When she first mentioned it to Pete she wasn’t at all surprised when he dismissed the idea immediately. After all, it was pretty out there. But she had played her hand slowly and carefully and to be honest it didn’t take that much persuasion in the end. They’d had that little bump, when she’d pushed him too far and he’d called it off with her but after a minor panic immediately afterwards she’d known he would come back. Their relationship was too important to throw away, she knew it and he knew it. Within a couple of months, he was not only on board with the idea, he’d got a job and handed in his notice at work. She literally had never felt happier in her life. She could see them together in that farmhouse, curled up together by the log burner in the winter and sitting out on the veranda in the summer, drinking wine, enjoying each other’s company, far removed from the relentless hamster wheel of London and far away from his wife too.
They would grow old together there – the ones that got away, their friends would say, the ones that were brave enough to choose a better life. As it got closer to their agreed departure date the excitement practically overcame her. She gave her notice to the temp agency and to her landlord and started sorting through her stuff, giving as much as possible to charity so that she was only taking the bare minimum of things to France. She wanted to shed her old life like unwanted clothes and start again afresh on the continent. She didn’t even care if they never got married: all she had ever wanted was him. And now she had him!
The night before they were due to leave, she sat alone in her flat, looked at all the empty space around her and thought, This is it, I’m never going to be alone again. She couldn’t resist sending him a quick message:
Looking forward to seeing you tomorrow xx.
His response came almost immediately:
Literally counting down the minutes. Can’t come soon enough xxx.
The next day she was up and dressed bright and early. As she closed the door to her flat for the last time and put the key through the letterbox, she sent Pete a quick message to let him know she was on the way and then paused, looking at the battered old blue door and revelling in the moment. This is actually happening, she thought, dreams really do come true. This time tomorrow, she and Pete would be in France, far removed from London, real life, the commute, the complication of Pete’s family. What will we be doing? she wondered. Sipping coffee while eating a freshly baked croissant in a Parisian café? Or still in bed, wrapped around each other, the whole day ahead of us, full of possibilities? She couldn’t stop grinning as she walked down the steps and out on to the street, wheeling her suitcase behind her as she headed towards the station.
She made her way to St Pancras Station and found a seat in the café where they had agreed to meet at 9am. As she sipped her skinny latte and looked around at the thousands of people rushing around on their way to work, she felt somehow removed from them all already. This isn’t my life anymore, she thought, I’m destined for better. She imagined Pete emerging from the crowds, walking towards her with that heart-breaking grin he had, and she felt like she was going to explode with joy.
She checked the time on her phone – he was five minutes late. Typical Pete, she thought, he’s always keeping me waiting. Five minutes turned to ten and then to twenty. The first stirrings of doubt began to form in her mind. She checked her phone to see if he’d messaged her but there was nothing. She looked around, scanning the crowds in front of her, desperately looking for his face but it didn’t appear.
Forty minutes later, he still hadn’t showed up and he hadn’t responded to her message asking where he was either. Her mild concern was rapidly developing into full on panic. What the fuck was going on? They were going to miss the Eurostar at this rate. Had he got last-minute cold feet? She had been so convinced that he was beyond that but now she began to wonder again. Could something have happened between yesterday and today to change his mind? Or perhaps something had happened to one of the kids which had delayed him, but he’d be coming later? But why hadn’t he messaged her? Should she get on the train? Should she wait? Jesus, it was forty-five minutes now and her head was spinning. The caffeine from the second coffee she’d had while waiting for him had added to her nerves and she was feeling jittery and edgy.
There was no going back now. She had no flat, no furniture and no job. She literally had the bags she carried with her and that was it. She was going to France, with or without him. Only she hadn’t allowed the possibility of it being without him to enter her mind before. Now it was all she could think about.
Suddenly she heard the familiar beep of her phone. She felt an immediate flood of relief when she saw his name come up. He’s just running late, she thought, no need to overreact, it’s all going to be fine. Then she read the message.
Sorry, I can’t do it. I can’t leave my wife and children, they mean too much to me. You have to understand. Please don’t contact me again. I’m changing my number. I’m so sorry. Goodbye x.
It felt like someone had punched her in the stomach. For a few seconds she couldn’t breathe as she stared at the message on her screen. She felt the shock permeate every inch of her body and she wanted to
