Love Never Dies

This story is special to me and based on personal experience. Thanks to the readers who have journeyed this far. Your company is very much appreciated.

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NOW

THURSDAY night I hardly slept. I was like a child on Christmas Eve, excited and desperate for morning to arrive so that I could open my gifts. But I wasn't a child. I was less than a month from my 58th birthday and my special present was a meeting with Gaynor.

I lay quite still for most of the night but my mind restlessly darted from one memory to another: some from years back, others just snippets from our phone conversation and the written messages. I'd thought about Gaynor at various points in my life - but now she dominated my mind. These past weeks, she had been right there at every waking moment and, tonight, she even prevented me from sleeping.

Veronica, on the other hand, didn't seem at all troubled by her upcoming date with Helen. From the moment her head lay on the pillow, Veronica seemed content, breathing deeply and rhythmically in her peaceful sleep. I lay there, listening and thinking. And thinking. And thinking . . .

I was startled when the phone alarm buzzed, buzzed at 7:30. I must have dozed off, exhausted, and now my eyes burned as I opened them. I reached to switch off the alarm and Veronica's muffled voice inquired: "What time is it?"

Her head was half buried beneath the duvet and I said: "It's seven-thirty. No need for you to get up yet."

"Hmm." Veronica didn't stir.

I eased out of bed, donned my dressing gown and padded barefoot downstairs to the kitchen, where I switched on the kettle. A mug of instant coffee was required to jolt me alive. What a weary state to be in for an important date!

Waiting for the water to boil, I made my way to the toilet and peed. Swilling my hands under the warm water, I felt the phone vibrate in my dressing gown pocket. Early for a message, I thought, and dried my hands before lifting the instrument from my pocket. I peered at the screen: 1 message from Gaynor Reid

I thumbed to bring up the message and my heart slowed as I read:

Panicking here Richard. Please ring ASAP or sooner! Need to talk urgently xx

I walked back into the kitchen in a puzzled daze. What on earth has happened? What's the panic all about? What's so urgent? Only one way to find out. I walked to the lounge, drew back the floor-length curtains and opened the patio doors. Outside, the paving slabs were cold to my feet and I stepped onto the lawn. The grass was still damp with morning dew and my feet were now cold and wet. A pale sun had risen but the day was still chilly as I scrolled to GR and pressed the call button.

I heard only one ring and then a breathless, husky voice: "Oh, thank God, Richard. Thanks for calling. Where are you?"

"I'm at home. I've just got up and . . ."

"You got my text," Veronica cut in. "Is it safe for you to talk there? I mean, where's Veronica?"

"She's still in bed and I'm outside in the garden. Don't worry about that. What's the panic?"

"I do worry about that. I don't want any trouble with Veronica. Anyway, I'll make this quick." Gaynor paused and I heard a deep breath. "I'm panicking because I'm scared, Richard."

"Scared? Scared of what?"

"Of us, you . . . me. What are we doing, Richard? You're a married man and I'm arranging to meet you. It's a dangerous game we're playing and I'm not sure I can go through with it."

I switched the phone from my right ear to the left and my heart sank to my numb feet. The meeting I had so looked forward to was slipping out of reach, disappearing over a distant horizon.

"Are you still there?"

"Hmm, yes, still here," I mumbled, my mind in a whirl. "Just trying to understand what's happening."

"Look, Richard, I'm sorry about this but I've been awake all night, worrying and wondering what on earth I'm doing. Don't get me wrong, I would like to see you but I'm scared what it might lead to. You do understand, don't you?"

I took a deep breath. "I guess so, in a way. I've been awake most of the night, too, Gaynor but for a different reason. I've been excited about seeing you again and, well, now . . ."

"Oh, Richard, please don't make this any harder for me. I do want to see you but . . . oh hell, did you think about those things I asked? Why do you really want to see me? What do you expect to happen?"

I nodded as I listened and realised I had now walked to the bottom of the garden. I turned round and looked up at the house. The bedroom curtains were still closed. "Yes, Gaynor, of course I thought about all those questions. Believe me, I'd thought about them even before you asked."

"And?"

"Truthfully, I haven't gone too deep into the reasons other than I know in my heart that I dearly want to see you. Like I've told you, I'd like to at least sit with you, face to face, and talk. We had a past and I think our . . . well, our relationship, for want of a better word, is unfinished."

"That's what I mean," Gaynor said quickly. "Unfinished business. But what does that mean? Where does that take us? How do we finish it, eh Richard?"

"As friends, loving friends," I said and paused, hoping my words would soothe Gaynor. "As you keep saying, I am a married man and, being honest here, I have no plans to alter that fact. I have some marriage issues but Veronica has been a good partner for 30 years and I will not knowingly hurt her. I am truly sorry if you feel we should not meet up but . . . well, it's your choice, your decision, really."

"Is it? My decision?"

"Yes, Gaynor, it is. As much as I want to see you, I have no rights in this situation. I know I suggested the meeting but I never thought for one moment that it would cause you so much grief. I didn't think you'd be worried." I rubbed my free hand through my hair. I was agitated, desperately seeking the right things to say. I didn't want our meeting aborted. "Okay, look. . . perhaps, yet again, I didn't think it through properly. Another mistake on my part and I'm sorry. But, as I see it now, the situation is that I am married and that means I really have no right to ask you to meet me or do anything at all. You know how I feel, how much I want to see you, but I will abide by your wishes. I can't do anything else. Okay?"

I could hear Gaynor's heavy breathing and she finally broke the silence. "Okay Richard, here's what I think: We've come so close we'll probably be totally frustrated and left with even more questions than answers if we don't go ahead and meet."

"Agreed," I said.

"I know you suggested meeting but I set the ball rolling by contacting you. And it's my fault that I'm panicking. I can't help being a scaredy cat."

"I know. You've told me you don't want to be hurt again and I don't want that to happen. God forbid. I just thought that if we could meet, as old friends, we might both find some happiness. . ."

"Say no more, Richard," Gaynor cut in. "I'm convinced. Get off the phone now and don't call me from your house ever again. It's not safe. Sorry about the panic and I'll see you as planned. Okay, 11:30 at The Toad's Hollow?"

My pulse rate increased. "Yes, thank you, Gaynor. I'll be there."

"Good, so will I. Now get off the phone. Byeee."

Before I could say anything more, she cut the connection. With a huge silent sigh of relief, I dropped the phone into my pocket and walked back into the house. The soles of my feet were wet and cold but I didn't care. The meeting with Gaynor was all that concerned me and I wandered off to the kitchen to finally get my mug of coffee.

The next two hours dragged. Initially, I scanned the newspaper as I munched a bowl of cereal. But I couldn't concentrate and I decided to make tea for Veronica and take it to her in the bedroom.

She was just stirring when I placed the drink on her nightstand and then drew back the curtains. Sunlight spilled into the room and Veronica sat up, rubbing her eyes. She straightened the straps on her nightdress.

"Morning Richard. Thanks," she said and raised the cup to her lips. She drank, a couple of sips, and said: "Mmm, that's good. A nice start to the day. And it looks nice out there." She yawned. "Good day for your golf game, eh?"

"Yes, it's very pleasant," I agreed, removing my dressing gown. "Unless you want the bathroom, I'll have a shower and shave."

"No, you go ahead. I'm okay. Have you got the newspaper?"

I stopped at the entrance to our en suite bathroom and turned to face Veronica. "Sorry, I've left it in the kitchen. Shall I fetch it for you?"

"No, that's alright. You get your shower and I'll go downstairs in a minute. Go on, shoo."

I shaved and looked at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were slightly red-veined through lack of sleep but, otherwise, I looked okay. After a lengthy shower, I was refreshed. I applied some aftershave and deodorant and had quite a spring in my step when I returned to the bedroom to dress. I elected to wear all black: slacks, socks, briefs, sports shirt and slip-on shoes. The whole ensemble. I once read somewhere that black was a slimming colour. Whether it was true or not I didn't know but I looked in the full-length mirror and I didn't look too bad. Slight paunch, maybe, but a reasonable shape for my age.

Downstairs, Veronica sat at the breakfast bar, eating toast and reading the newspaper. She looked up as I entered the kitchen. "Have you had any breakfast?"

"Yes, some cereals and coffee."

She nodded and turned her attention back to the newspaper. "The weather forecast is good for the next few days," she said."Quite a decent end to the summer."

"Hmm," I said, "it's been a good summer. Probably pay for it with a harsh winter."

"Pessimist."

"Maybe. Anyway, I'm off now,' I said and bent to peck Veronica's lips. They tasted of marmalade. "Any idea what time you'll be home tonight?"

"Not really, no. I'm meeting Helen at the gym about five and then we'll have a bite to eat and a drink somewhere. Probably home about nine, I should think."

"Right," I said, debating whether to mention Helen's sexual advances. It didn't appear to be in Veronica's thoughts so I confined myself to saying: "I'll no doubt be home first. Enjoy yourself and I'll see you later."

"Yes, have a good game. See you tonight." And she resumed reading the newspaper.

When I started the car, it was only 9:58. I estimated it would take 40 minutes to drive to The Toad's Hollow but I planned to make a brief visit to the golf club, just to show my face and firm up my alibi. You're one devious bastard, Richard, I thought and slipped the Volvo into gear.

At the club, I spent a few minutes in the professional's shop, browsing and discussing the latest models of driver. Then I popped into the bar, ordered a coffee and sat in a chair by the window overlooking the first tee. I watched a couple of matches tee off, finished my coffee and headed back to the car park. It was now 10:37 and I was on schedule.

When I arrived at The Toad's Hollow it was 11:22 and the car park was almost deserted. I reversed into a spot not far from the entrance and switched off the engine, leaving a Tom T Hall disc softly playing. I partially wound down my window and counted the other cars. Seven. I looked at my wristwatch, 11:24, and chastised myself : Calm down, she'll be here soon. Don't have a heart attack.

I gazed at the car park entrance, willing Gaynor to appear. Crikey, you don't even know what make of car she drives. As that thought hit me, a red mini swept into the car park, swung into a space, braking sharply and, within seconds, a young girl leaped out, slammed the door and headed for the bar entrance. She walked quickly in flat shoes, a white blouse tucked in at the slim waist of her tight black skirt. Late for work, I thought, as she rushed through the door.

I hadn't smoked for more than 20 years but I felt the urge to light a cigarette, inhale and be calmed by the nicotine hit. Stupid thought!

The harmonica and piano introduction to "Old dogs and watermelon wine" got my attention. I turned up the volume as the digital clock clicked to 11:32 and a black Vauxhall glided across my windscreen. Gaynor fluttered her fingers in greeting and I watched as she parked about four or five spaces away. She, too, reversed into her chosen spot.

I withdrew the ignition key, rudely cutting of Tom T Hall at 'this old man and me,' and got out of the car. I shut the door, locked it and looked across as Gaynor emerged at the front of her vehicle.

My mouth suddenly dried. I was stunned; she was stunning.

The curls of black hair were tighter and closer to her scalp than in years gone by but, even from a distance, the chocolate-drop eyes and the full lips, coated with a crimson lipstick, were familiar. Her caramel arms were exposed in a sleeveless, pastel lemon dress. It was the only bodily flesh on view but, in this instance, less was certainly more. From a demure white-trimmed collar at the base of her throat, the tight bodice dramatically accentuated the majestic swell of her breathtaking bosom. The knee-length skirt billowed from her hips, black leggings stopped inches above her trim ankles and black peep-toe sandals completed the visible outfit.

And, of course, gold hoops dangled from her ear lobes.

The enticing package was complete when she smiled at me, revealing bright white teeth. But, as we walked to meet, she suddenly raised a hand to her mouth and said: "Oh, wait a minute," and turned back to her car. I stood, like a statute, waiting.

Gaynor ducked inside her vehicle. Seconds later, she shut the door again and slung a leather tote bag onto her shoulder.

"Nearly forgot my bag," she said huskily and came to a halt in front of me. "Well, here we are. How are you, Richard? Black suits you."

How was I? Dazzled. Incredulous. Ecstatic. I could have said all of that and much more. Instead, I lamely offered: "You look well, really well. As beautiful as ever."

Gaynor's smile was broad, her eyes glistened. "Why, thank you. After not sleeping all night, I don't feel very glam. More like a bag lady." She chortled briefly, then added: "It's good to see you Richard, it really is."

"You too," I said quietly, still astonished by the vision in front of me, a marvel I never thought I'd see again.

She crossed an arm to hitch the bag strap further onto her shoulder and smiled again. "Are you planning on standing here all day?"

"What? Oh no, sorry," I blustered. "Do you want to go inside or sit out the back by the river?"

"Let's find a little nook inside shall we? I don't think there's many here," she said, glancing around the car park.

"Okay," I said and turned to walk towards the entrance. Gaynor strode by my side and I pulled open the door and stood aside. "Thanks, ever the gentleman," she said and I breathed in her fragrance as she passed by. Lilac? Lavender? Whatever, it was light and captivating.

I followed as Gaynor walked purposefully, hips swaying, to the far end of the room and plonked her bag on a corner table before sitting down on the padded bench, facing into the room. Gaynor liked corner seats and I prepared to sit opposite her, the round wood table between us.

"What would you like to drink?"

She looked up, focused on my eyes, and said: "Do you still drink beer?"

"Lager now."

"Hmm." She tapped her crimson-painted finger nails on the table top. "I'll have a diet Coke please. Ice but no lemon, thanks."

"Nothing stronger?"

"Uh, uh," she shook her head and set the hoops swinging. "Not at the moment."

The young girl who had made a hasty arrival a few minutes earlier, was serving at the bar. I ordered and looked around. Two other middle-aged couples occupied separate tables and a young man in jeans and T-shirt stood at the end of the bar. He had eyes only for the young bar girl.

I looked across at Gaynor. Her head was bowed and her fingers were moving swiftly over what I assumed was her phone: texting.

I paid for the drinks and as I approached, Gaynor put the phone in her bag, which she lifted off the table and placed beside her on the bench. "Cheers," she said, raising the glass to her lips and sipping. I sat and had a swallow of lager.

"Don't remember you drinking coke. Certainly not diet stuff."

"You didn't drink lager," she said. "Anyway, I have fads. Mostly I have white wine but I don't like to drink anything when I'm driving. Careful girl me," she said and smiled broadly.

"Very commendable," I said. "But diet drinks? You don't need them."

"Very nice of you to say so. But you'd be surprised, Richard. It's very easy to pile on the pounds and I'm not into aerobics and such like. Too much like hard work. I've got an exercise bike and I sometimes get off my backside and go for a brisk walk. But that's it. What about you? How have you managed to stay so slim? Not just through golf surely?"

So, black does work, I thought. "Thanks for the compliment Gaynor but I'm not really slim. I'm carrying a bit around the middle but I've been lucky, never had much trouble with my weight. And golf is my only exercise."

"Are you good?"

"Good? Ah, the golf, you mean?"

Gaynor raised her eyebrows. "What else would I mean?"

I smiled. "I'm not too bad. Handicap of 12."

"Hmm," she said and used a finger to draw a smiley face in the condensation on her chilled glass. She leaned back on the bench and took a deep breath, filling her lungs and expanding her delightful chest. I saw the outline of her globes battling against the constraints of her cotton dress. "Do you remember that time we played crazy golf and I beat you? You sulked like a spoilt kiddie. We never played again."

I shook my head. "Not me, must have been someone else."

"Bah!" she said, laughing deeply. "Even now you can't face up to the fact that I beat you. C'mon, Richard, be a man, admit you lost."

"Okay, okay," I said, smiling broadly. "I lost."

"There," she said, leaning across the table and placing her right hand on my cheek, "that wasn't too painful, was it?"

It was our first physical skin-on-skin contact. Her palm was warm and soft. For the fleeting second or so that she touched my face, I was stupefied, transported into the distant past, to a time when I took her caresses for granted. Slowly, staring into my eyes, she withdrew her hand, fingertips gliding lightly across my cheek. She rested her hand back on the table and I impulsively reached out, clasped it and enfolded it between my hands. I caressed her knuckles with my thumbs, my finger ends in her palm, and she responded with a little squeeze.

"It's been a long time," she said softly, placing her other hand on mine.

I nodded and gulped, looking down at our entwined hands. "Yes, it has . . . a very long time." I looked into her brown eyes and the years disappeared. Here was My Gaynor. "I really am so sorry. I was such . . ."

"No, Richard, don't," she interrupted. "No sorries, no apologies, no recriminations. It happened, it's gone, nothing can change it. Nothing, not now, not ever."

"Yes, I know we can't turn back the clock but I must tell you how much I regret what happened, what a foolish pig-headed sod I was. I am so very, very sorry for hurting you the way I did."

"Richard, no . . . stop it. We've covered that ground. I don't want to dwell on it. Maybe we wasted our lives, I don't know. Who knows what might have happened?" She placed a finger over my lips to stop me talking and shook her head, gazing into my eyes. "Listen to me. . . I loved you then and I never stopped loving you. The you that I knew then. Now we're here. Okay, the circumstances are strange, not the best by any means, but let's enjoy what we can. On the phone this morning you said you thought we could meet as friends and share some happiness." She sighed. "Richard, it was those few words that made up my mind to come here today. I'm still a scaredy cat but I'm taking a chance."