My mind is still on the rugby game I played earlier as Lesley and I have dinner in our favourite Indian restaurant. It’s inthe quaint little English village we’ve called home since I got my new job in the nearby school two years ago, and as usual the main focus of our conversation is our forthcoming wedding. The subject matter is a tricky one, though, as we contemplate how we are going to push the date back to May next year and move the ceremony across the water to my home town, due to the decision by my mother to have one more blast of chemotherapy to try and overcome the cancer that is tearing through her.
‘I’ve spoken to the florist, to the band and to the hotel of course,’ Lesley tells me, her eyes so full of stress and disappointment at how our original plan isn’t working any more, ‘and they’re happy to return our deposits under the circumstances, so I guess that’s some of the main things out of the way.’
She pushes her food around her plate, and I can’t hide from the fact that she’s really stressed and annoyed about it all since I first brought up the issue this morning.
‘Look, Les, I know you wanted to get married in Wales, but Mum just isn’t fit to travel and there’s no way I could go through with it without her,’ I explain once more, feeling a trickle of sweat on my brow. The match earlier was tough but dealing with this is almost as ball-breaking. ‘She thinks the world of us both, so she’d really want to be there. But we’ll make it special and we’ll still be married, if only in a different way and a little bit later than we’d planned.’
She pours herself another glass of wine from the bottleof Marlborough we’re sharing and does a thing where she slowly shakes her head from side to side, which tells me she’s trying to weigh everything up in her mind and strike some sort of balance with it all. I, in turn, rub my temples at the very sound of florists and musicians and wedding venues. My mother is seriously ill, and my head can’t take in much more right now.
