The man with the bike was strapping his little boy into the seat, listening to the child’s chatter, smiling and nodding. She looked away, eyes misting. The passage of time was diluting so many of her recollections, turning them into mere impressions, like paintings. She’d have done anything to bring those memories back into focus, even for a moment, but she couldn’t. She caught a tear on the back of her hand. Maybe the colour of her dad’s readers didn’t matter. What was important was that he’d read her the story, done the voices, made her feel loved. He’d always listened with great interest to her childish babblings. He’d always made her feel important. He’d been a good man. Patient, clever, and kind. Maybe that was why he’d been so well regarded in the diplomatic service. He was a natural!
She swallowed hard, smiling at the man and his little boy as they finally vacated the space, then she slotted her own bike into the gap and chained it to the railing.
The day was bright and warm. That was what she needed to focus on! She looped her bag across her body, straightened her hat and set off walking. There was blue, blue sky and sunlight glinting through fresh green leaves glittering on the dark choppy water of the canal. She loved the canal houses that lined the banks. Tall, narrow with curved or stepped or oblong gables, and so many windows, as if light was everything. It was the sunlight that had drawn her outside. She’d needed to escape from the barge, from the memory of Theo’s face as they’d said goodbye. That moment at the door, softness in his gaze, something raw behind it, his chest rising and falling... And then he’d leaned in slowly, kissed her cheek. What to make of that? Two days had gone by—two whole days—and she couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t write. She didn’t know what to do with herself.
She hadn’t wanted him to leave. It was obvious that he thought he’d crossed a line trying to extract a promise from her, but he hadn’t. She’d seen on his face that he was genuinely concerned for her safety. Ash had been the same when she’d told him about it—a lot more vocal, actually.
On a different day she would have found Theo’s protectiveness endearing, but she’d been so busy flexing her new ‘head over heart’ muscle that she’d failed to tell him that she appreciated his concern—that she was fine with taking care of herself. She could have added that the real danger lay in trusting someone else to take care of you, but that would have opened the door to a different conversation, and she wasn’t ready for that.
At the entrance to the Bloemenmarkt the crowd bottle-necked but she didn’t mind. The flower market was best viewed at a leisurely pace. You needed time to take in the riot of colourful flowers, the stiff tulip stems with their bullet heads in jewel-brights and milky pastels. The scent was intoxicating but difficult to describe, even for a writer. Fresh, wet, sweet, musky...fragrant.
She wandered on, faltering at the sound of a raised voice filtering through the crowd. She turned, caught sight of a man sitting at a table outside one of the eateries. Two glum children sat beside him, an overturned glass on the table between them, pink milkshake flooding the surface and splattering onto the ground. The man was mopping at the mess with his napkin, shaking his head, grumbling at the kids.
It was nothing but it made her think about Theo... Had his alcoholic father shouted at him, or worse?
We’ve got the tee shirt.
He hadn’t volunteered any further information, and she hadn’t wanted to ask, but if personal experience had motivated him to become a trustee of the refuge then maybe... She shuddered.
Seeing Theo in his fine suit and impeccable shoes, every inch the successful businessman, it was hard to imagine that his background could have been anything but privileged. Was that why he was so guarded? Was he concerned about his image? She stepped under the striped canopy of her favourite stall, perused the selection of house plants. She conjured a memory of him barrelling along on her bright orange bicycle with herself behind, laughing and shrieking. Hardly the behaviour of someone who was concerned about his image.
She trailed her fingers through the fronds of a fern then went to look at the succulents. When she spied a baby aloe plant at the back of the display, Theo came to mind yet again. Aloe—the plant she’d told him about. She huffed a little sigh. He was under her skin, in her thoughts, and now he’d found her here among the plants. Those eyes, the way they’d held hers before he’d kissed her cheek... How would it have felt if he’d kissed her lips instead? She closed her eyes, felt her heart jolt for the umpteenth time. It was trying to tell her something and it was being very insistent. If she listened to her heart, admitted to herself that she wanted to see him again, then there was still the niggling problem of not having his phone number. She picked up the aloe and twisted it this way and that, checking that it was a good one. He’d said he’d never owned a plant and for some reason this one seemed to have his name written all over it.
What’s meant for you won’t pass you by.
A smiled edged its way onto her lips. She’d buy it—for him. If she bought it maybe the stars would guide him to her door again.
The willow trees around the lakes in Vondelpark looked vivid in the afternoon sunshine. The park was busy: families, tourists, cyclists, skaters. They were all out enjoying the spring
