Chapter 2

After a long weekend, there's always a backlog of work, and, of course, it takes quite while to get back into 'work' mode. I'd been in and at it for maybe and hour and a half, before I thought, 'I haven't seen Anne, yet', followed by 'I'll look her up when I make coffee'. It was shortly after that my mobile rang; I dug it out of my pocket, not seeing Anne enter the room as I looked at the display. The number was the one I half recognised on top of The Old Man of Coniston.

"Sam?" said a very familiar voice.

"Julie?" I squeaked, "What's this about?"

"I need to see you. I need to talk to you. Pizza Express? Lunchtime?" Her voice was pleading; I couldn't remember ever hearing that tone from her before.

"OK..." I looked at my watch. "Twelve thirty?"

"Great! Thanks, Sam."

I also didn't see Anne slip out of the room, and when I went in search of coffee, she was nowhere to be seen. She shared the room with two other girls, Emma and Louise.

Emma said, "She left a few minutes ago, saying she needed to go out..."

"OK, thanks. You might tell her I was looking for her?"

"Surely." Emma responded.

I went back to files and spreadsheets (via the kitchen for coffee).

I got so immersed it was nearly twelve-thirty the next time I thought about the time; I looked at my watch, thought 'oh, shit; I need to run!' and did so. Again I didn't notice Anne as I shot out of the office, downstairs and out of the building. It wasn't far to Pizza Express, so I was only a few minutes late.

I saw Julie sitting at a table with a good view of the door, her worried expression clearing as she saw me. We ordered, and once we had our meals, I looked at her, saying;

"OK, Julie, what's this all about?"

"Where were you this weekend? You weren't answering your phone."

"I was in Cumbria; there's no mobile signal where I was, not that it's any of your business where I was." It was snappy, but I was irritated.

"Please, Sam, I'm sorry." she said, softly, "I've been trying to get hold of you for days. I decided weeks ago that I made a big mistake turning you down; I want you to give me another chance."

Let me say, Julie is gorgeous. She turns heads everywhere she goes. She's also very sexy and wonderful in bed. But I didn't love her. A week ago, I'd probably have taken her back like a shot, but after last weekend, I knew what it was to be in love. I was a bit confused (no, make that very confused) about the way Anne was behaving, but the way I felt about Anne was a quantum leap different to the way I felt about Julie. If things didn't work out with Anne, I was spoilt for 'good', because I'd experienced 'best'.

My back was to the door; I didn't see Anne come in as I reached out to take Julie's hand.

"Julie, I'm sorry. I can't."

"But..."

"Julie, you were right to split up with me. I wasn't happy at the time, but we weren't in love. If anything, I was in love with the idea of being in love. Now, I've fallen for someone else, and I feel completely different about her, than I ever did about you. I was, and am, fond of you, but it's not love. I'm really sorry, pet."

And I was sorry. Watching her face crumple, and tears trickle down her cheeks, I felt dreadful. But I was quite sure this was the right thing to do. Leaving most of my meal, I walked out. There's a green nearby, with benches; I sat, oh, perhaps twenty minutes, before returning to the office and looking for Anne, again.

We met in a corridor, actually I think it was an accident.

"Anne!"

"Hi, Sam," there was no warmth in her voice; her expression was carefully neutral. "I never thanked you for a great weekend."

"You made it great for me..."

"Good, that's good ... I need to get back to work, Sam." and she went, leaving me standing, quite shocked. What was going on here?

I went back to my place, and dug into my pile of work.

For the rest of the week, I saw almost nothing of Anne. I had no opportunity to talk to her, and I was pretty sure she was doing her best to avoid me. By Friday, I knew I had to do something.

On my way home, I called in at a delicatessen I knew, and a greengrocer; cheeses, salad things, ham, crusty bread ... that sort of thing, a bottle of wine, ice-cream...

That evening, I knocked on her door, carrying a basket of food, and the wine, the ice-cream in a cooler...

Anne answered the door; (the back door, it was a small terraced house. Like most, the front door was never used as it opened directly into the front room, ) I could tell she was reluctant to let me in.

"Anne, please, talk to me? Or at least, let me talk to you?"

Stiffly, she stepped back and opened the door fully, so I stepped into the kitchen. She shut the door behind me, then, almost audibly making a decision, beckoned me into the living room and sat in one of the single chairs.

"Anne, last Friday night ... I think I was the happiest man on the planet..."

"Sam, you don't have to..."

"Yes, Anne, I do. I can't say it was dream come true, because I never dreamed of anything like that. I never knew what love was until then. I just wanted to go on holding you in my arms. I thought you felt the same ... connection ... I did. I told you, 'I love you'. I never, ever, said that lightly to anyone, but when I said it to you, I knew it to be true for the first time. I couldn't understand why you became so distant, or why you've been avoiding me this week. If you can look me in the eyes and tell me you don't feel the same, I'll get up and go, and leave you in peace. Can you?" I looked at her.

"Sam ... the woman you were with in Pizza Express..."

"Ah ... Julie. My ex-girlfriend."

"You were holding her hand..."

"I was trying to break it to her gently that, no, I wasn't interested in getting together with her again. She was not happy with me; I left her in tears."

There was a very long pause. I looked at her, steadily; she met my eyes, and a tear trickled down one cheek. What was it with me about making girls cry? Then she stood and walked the couple of paces to me and knelt in front of me, taking my hands, and looking up at me.

"You really love me?"

"I really love you."

"I'm so sorry ... I thought, I thought..." She laid her head in my lap and reached her hands around my waist.

I ran my fingers through her fine hair and stroked her neck. We stayed like that for quite a long time, then she moved onto the sofa next to me, tucked herself under my arm and rested her head on my shoulder.

"I'm really sorry, I've been so very silly ... you see, I began to wonder, on Sunday, if you, I mean, I sort of pushed you into bed on Friday. I wondered if I was being fair to you, so I thought I'd give you some space in case you didn't really want a proper relationship. Then I saw you, with that absolutely stunning woman, and I thought, 'I just can't compete with her, and look, he's holding her hand and gazing into her eyes' ... do you see... ?"

"Anne, you're beautiful. Julie can't hold a candle to you. When I look at you, I see the woman I love, that I'll want to spend the rest of my life with."

She hummed with pleasure, and snuggled close. We sat like that for ... quite a long while. Then,

"What's in the bag?"

I laughed. "Food! An indoor picnic ... and wine. Which, if we're going to drink it, needs to be opened to breathe. But I have just one vital question ... are we together, now? Are we going to have a 'relationship'?"

"Ummm ... let me see. Yes? Or maybe ... Yes! Except, there's just one thing ... I need to confess..."

"OK, out with it; not that I can think of anything that would make a difference to me!"

"Well, I'm not really blonde..."

"What! You mean that hair colour came out of a bottle? So what colour is your natural hair?"

"Well, actually, a sort of mediocre, mid-brown."

I couldn't help it, I had to laugh. It was quite difficult to stop, actually. After a minute or so, she pulled away and looked at me.

"What's so funny?"

"Anne, sweetheart, I couldn't care less what colour your hair is. It was funny because I've always preferred girls with darker hair, and I hadn't noticed that wasn't your natural colour; usually there're hints if someone's died their hair. And as for mediocre, you couldn't, nothing about you could, be that. Why don't we eat ... all this emotional stuff is making me hungry!"