The First Time We Met: An utterly heart-warming and unforgettable love story

by Jo Lovett

  I also need to thank you for your advice with regard to my work-life balance. I reacted badly at the time. And I’m sorry for that; your words hit straight to the core of my dilemma, and I felt too trapped to be able to do anything about it. But it got me thinking. Eventually, I took the decision to resign. Best thing I’ve done for years (other than getting in touch with you way back in May. Can’t believe that was nearly seven months ago).

  Secondly, I should say again that I’ve missed you.

  I’d very much like to know how you’ve been. I’d love to hear more about how Ruby’s doing, Emma and Rohan, your “new experiences.” Are you still painting and climbing? Have you tried anything else? I’d love more recipe conversations.

  I’d like to tell you how Liv’s doing, about my coaching Barney’s basketball team (and realizing that if he wants to be an artist when he grows up—his latest thing—that’s cool), about my fortieth birthday (yup, old), about my cooking expertise (poor but improving—last week the kids and I cooked Thanksgiving Dinner for fourteen with only minimal input from my mother), about my friends, my running.

  Basically, I’d like to hear everything about your life and I’d like to tell you everything about mine.

  Also, and very importantly, there’s something that I never told you.

  I love you.

  I’m going to be in London next week and I wondered if you would be free to meet?

  S x

  Woah.

  Woah.

  She’d been wrong. It was going to take a long time to move on from that.

  She needed to read it again, paragraph by paragraph.

  She needed to think about it, paragraph by paragraph. And sentence by sentence. Especially that tiny but momentous second-to-last sentence.

  It was actually too big to take in now.

  She opened her salad and got cutlery out of her desk drawer. The salad was too poncy. Pomegranate seeds were really hard to fork up.

  Sam had said he loved her. And he missed her.

  The salad was tasty, and she was getting the knack with the seeds now. She munched and thought, and munched and thought. Her mind was working very slowly.

  It was wonderful news about Barney. She obviously wanted to reply to that. But she could email Barney directly.

  She munched some more.

  Sam wanted to meet her next week. She couldn’t. It was too much. What if he told her he loved her in person? What if she admitted she loved him too? How would she get over that? It wasn’t like they could have an actual relationship. For practical reasons as well as the fact that she couldn’t compete with Lana.

  He obviously still missed her. There were all the photos in the apartment, and all the times he’d mentioned how much he’d cared about her. It was bad enough being second-best as a daughter; Izzy definitely didn’t want to be second-best as a lover.

  Her desk phone buzzed. Damn. One thirty. She wasn’t ready at all for her next appointment. She’d been sitting with her fork suspended in mid-air and hadn’t finished her salad or even started her Hula Hoops.

  ‘Sorry, sorry, give me two minutes,’ she told the receptionist, hoovering food into her mouth. She’d re-read the email later. And do some more thinking. Her head was already aching.

  Izzy still had the headache when Emma and Rohan arrived that evening. She really wasn’t pleased to see them. If there was one thing she did not need tonight, it was choir practice, or for Emma to ask about her love life.

  This was Emma and Izzy’s third new experience. Last week had been their first choir session, and it had not matched up to painting or climbing. They’d signed up long-term to monthly painting now, and they both still loved it; and they were going fortnightly to climbing, to a non-singles session, which was great too.

  Choir was different.

  ‘Ready to sing?’ Emma walked into the kitchen with what had to be fake bounciness given the frostiness there’d been between them recently. Emma had made it very clear that she didn’t think Izzy should be getting back with Dominic, and Izzy had not appreciated that, even if Emma had been right in the end.

  ‘Yes, I am!’ Izzy tried really hard to smile and sound exclamation-mark-happy.

  ‘You alright?’ Rohan asked.

  ‘Yes, just a bit of a headache after helping to supervise school swim club. You know how you always feel fluey when you’ve been in a jumper at boiling hot baths.’

  ‘Yes, supervising school swimming’s shit,’ Emma said, totally buying it, hoorah. ‘So screamy as well, with all their voices echoing off the walls. I haven’t had to do swim club at all since I became deputy head, thank God. Awful. Right. Ready to go?’

  ‘So how are you?’ Emma asked when they were sitting in the car on the way to the church hall where their Messiah practice was taking place. Unusually, they hadn’t seen each other for a couple of weeks. ‘How’s Dominic?’

  ‘Okay,’ Izzy lied. She turned her windscreen wipers on to clear away the sleet that was falling.

  Emma left a big silence, obviously wanting Izzy to fill it with facts about Dominic and the weekend. Izzy said nothing.

  Emma started burbling about how much fun choir practice was going to be. Bullshit. It was not.

  * * *

  The other ‘choristers’ – as the choirmaster, a very annoying thin and brown-suited man called Mr Daniels, called them – were all apparently in jovial mood, keen to get going on some warm-up arpeggios.

  ‘Izzy, not putting enough welly in, on your own now, please,’ Mr Daniels said. Why did he use their Christian names while they had to Mister him? Were they twelve years old?

  Izzy thought about walking out and decided that that would be rude to Emma, so she had a go at belting some notes out.

  ‘Better,’ Mr Daniels said. ‘I’d like a bit more enthusiasm, though, please, Izzy.’ Izzy glared at him.

  Many, many vocal exercises and boring, boring repetitions of bits of the Messiah, and extreme, extreme enthusiasm from Mr Daniels and the other choristers later, they’d reached their half-time break.

  ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ Emma asked. They’d snuck round the back of the hall, away from everyone else. Like being at school and sneaking off for an illicit smoke or a snog, minus the cigarettes and the boys. Izzy looked at Emma’s lovely, familiar, beautifully scarlet-lipsticked, un-chorister-like face and thought about telling her about everything. It would be a relief to be back on best-friend terms and it would be a relief to talk – a problem shared. But it would also be hard to say things out loud. And Mr Daniels had been very strict about their break being fifteen minutes only.

  ‘Izzy,’ roared Mr Daniels, ten minutes later. His skinny frame apparently concealed exceedingly powerful lungs. ‘Please. Put. More. Effort. In.’

  ‘Mr Daniels,’ Izzy said. ‘I am doing my best.’

  ‘Really?’

  Izzy picked her coat up. ‘Goodbye.’ She was pleased to see Mr Daniels’ mouth hanging open and his very prominent Adam’s apple bobbing up and down like nobody’s business as she left.

  Emma was in the car passenger seat next to her within two minutes.

  ‘Izzy. I don’t have time to talk about how much I enjoyed the look on Mr Daniels’ face. I want to know what’s wrong. Please tell me. It can’t be good for you to be bottling whatever it is up and I know there’s something wrong and it isn’t just a headache. I’ve known you very, very well for twenty-six years and I know you’re miserable. What’s happened?’

  ‘Emma. People don’t have to tell each other everything. Did you tell me about shagging Rohan on the side for years and years? No, you did not. I do not have to share every single thing in my life with you.’ Wow. She’d lost it with Mr Daniels and now Emma. And, no, definitely not, she wasn’t going to apologise.

  Emma didn’t say anything for a minute or two. They both sat staring out of the windscreen at the church car park wall.

  ‘You’re right,’ Emma said eventually, still looking straight ahead. ‘I’m sorry. And I’m sorr
y for nagging you. Of course you don’t have to talk to me about anything if you don’t want to. I think best friends should always be there for each other and they should also give each other space if they want it. Sorry, Izzy.’

  ‘I’m sorry too. Really sorry.’ Izzy turned round and put her arms out. ‘Can we have a hug?’

  ‘No need to apologise and yes please.’ They squished into a big hug.

  ‘Ow,’ said Emma after a while. ‘Is that the gear stick or are you just really turned on by me?’

  And then they both honked with laughter, for ages, at one of the worst jokes ever made.

  When they’d stopped laughing and she could see straight again, Izzy put her keys into the ignition but didn’t turn the engine on. Then she took the keys out again.

  ‘So, Sam sent me an email telling me he loves me.’

  ‘Izzy. Oh. My. God. Sam loves you. Oh, Izzy. That’s huge. I’m so happy for you. Oh my goodness.’ Emma flung her arms round Izzy again.

  ‘I’m not sure it’s something to be happy about.’

  ‘But he’s The One! Your One.’ Emma’s arms dropped a little.

  ‘Oh, please.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Basically, we kissed and then we argued and stopped speaking, then I got back together with Dominic, we split up on Monday and Sam emailed and said he loved me.’

  ‘What? You never told me any of this.’ Emma held her hands up as Izzy glanced sharply at her. ‘Which I obviously cannot complain about. I’m just sorry if you haven’t had anyone to talk to and if I haven’t seemed supportive. How are you feeling about Dominic?’

  ‘Yes, it was the right thing to separate for good. Which I know you agree with.’

  ‘So you’re okay about breaking up with him? Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes. It’s sad because it’s the end of an era and in a perfect world we’d be together forever because of Ruby, but I’m not in love with him.’

  ‘Okay, well, firstly, congratulations on making a very difficult – but I think sensible – decision. That can’t have been easy. And Sam? Do you love him?’

  ‘Yes. I do.’ It was a relief to say it out loud.

  ‘So now what?’

  ‘Well. He’s coming to London next week and he wants to meet.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Well, it’s ridiculous isn’t it? He lives in New York. I live here. So we can’t have a relationship. How would it work? Would we just carry on emailing? Or Skype or Zoom each other? Watch the same Netflix show and message each other at the same time?’ Plus the second-best-to-Lana thing.

  ‘People do manage long-distance relationships, though, don’t they?’ Emma gave Izzy another hug.

  ‘Well, even if we lived in the same place I don’t think it would be a good idea for us to get together, for various reasons. So there’s no point meeting.’

  ‘So don’t meet him then?’

  ‘I think I want closure, though.’

  ‘So meet him then?’

  ‘Maybe I will.’ Closure was very important.

  Thirty-Three

  Sam

  ‘You seem distracted.’ Ash was apparently unaffected by the sprint finish to their lunchtime run.

  When Sam had stopped panting and straightened up, he said, ‘Always something going on.’ He couldn’t talk about Izzy. It felt too raw still. And, really, what to say? Met a woman, fell in love, missed several opportunities, told her I loved her too late.

  He wished that she had at least replied to the email he’d sent a few days ago.

  He looked behind Ash at the Christmas lights twinkling in the large tree outside their office building. Offensively cheerful, really.

  Sam wasn’t feeling a lot of seasonal joy this week.

  * * *

  Showered and back in his suit, he checked his personal emails automatically.

  Izzy had finally replied.

  Hi Sam,

  That’s lovely news about Barney – thank you for letting me know. I’m so proud of him – he’s done brilliantly.

  And congratulations on your resignation!

  I should be free to meet next week if you’d like to?

  Izzy

  Yes. He was going to take that as a win.

  Hey,

  Great to hear from you.

  I’m very flexible next week. When would be good for you?

  S

  Hi,

  Would you be able to meet during the day on Wednesday?

  Izzy

  He didn’t know exactly what he was going to say when he saw Izzy but he did know that he was going to be counting down the days until Wednesday.

  Sam checked the weather app on his phone again. It was definitely going to rain, heavily, for the whole of the time that he and Izzy were supposed to be walking in the park this morning. That was London in December for you. He didn’t want to try to switch their meeting place, though. There was a risk that Izzy might call it off altogether. What he needed was a large umbrella. They could both shelter under it. That would be nice. Romantic, even.

  There was a department store across the road from his hotel. Fortunately, they sold golf umbrellas. Sam bought the largest one he could find, a very expensive novelty Christmas one, which was sixty-two inches in diameter, so there would definitely be space for both of them under it without it looking as though he was purposely trying to stand too close to Izzy.

  Umbrellas had to be great for kissing under, actually. You wouldn’t have both your hands free, unless you could balance the umbrella between you – no, that wouldn’t work, so, no, you wouldn’t have both your hands – but you’d still have one arm free for a hug, and it would be nice, because you’d be cocooned in your own little blue-and-green-striped Santa world, just the two of you.

  Actually, now he thought about it, it was pretty good news that it was going to be raining. He’d very happily spend a lot of time under this umbrella with Izzy. It was going to have been seventy-five pounds very well spent.

  Sam was early for their meeting just inside Holland Park, near a remarkably rain-resistant, very attractively tinsel-and-bauble-bedecked fir.

  There were no rain surprises this morning; the weather forecasters had been spot on with their predictions. It was coming down in sheets, as though the heavens were throwing skip load after skip load of water over everyone.

  Sam was wearing a suit, an overcoat and brogues, because he had some meetings – catching up with London contacts – arranged for the afternoon, although if by any chance his meeting with Izzy went well this morning, and she had time, he would absolutely cancel this afternoon’s meetings to spend more time with her. Or this evening’s dinner. Anything. Everything. His shoes were quite new, and surprisingly waterproof so far, and the enormous umbrella was doing its job, so he was pretty dry all over.

  Izzy arrived a couple of minutes late, hurrying towards him along the path from the Kensington High Street gate, wearing a long, jade green coat, belted tightly, and dark-brown leather, long, slim boots, and carrying a red umbrella. Quite a small red umbrella, not really big enough for two people, unless they were standing very close to each other.

  Also not really big enough to keep one average-sized woman dry in rain of this nature, especially given the periodic gusts of wind that caused the rain to drive sideways; she was already really quite wet. Her hair was beautifully mussed by the wind and her pale cheeks were slightly flushed, as though she’d been hurrying.

  Sam felt himself break into a spontaneous grin as she approached. He wanted to drop his own umbrella, knock hers out of the way, pick her up and swing her round and round, press her against him, hold her, feel her warmth and her hair, touch her face, and kiss her for a long, long time.

  Instead, a lot more appropriately for the situation, he just said, ‘Hey.’

  Would it be alright to kiss her cheek?

  It would be awkward, given their umbrellas. Now it didn’t seem quite so clever to have bought such an enormous one. He held his higher, so that i
t went above Izzy’s, so that she could come closer to him. She didn’t move.

  ‘Hello,’ she said. He loved her voice. It was at exactly the right pitch. Very musical.

  ‘Thank you for agreeing to meet.’

  She didn’t reply. Stupidly, he hadn’t thought that it would be difficult to get this conversation going. He took a step sideways and tilted his neck to get the right angle to see her under her umbrella. Izzy still didn’t say anything; she just looked at him.

  ‘How’s your morning been?’ he asked.

  ‘Very wet, actually. Yours?’

  ‘Also wet. I didn’t bring an umbrella with me, so I was very lucky that the store opposite the hotel was selling these.’

  ‘It’s certainly got all umbrella bases covered. I think it might be the biggest one I’ve ever seen.’

  ‘Yeah, no-one’s going to get wet under here. So how’s Ruby?’

  ‘Very well, thank you. Very keen on ballet and netball at the moment. And stationery.’

  ‘All great things to be keen on.’

  ‘Indeed. And how are Liv and Barney?’

  ‘They’re doing great, thanks. Barney, you know about. His debating anyway. Things have got a lot better for him socially as a result of his improved speaking confidence, and he’s reconnected with old friends and made new ones. I can’t tell you how delighted I am, and how grateful. And Liv, physically all’s good, and I’m navigating our relationship better now that we have more quality time together.’

  ‘I’m so pleased for all three of you. And congratulations again on resigning.’

  ‘Yeah, it was a good decision. Huge, but it felt great once I’d done it. I have you to thank for that too.’

  Izzy shook her head. ‘I’m sure you’d have made the decision without my input. I’m sorry again for how I phrased things that evening.’

  ‘Hey, no, you were absolutely right.’ Sam reached his left hand out towards Izzy. She didn’t take it. After a moment he put it in his pocket. And then on the umbrella handle, to join his right hand. The umbrella was astonishingly heavy. He worked out and usually thought of himself as pretty strong. How would a small, unfit person even hold this umbrella? It was heavy and it was a very annoying physical barrier between the two of them. It was starting to feel like seventy-five pounds very badly spent. Although he was at least still dry.