He watched as a single drop of rainwater slalomed down the window. Outside, the slate-grey sky promised no end to the relentless drizzle, and the man struggled to make out the horizon separating the blanket of clouds from the battleship-coloured sea. An icy gust of wind caused the door of the café to rattle in its frame. Refocusing his eyes on the face reflected in the glass, the man noted that perhaps a few more grey hairs had appeared in his stubble recently, and his hair, still as thick now as it had been when he was last in this sleepy seaside town fifteen years ago, was now shot through with think streaks of silver.
The man returned his attention to the steaming mug of tea in his hand, and the battered paperback lying open and face down on the counter in front of him. What was it F Scott Fitzgerald had written? "It's a funny thing about coming home. Looks the same, smells the same, feels the same. You realize what has changed is you." Well, he thought, one thing is different; everyone here now seems so much younger than before. The girl who had served him must have been barely eighteen; perhaps even younger. Young enough for him to have taught her parents at the local grammar school? Perhaps.
He turned to look around the café. A young well-to-do couple were attempting to feed their precious offspring a peculiarly orange-coloured puree from a Tupperware container. A teenage boy dressed entirely in black tried and failed to appear casual about his obvious interest in the young waitress. Another member of staff, older but still young to the man's eyes - perhaps in her late twenties - was wiping the counter down. She looked up and met his gaze for a moment; before he had the chance to look away, she flashed him a smile. It was a nice smile and he felt compelled to return it, the corners of his mouth involuntarily turning upwards like the face of a flower when the sun breaks through the clouds.
'You old fool,' he muttered, turning his attention back to his book. He had read only a sentence or two when he felt a presence next to him, and he looked up in surprise to find the smiling young woman regarding him curiously.
'Mr Stanhope?' she asked.
'That's right,' he replied. There was something familiar about the woman; the deep brown eyes, the slightly flushed cheeks, the tiny smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose.
'Of course you won't remember - why would you? I'm Katie Buckingham. You taught me English Literature and Business Studies.' She pointed a thumb over her shoulder, as if the school was just behind her back, instead of half her lifetime ago.
'Katie, yes I remember,' he replied. 'You used to hang out with - no don't tell me - Lea and Sara, right? You were one of my star pupils in Business Studies. But had an almost pathological dislike of Dickens, as I recall.'
Katie grimaced theatrically and gave a little shiver, causing a few long dark strands of hair to escape the loosely tied bun at the back of her head.
'Sorry,' she laughed. 'We couldn't have made it easy for you.'
'Not even close,' he agreed. 'But that's not to say I didn't enjoy trying.'
'Awww,' she giggled. 'So, you're back in town, Mr Stanhope. Have you moved back?'
He puffed out his cheeks. 'No, just visiting. Hey, it's been fifteen years - I'm not your teacher and you're not my pupil - so I'm pretty sure you can call me Luke.'
Katie's already flushed cheeks became a shade pinker, and Luke watched with some amusement as she fiddled with the notepad hanging from the belt of her apron. She bit her lower lip as if considering whether or not to say something, before decisively nodding her head once.
'You know, when I was a pupil of yours, I probably would have passed out with excitement to hear you say I could call you by your first name. Funny, isn't it? We're just people, after all. Why shouldn't two people call each other by their names? It's not like I'm still some silly little schoolgirl.'
Luke had to admit that Katie was right on at least that last point - she was certainly no longer a girl. And in that moment, a terrible and magnificent realisation came over him; it was no longer forbidden for him to think of this beautiful creature as something more than a mind to be taught, a soul to be nurtured. She was a lovely young woman, beyond her first flush of youth but now absolutely in her prime. Of course, that also meant that instead of the hip young teacher in his early thirties, he was now a middle-aged man, who bought his socks from Marks & Spencer and was considering going back to vinyl records.
In the fraction of a moment between those last two thoughts, the world had opened up for Luke Stanhope. Now, faced by his own middle-age and the unobtainability of the lovely young woman in front of him, the grey clouds outside had worked their way into the café and surrounded him in a frozen embrace.
'Are you okay?' Katie asked, concern appearing on her face.
'Hmm? Sorry, yes, just felt a little old there for a moment. It happens.' He smiled in an effort to shrug it off.
'Old?' Katie laughed, unconsciously reaching out to touch his arm. 'Are you kidding? Apart from that whole sexy salt-and-pepper thing going on with your hair, you don't look a day older than when you left town. I reckon plenty of my classmates would rediscover their crush on you, given half a chance.'
Crush?
'I'm sorry? What?'
Katie playfully pushed at his arm. 'Oh, come on. There's no way on earth you didn't know the effect you had on the girls back then.'
Now it was Luke's turn to blush. He suppressed a cough and took a hasty gulp of tea, his eyes turned to the floor. 'Well, I tried not to think about things like that. There are... rules. Moral obligations.'
'Oh sure, sure,' continued Katie, clearly warming to the subject. 'But when you left to get married... oh, the hearts you broke in this town!'
Luke looked her squarely in the eyes. She was just teasing, surely? But no, in her face, all he saw was honesty. And something else. She was biting her lip again and her hand was now fiddling with the locket hanging around her neck. Despite the coolness of the day outside, Katie was wearing a simple blouse beneath her apron, undone enough to expose her long elegant neck, her tanned upper chest, and just the hint of cleavage.
'Are, um, you still married? Continued Katie.
'Ha. That lasted just about as long as your interest in A Tale of Two Cities, I'm afraid.'
Katie nodded. 'Then, it wouldn't be inappropriate to invite you out for a drink tonight? I'd love to catch-up.'
'Inappropriate? No.' He wanted to say more, to suggest that it would be unusual, peculiar even, but knew that to do so would suggest that he thought that her interest in him was romantic in nature. As much as he suddenly, almost desperately, wanted that to be the case, it seemed to him to be highly unlikely. Who did he think he was kidding, he asked himself.
Katie beamed at him. 'Great. How about The Sun at 7:30?' She scribbled a phone number on her notepad, before tearing the page off and handing it to him. Across the room, the teenager in black had finally managed to engage the young waitress in conversation, leaving the young couple dawdling at the counter while they waited to pay their bill.
'I, uh, better get back to it,' Katie said, reluctantly backing away.
'Oh yes,' Luke replied. 'I wouldn't want to get you into trouble with the boss.'
