He Loves Me He Loves Me Not

Chapter One Tuesday 6th August 2013: Tears streamed down my face as we said our farewells. I hated this moment. The airport, busy, as always, with families and friends saying their goodbyes, hugging and kissing each other, just as we were doing. Peter and I had spent two wonderful weeks staying with our French friends Henri and Evette in their beautiful home in the South of France. Our annual holiday was the highlight of the year. Great food, copious amounts of wine consumed, and hours of laughter. Peter and I married the same year as them and the incredible friendship which had formed more than thirty years ago, just improved year after year. We waved them goodbye as we boarded the plane, totally unaware this would be the last time the four of us would be together. Sitting on the plane, I had time to reflect on my life. Was I really happy? Probably not. Peter and I had somehow drifted apart and didn’t want the same things anymore. At breakfast yesterday, I noticed Henri lean over and kiss Evette tenderly. There were no such tender moments in our relationship. We had been very happy in the early days. When did it all go wrong? Before I had time to draw any conclusions we had started the descent. The flight and car journey home had been uneventful. As I turned the key in the front door, the first thing that greeted me was the stack of post sitting on the hall table. Too tired to consider it, I decided my bed looked more inviting, more inviting than I could ever remember. Staying with friends is great, but to climb into your own bed… heaven! The inevitable pile of washing would have to wait until morning. Jasmine, our faithful Siamese cat, appeared, purring loudly and clearly very pleased to see us. Wednesday Morning 7th August: After a good night’s sleep, I awoke with strange unexplainable sensations in my stomach, as though there were hundreds of butterflies flapping around inside me. Little did I know my life was about to change dramatically. With the washing hanging on the line, I switched the computer on and searched for the story I had started writing the previous year. I searched and searched. What had I filed it under? Then I remembered, the original manuscript and all my notes would be somewhere around. I decided to search in the garage. It must be in here somewhere. Jasmine followed at my heels and I felt her soft coat rub against my leg. She always seemed to anticipate my mood, as though she understood me. “Probably the only one who did,” I muttered to myself. Our next door neighbours had taken good care of her whilst we’d been away and she wouldn’t let me out of her sight. “Hoorah!” I exclaimed. As I moved a pile of old papers, the manuscript fell to the floor, along with all my scribbled notes. Pleased I had found everything without too much difficulty I sat at the computer and eventually found the story. This was my first attempt at being an author and noticing the date on the top I could hardly believe it: August 13th, 2012. Was it really a year ago I started writing the book? Everything had been going well until Aunty Eileen had a fall and ended up on crutches. She needed someone to look after her and that someone was me, of course. No one else volunteered. I love her dearly, but my life was suddenly put on hold. The few weeks of recuperation turned into months and I couldn’t find the time to type, so the book was shelved. “Where have the last twelve months gone?” I asked Jasmine. She replied with a quiet, “Meow”. It’s my birthday in a few days. Yet another year has gone by without much excitement in my dreary life. I’m not interested in Yoga classes or playing Bridge and I’m certainly not ready to spend my days with my feet up knitting or simply watching the television from morning till night. I wondered what women in their late sixties were supposed to do with their time all day. At least now I have a reason to get up in the mornings. I can put all my efforts into typing my book. It’s a romantic story about two teenagers who fall madly in love but things don’t work out for them. One day he disappeared out of her life, without a word and she was heartbroken. She never saw or heard from him again. The beginning of the story was based on my own experience but my book would have a happy ending. “This time I am determined to complete it and no one’s going to stop me,” I said aloud. To refresh my memory, I reread the last few pages I had composed, all those months ago then sat at the computer typing feverishly. Thursday 8th August: It was late in the afternoon as I sat at the computer for a second day. The words were flowing and the book started to progress once more. My train of thought was interrupted when I heard the phone ringing. It rang and rang. Debating whether to answer it, I decided I had little option, as the ringing was getting on my nerves. My best friend Sarah sounded frantic. I had great difficulty understanding her as she shrieked down the phone; “Gillian, Gillian,” she yelled. “You will never believe it, but your name is in the paper.” “Sarah, what are you so excited about? Calm down.” “Your name is in the paper. Your name is in the paper.” “What paper, what are you on about?” “Your name’s in the birthday column of the Frankley Times.” “I don’t buy that paper. So, what does it say?” “Happy Birthday Gillian Davies, from R F 1961.” Somewhat baffled and unable to make any real sense of what she was saying, partly due to her hysterical voice, I pressed her further. “Well, who is R F?” “I’ve no idea”, she replied, “But surely you must know?” “No. I’ve no idea who those initials belong to, but thanks for phoning. I’ll go and buy the paper straight away.” Feeling perturbed, but excited at the same time, I jumped into the car and drove to the petrol station. Armed with the paper, I spread it out on the dining room table and eventually found the birthday column. There it was, jumping out at me, just as Sarah had said. My name, in bold type. Gillian DAVIES Happy Birthday for August 11th From RF (1961) Intrigued: Email address: xxxxx@xxxxx.com Repeating R F over and over again to myself, my head started spinning. Who is R F? At that moment Peter walked into the room. As I stared at the paper, my name, yes, my name, seemed to get bigger and bigger in size the more I looked at it. Gillian DAVIES, Gillian DAVIES, Gillian DAVIES. Why would anyone be wishing me a happy birthday by placing a notice in the paper? It was a complete mystery. My mind had suddenly emptied – 1961. That was over fifty years ago. Still unable to recall those initials, I showed the paper to Peter. As he turned to face me, he spoke with a profound, cynical, all-knowing, tone to his voice. “You know who that is, don’t you?” “No,” I replied, surprised by his aggressive manner. “It’s Robert Fishburn.” My jaw dropped open as I realised what Peter had just said. A long, “Ohhhhhh” slowly emerged, as the realisation dawned on me. Now recalling those initials from my distant past, of course, they could only belong to Robert Fishburn. “You’re not going to answer it are you?” Peter said, in a deep, questioning voice. “Yes,” I replied. “I need to know what he wants after all this time. Perhaps he is dying and it’s his last wish to contact me to make amends.” When I saw those initials R F, why didn’t they resonate with me? After all, Rob was the main character in the book I was writing. Maybe it was because I had deliberately changed the characters’ names and I had given him the name of Johnny. Johnny sounded a good name for a boy who went around breaking young girl’s hearts. After all, I couldn’t put his real name. What if he should read the book and recognise himself. He might try to sue me! Looking at the time, I realised it was too late to phone Sarah back. I decided to wait until the morning before giving her the news. What a surprise she is going to have when she finds out who those initials belong to. I tossed and turned all night, hardly able to sleep a wink, wondering how she will react when I tell her who R F is? Friday Morning 9th August: Unable to wait a moment longer, I reached for the phone. I was at bursting point waiting for Sarah to answer. “Hi Sarah, I’ve had such a restless night”, I began. “Me too. I’ve been awake half the night trying to work out who those initials belong to. First I thought it might be Rosemary Field or that awful Ruth Farmer from school. Do you remember her? She was the one with the big knockers and we couldn’t stand her. Mind you, we were probably jealous. Then I thought that maybe, just maybe, it was a male. My mind’s been on overdrive wondering if it was one of your old flames and perhaps he has two, drop-dead gorgeous, sons. They could be our ‘Toy Boys’; one for you and one for me. Think of all the fun and s*x we could have.” “Oh Sarah, stop that talk, you can’t be serious. Do be sensible. We are both married women and I’ve seen the way you and Ken look into each other’s eyes. It’s not difficult to see how much you love each other. You wouldn’t really want a ‘Toy Boy’ would you?” “Only joking, but at our age, we can pretend, can’t we?” “I’ve discovered who R F is. Now, do you want to know or not?” “Yes of course I do. Put me out of my misery.” “It wasn’t actually me who worked it out. It was, in fact, Peter who recognised those initials. It’s Robert Fishburn.” The line went silent. Then I shook my head, trying to get the ringing out of my ears, as Sarah’s response almost deafened me. “WHAT! Robert Fishburn. You’re joking. What the hell does he want after all these years? You are not going to reply to him, are you?” “Yes,” I answered gently. “Don’t be a fool, Gillian. Don’t you remember the hurt he caused you?” “I know. I know. I was really hurt at the time, but time heals and I need to know what he wants after all these years.” “How can you have forgotten the rotter was not only engaged to you but was engaged to another girl somewhere else and there was a rumour that a third girl was pregnant by him? I remember thinking you’d had a lucky escape.” “Thank you for reminding me, Sarah. I haven’t forgotten all the hurt he caused me but I’m intrigued. I will let you know what he has to say once I have made contact with him.” “You can’t be serious. You can’t reply to him. If you do you are going to get hurt again. I just know it.” Sarah ended the call, but not before giving me a lecture. I’m sure she was only trying to protect me from getting hurt again by Rob, but I need to know why he is trying to contact me after all these years.