Breathe You In (6 page)

Those thoughts made me even more determined to
look at the bigger picture. I needed a new life with people who didn’t know me
as the sad young woman who’d lost the love of her life one rainy Thursday in
September. It had been an ordinary day, nothing remarkable except the promise
of seeing each other that evening for dinner and a cuddle on the sofa.

The difference one phone call could make.

I shoved my last box of clothes into the back of
my car and slammed the boot, relieved when the catch caught and the glass
didn’t shatter. There was so much rammed into that small vehicle—the
majority of my possessions, except for furniture. That could stay. I was renting
our house as a furnished property and my new flat was freshly decked out and
looked like something from an Ikea catalogue.

I was just taking clothes, books, photos and few
ornaments and kitchen bits and pieces. Also, to make me feel a little more like
the place was mine, a pile of cushions and bedding. Basically, a Vauxhall
Corsa
held what was left of my life. That wasn’t a thought
I wanted to dwell on, not today, the first day of my new beginning. So I jumped
in, revved the engine, and pulled away from Hemmingway Close.

Heading out of Leicester on the dual carriageway,
I turned left, toward the cemetery. I didn’t intend to linger, just go and tell
Matt what I was doing. It seemed like the right thing to do.

After parking up, I donned a large, floppy
sunhat and a pair of shades, clicked my car locked and stepped into the
silence.

The cemetery was enormous and on a graduation
leading up to the crematorium. Although the sun was hot, it didn’t heat me, not
really. Because this wasn’t a place I liked coming to, even though on occasions
I was drawn here. Painful memories, images of the agony on Matt’s parents’ faces,
my parents’ faces, Matt’s best friend and wife, his work colleagues all came to
mind. Of course, their images had been blurred—I’d been crying.

Weaving what was sadly a familiar path through a
section of older tombs, I walked toward the small copse. There was a brand-new
gravestone there. A big stone angel with outstretched wings and praying hands.
The arc of wings reminded me of the peacock, Ruben clapping and scaring it
away. What would I have done if he hadn’t appeared? Let the damn thing bully
me? No, surely not, I was made of tougher stuff. I’d have whacked it with my
bag and ran. Yes, that’s what I’d have done.

But I was glad he had shown up.

I carried on walking. Most graves had flowers on
them. Some were fake and looked bright and happy despite the continuing hot
weather, some were so old and dead they were just pot
pourri
lying in cellophane, others looked fresher, although they wouldn’t for long.
Many graves had small toy animals sitting next to them; a few held photographs
or candles in jars.

When I reached the black, shiny stone inscribed
with the words
Matthew Lincoln Lansdale 1982-2012,
much loved son, brother and husband
, I stopped and sank to my knees. The
hard ground bit my flesh, but I didn’t bother to shift. What was one more stab
of pain?

“Hey, Matt. Your mum’s been here, I see. Your
flowers are fresh. She’s good to you.”

A pang of guilt went through me. I was
neglectful of his grave, I was sure his parent’s complained about me to their
friends, but what could I do? I just didn’t see how offering flowers to a
buried urn of ashes helped. Never had seen the point in it.

“I’m moving,” I said, plucking a few dandelions
from the grass that covered his plot. “To Northampton. I hope you don’t think
I’m mad, or are cross at me for doing this, but you see, I’ve met someone.” I
paused and closed my eyes. “It’s not what you think, not at all. I haven’t met
someone romantically; I’ve met the man who has your heart and lungs. His name
is Ruben Strong and he’s friendly and polite and funny and saved me from the
blitz and a peacock.” I smiled. “That probably sounds nuts but it’s true. He’s
asked me out for a drink, not a date, just to show me Northampton. There’s lots
to learn when you move to a new place. Remember what it was like when your
parents moved up here from Devon? It took ages for them to find their way about,
didn’t it?”

I opened my eyes and glanced around. The cemetery
was still and empty. I couldn’t see another soul. “I haven’t told him, though.
Who I am or who you are. I don’t think I should. That would be weird, wouldn’t
it? And besides, I shouldn’t have gone looking for him. But then again, I could
have by chance been in Northampton, wandering around the museum and suddenly
bumped into him. That kind of thing happens all the time, right? Strangers
meet.”

Who was I kidding? I’d orchestrated it. Hell,
I’d hired a private investigator to find him. It didn’t get any more
pre-meditated than that. But I really, truly hadn’t meant to talk to him. That
had never been my intention. I’d just wanted to look.

“So I’m not going to tell him, for now anyway.
I’ll just hang out with him for a bit. It makes me feel better, like I’m with
you, kind of. Oh, I know I’m not really, I’m not that far gone, a heart and
lungs is only flesh and blood. A mechanical structure designed for sending
blood and oxygen around the body. But…” I shook my head then readjusted my hat.
“But he made me feel better, a bit better, and nothing has made me feel anything
other than shit since that day. I could pretend that it has, but it hasn’t.” I
sighed. “I miss you so much, Matt. If only we could turn back time, if only
we’d done as you’d suggested that morning and both rang in sick and spent the
day in bed, making love, drinking tea, dreaming of our future. If only…”

What was the point in if
onlys
?
A tear slipped down my cheek and landed on my bare thigh, just missing the hem
of my shorts. I rubbed it into my tanned skin.

“So I should go now and see if this is the right
decision. I think it is. I hope it is. Either way I’m going to give it my best
shot, what choice do I have? Oh, I know there is always a choice. I could curl
up in a ball and let the world pass me by, pray that my life slips quickly to
the end so we can be together again. To be honest that sounds like the easiest
option. But I’m going to take the other path. I’m going to start fresh, be
Katie ‘the new girl’ and see how it fits, just for a few months. If I hate it
I’ll come back to Leicester, no big deal.”

I wiped my hand over his name, feeling the
indent in the masonry; it was sharp and made my fingertips a little sore.
Standing then, I brushed grass from my knees that were marked by the dry earth.

“I’ll come back,” I said, “tell you how he’s
doing, so you know that the decision I made back then was right.”

*
* * * *

“So why do people make a song and dance about
moving house?” I asked myself four hours later as I put my hands on my hips and
looked around my new flat.

In the bedroom, my clothes were hanging in the
wardrobe and the bed had my covers on it. The soft fudge-colored sofa held my
bright, citrus-hued cushions, and a picture of Spanish Dancers, a wedding
present, hung on the wall. My laptop was in the corner on a small table with a
comfy chair in front of it, and my new, compact kitchen was ready for use. Even
the fridge had the basics in it bought from a convenient M&S on the next
street.

There were a set of three shelves in a small
dining area with a low window, and I’d set photographs on them. The one of Matt
and I on our wedding day taking center place; maybe it was time for him to move
from the bedroom. I’d try it and see.

I sighed and flopped onto the couch, stared at
the curtains I’d inherited. The same color as the sofa but with flecks of
yellow in them, they were unusual and pretty and matched the colors I’d brought
into the room, particularly the tall statue of a woman in a long dress that I’d
placed on the windowsill. Yes, it looked nice. In fact, it more than looked
nice, it
felt
nice. Felt right.

The window was open, letting in a slight breeze.
I could hear children in the distance, playing in the park. A few minutes ago
an ice-cream van had sung its way past; those children were no doubt racing to
get themselves a sweet treat.

It occurred to me that I felt a little lighter
than usual. That damn weight in my stomach was still there, but maybe a tiny
bit of it had been removed, or chipped away, or something. The weight had
shifted, that was for sure.

Yes, this had been the right thing to do, my new
start, and I had to embrace my positivity.

I reached into my handbag and slid Ruben’s card
from the side pocket where I’d carefully stored it. I should call him now. See
if he was free tonight to go for that drink. It would be a good end to what had
turned out to be a good day.

Quickly, I checked the signal on my mobile then
tapped in his number.

He answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Ruben?”

“Yes.”

“Hi, this is Katie. We,
er
,
we met at the museum last Saturday.” Oh, God, what would I do if he didn’t
remember me? Perhaps he had a string of girls and gave his number out to so
many he’d never be able to recall which one I was.

“Ah, Katie, yes, of course I remember. How are
you?”

Oh, thank goodness. The wild fluttering in my
chest settled—a fraction. “I’m okay thanks, just wondered if you were
still up for going out, you know, for that drink.”

“Absolutely. I’d love to, how about tonight?”

I could almost picture him smiling as he spoke.
I smiled too. “Perfect, I’m not doing anything.”

“Me neither, shall I pick you up?”

“Or we could meet. I noticed there’s a bar
attached to
Mem
-Saab, that’s around the corner from
me.”

He laughed. “Corkers, The Champagne Bar, oh what
have I let myself in for? A woman with expensive taste.”

“No, no, it’s not like that, it’s just, well,
it’s the only one I’ve really noticed. We’ll go somewhere else if you’d
rather.”

“Not at all, Corkers is the ideal progression
from tea and cake in the park. Shall we say about eight?”

“Okay.”

“They usually have piano music on a Saturday
night, is that all right with you?”

“Makes a change from the brass band.”

“Certainly does.”

There was a short silence. I broke it. “I’ll see
you later then.”

“Yes, and Katie…”

“Yes?”

“Thanks for calling. I was really hoping you
would.”

The Champagne Bar was elegant and stylish. It
appeared to be housed in an old school, and the inside was contemporary and
chic—all walnut panels and cream leather. Ruben had been right, there was
a grand piano being played, a lazy jazz tune that tinkled around the soft
furniture and up into the high-beamed ceiling.

I couldn’t see Ruben when I stepped in, and the
place was fairly empty so I knew I hadn’t missed him. I walked up to the bar,
my heels clacking on the floor, and ordered a glass of white wine. Hoping he
wouldn’t be too long.

“Pinot
Grigio
or Sauvignon
Blanc?” the barman asked.

“Sauvignon, please.”

“Hold the wine, we’ll have champagne.”

I turned at the sound of Ruben’s voice.

He grinned. “I was walking on the other side of
the street. I called, but you didn’t hear me,”

“Oh, sorry,” I said, smiling. “Hi.”

His hair was freshly brushed, perhaps a little
damp from a shower, and his jawline was clean-shaven. He smelled divine, an
unusual scent that was woody but also fruity, berries maybe. It swirled around
me, into my nose and settled on my tongue. It was the first time I’d noticed
the scent of another man in years.

“A bottle or two glasses, sir?”

“Have you eaten?” Ruben asked me.

“Yes.” That was my standard answer whether I had
or not, but actually, tonight it was true, I’d had a microwave meal an hour or
so ago.

“We’ll have a bottle, we’ll be staying a while,”
Ruben said.

“Very good.” The barman gestured to a corner
spot that held a soft sofa and a low table. “I’ll bring it straight over.”

We moved to our seat.

“That was extravagant,” I said.

“It’s not often I have the company of a
beautiful woman on a Saturday night,” he said with a smile. “And you do look
gorgeous.”

“What, this old thing?” I plucked at the silky
red blouse I’d teamed with skinny black jeans and red heels.

“Well, if that’s your idea of a tatty old thing,
I look forward to seeing your definition of something foxy.”

“Foxy? You’ve spent too much time around those
stuffed animals.”

“You’re probably right.” He grinned and groaned
at the same time. “I’ve got myself lost in another century.”

He sat, and instead of sitting opposite, I
settled next to him, twisted slightly and crossed my legs.

“Has the museum been busy this week?” I asked.