What the Heart Desires

by Jaime Derelle

  His contribution to the well-being of the city that never sleeps was no longer inadequate. His contribution was much more and it was with a growing sense of self-worth that he was looking forward to a new year. Maybe a new start.

  The phone call though – oh yes, the phone call – was the signal that matters would accelerate even further than these brief imaginings. As relaxed and at ease with his shifting life’s philosophy as Francis was, the phone call that came his way was immensely problematic, but it was not a client. It was Sam.

  ‘Hey! It’s me,’ she began and not only did she not need to say her name, but he sensed a different tone in her voice immediately. The light-heartedness was gone; there was some kind of mission there, or a need perhaps.

  ‘Sam,’ he replied, warmly (there would be no mission in his voice). ‘Are you after a quotation?’

  ‘Erm… no! Not today.’

  ‘How you doing?’

  ‘Good. I… I want to see you.’

  ‘Sure, when have you got in mind.’

  ‘You work off Livingston Road, yes?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘I’m not far away, can we meet for coffee? If you have a lunch break?’

  ‘Yes!’ She’d already made the journey? ‘Yes of course, they let me out if I ask them nicely. You got anywhere in mind?’

  ‘Erm…?’

  ‘There’s a place on Oxon Hill Road I know, 10 minutes from here.’

  ‘Sound’s great, I’ll be there.’

  ‘1 o’clock?’

  ‘Yeah, great!’

  ‘I’ll call you when I get there if I can’t see you.’

  ‘OK, I’ll see you there.’

  So his question was answered. He would be seeing Sam again before Christmas and within the hour. There was an urgency about her voice. He knew without imagining all scenarios that might have occurred that something had developed and the meeting would be more than casual this time.

  Now he really had to think about it. Was that lingering stare outside her apartment to blame? Truth is he had to hope it was so. The only other possibility was surely that the ‘yearning’ they discussed had returned and her promise to him was being called in. His workplace was a little too close to GW bridge for comfort and he dreaded the idea of Sam’s mental state having deteriorated again, just as he’d begun to think more optimistically on her future.

  Snow was falling thickly outside, but there was nothing for it but to go and find out. There was a sense of déjà vu in that he became annoyed by his own shows again. Usually he only wore them in the car or in the office. Not only were they awful for running fast they offered no grace whatsoever for negotiating slippery pavements. Maybe he should ask Santa for some better footwear if fate was going to turn coming to someone’s aid into a habit.

  On turning the corner onto Oxon Hill Road he saw Sam straightway. She’d even found the coffee bar he had in mind and was standing outside waiting for him. It had been important not to choose one of those in direct proximity to his workplace or gossip of some kind would really have started to spread.

  No great leap was made upon meeting to get to the gist of whatever it was Sam wanted – which was something of a relief. Instead she smiled and thanked him for taking time out of his working day – which was completely fine with him – and they got inside and out of the snow for the beverages that would warm them. Certainly Sam didn’t seem upset in any way and this calmed some of his fears about their proximity to the bridge. She did seem on edge though in a way and, once the steaming coffee was in front of them, he noticed that her hands, although gloved, were shivering. Had she been outside all morning wondering what to do with her day?

  For a time they relaxed and chatted about nothing serious, Sam taking advantage of the hot drink to warm her through.

  ‘You going to need a lift home or something?’ he asked.

  ‘No no, the transport’s easy.’

  ‘I got the impression you wanted to talk about something?’ he went on, but then wondering if it was wise to instigate the conversation. Maybe Sam had changed her mind about something and just wanted to chat after all.

  ‘Francis,’ she began, thoughtfully – and he thought she might have changed her mind about what she wanted to say. ‘How old did you say your kids are?’

  ‘Nine, seven and five; two boys and a girl.’

  ‘And… you have a big family?’

  ‘Not really, Chloe does. Lots of cousins.’

  ‘I wondered… You said you were fed up of your work?’

  ‘Only as much as most people are, I think. Oh, I’m not trying to dismiss it but it’s not exactly a rare thing to hear someone say.’

  ‘I just wondered if… If there was a bit more to it though. I don’t want to pry about things at home, but… I hear a lot about loveless marriages and things and…’

  After saying this he sensed her wish she hadn’t, momentarily looking away embarrassed. But instead of looking to deny what she said, which was going a bit far, he asked, ‘Sam, what’s brought all this on? And don’t worry, you can ask me anything.’

  ‘I was just thinking about what in life could make you happy, Francis?’

  ‘Sam, I’m not in a loveless marriage,’ he replied. ‘It’s just that things get so busy at times. You spend all your hours organising things for the children that you forget to enjoy having them, or any time to yourselves.’

  ‘You wonder when the next time will come when you’ll have a day that’s different,’ she responded, trying to show that she understood.

  ‘Wise beyond your years, Sam,’ he reminded her. ‘But you don’t have to repay me by trying to fix my life. Don’t get me wrong, there aren’t many people I’d ask for advice but in the short time we’ve known each other you’ve definitely become one of them. You don’t have to come all the way down here for that though; aren’t you supposed to be working on a Monday?’

  As he spoke he felt the tension Sam had been giving off relax a little, but would soon find out it was not because he was putting her mind at rest. She had been working up to say something to him and just coming out with it didn’t feel appropriate. Not until they were intimate, in a sense at least. Like they had been on Thursday night when she inadvertently fell into his arms.

  ‘Thing is,’ she began, leaning forward but keeping her eyes mostly on her coffee – occasionally flicking them upwards to make eye contact. ‘Thing is, maybe I can thank you after all for all you’ve done. Thing is, maybe you’re the best thing to ever happen to me. Thing is, maybe I’m in love with you…’

  ‘Sam, I’m not a psychologist,’ Francis replied, after taking a few seconds to collect his thoughts, ‘but I doubt it’s unusual to develop strong feelings for someone who’s helped you out of a tough situation.’

  ‘Yes, but we also established the other day that I’m not the only one who doesn’t know my own mind. Thing is, I think this might be the only thing I do know.’

  ‘You’re twenty years old, Sam. You know what people would say of me; they’d say I took advantage.’

  ‘And I say that if God knew what he was doing then we’d be the same age and you wouldn’t be married. I respect marriage, Francis but… if you’re unhappy, I’d respect it much less. Yours anyway.’

  ‘Life makes you unhappy sometimes. It doesn’t mean you hate each other,’ or decide to kill yourself, he thought but didn’t say.

  ‘And what if we were outside my place again and not in this coffee shop?’ she asked. ‘What if you were looking into my silly eyes again like you were on Thursday and I invited you in? What would you do then; would you feel the same way?’

  To this Francis didn’t have an answer. Up until then he thought he had responded in a calmer and more level-headed fashion than he would have imagined after her confession. Of course, he should have said ‘No’; that it couldn’t be. But he didn’t. They were looking into each other’s eyes again as they had on the stairs and so were right back in that instinctive moment; love and affection ur
ging them on, life and loyalty holding them back.

  When at last he spoke he was amazed at the lack of awkwardness he felt. Who knows if she was right about God, but without a doubt he didn’t imagine ever tiring of her company. If circumstance had been different and something more was possible then he would be among the luckiest men alive.

  ‘I’ve never met anyone quite like you Sam,’ he told her. ‘I’m mad at the world for treating you so bad and hate turning you down, but I can’t risk hurting my family. That’s regardless of what might be going on in my head when a young lady accidentally throws herself into my arms.’

  After their intense moment it was a relief to see her smile and that they could still joke together. Impossible as it was to tell in what capacity he and Sam would know and think of each other moving forward, his wish was that the trust they had developed would outlast any attempts the world had made to place barriers in their way. She deserved something more from life and, although she might not have known it at that moment, there would be better offers out there.

  ‘You’re far too good-looking a girl for me to be having this conversation with anyway,’ he told her. ‘This isn’t how it’s supposed to work. I’m supposed to make a desperate pass at you in a vain attempt to recapture my youth and you’re supposed to let me down lightly.’

  ‘Well, thankfully I don’t have to do that,’ she replied, ‘coz I’d fail.’

  After she’d spoken these last words, Sam’s hand moved to her coat pocket and she withdrew something wrapped in paper. The conversation she’d wanted to have had played out – who knows what she really wanted the result to be? Surely she did not wish to rip Francis’s marriage apart, even in her most desperate state. A mind that has been devoid of hope does not always know what to hope for when it tries again. But she’d had the conversation she intended to have and let fate decide, just as it seemed to have been doing all along.

  ‘I have something for you,’ she told him. ‘A thank-you present.’

  After she’d spoken, Sam placed the wrapped object on the table in front of him and he proceeded to unwrap it, not knowing what to say. Inside was a fridge magnet and he had to return her gaze with raised eyebrows for what was depicted on it; an image of the Great Washington Bridge of all things.

  His reaction was perhaps predictable and it made her smile. Did you have to? he was clearly thinking.

  ‘I thought you could have something in your house to remind you of me at any time. To remind you that you’re brave and noble and that someone out there thinks you’re just the best thing on earth – wherever I happen to be.’

  Francis could have shed a tear for how touched he was. Not so much by the fridge magnet but by the words that accompanied them, which the souvenir had given her a chance to voice.

  ‘I’ll see it every day and think of you,’ Francis replied. ‘Chloe will just have to imagine why it means so much to me.’

  ‘We share some secrets then,’ Sam said smiling. ‘Just not any to tear a marriage apart.’

  ‘Do I sense from those last words of yours that you might be considering a change of scenery?’

  ‘Ha! You’re unbelievable, I say it again,’ she replied. ‘Possibly. Truth is I don’t know, but I’m looking into it. The United States is such a big country, I never really thought about it. Imposing really, but I think I might like to see more of it.’

  ‘Explore the fly-over country?’

  ‘That’s right. Maybe Canada, who knows?’

  ‘You speak any French?’

  ‘Only poorly, but who cares? I used to care about every little thing. I think that was my downfall.’

  ‘Well I wouldn’t change you for the world.’

  Their meeting ended with normal relations resumed, it seemed. Sam’s confession had not led to any extreme awkwardness that might bring an end to their friendship. She’d got what she wanted to say off her chest and if anything the bond between them was strengthened, knowing how deep their feelings for each other had run so quickly. Francis’s commitment to his marriage was respected though and Sam gave off the impression that the status quo was something she could live with.

  They agreed they would see each other soon; if not before Christmas then early in the New Year, and that was the end of their love affair.

  Chapter 5

  Or so Francis would have written in his diary – if he kept one. Indeed, his thoughts on the matter over the following day or two could have been described as slightly smug, in contrast to the ‘noble’ label that Sam had given him. Men are often characterised by feminists in the media as being selfish creatures that jump into bed with other women than their partners as soon as they are given the opportunity. Well, Francis had been given such an opportunity with a young and beautiful woman, whom he now admitted that he loved very much. Did men-haters overlook the ability of the opposite sex to control their libido because there were no statistics available for when conversations like the one he’d had with Sam took place? Or was he nobler than other men after all?

  Whatever the truth might be, if Francis planned on going through life thinking all high and mighty of himself then he would have to equally admit to being unworthy of such a tag considering the endeavour he undertook on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day too. His behaviour – what might appear to some to be a complete change of mind and intention – can probably be explained by noting that he was having a good day when he last met Sam on Oxon Hill Road. Her proposal was received by a healthy state of mind. Once Christmas week came, however, Francis was not having a good day. Did not have a healthy state of mind.

  No doubt saving Sam’s life on GW Bridge had temporarily relieved him of the many stresses that were dragging him down and making him feel ill at the time. In retrospect, it is likely he had not realised how much his environs had become something like Cloud Nine as a result of that day. The problem with bliss of that sort is that the mind can forget the miseries of its default state and is unprepared for returning to them. At some point there was to be a come down and, from the lofty position Francis had climbed to, it is completely normal that a hate of some kind would accompany him as a new companion.

  He did not see this coming at all. With getting to know Sam, for the first time in many years he fancied the Christmas spirit was upon him. How could such a feeling of elation not last out the festivities? But in reality that positive feeling didn’t last long at all.

  A struggle of will began to form probably because of what he had now given up. If turning down the advances of a beautiful woman made him feel smug for a few days, then it soon changed to annoyance a few more days later. Every daily irritation was met with a reflection that a simpler life had been offered to him; every time he felt underappreciated he thought of someone who would appreciate him.

  A growing sense of self-awareness was also crucial in this regard and very soon Francis was sipping on a perfect concoction for completely changing his mind. It wasn’t just having Sam declare her love for him that led to this, but also the conversation they’d had on Jim’s birthday night. Lightly she’d prodded him about his life satisfaction and the give and take of a marriage. Back then he’d defended it but had since begun to scrutinise his relationship with Chloe in far greater depth. ‘Sacrifice’ was what he had called it; and isn’t sacrifice noble. Take a noble word and twist it, however, and all of a sudden life can be seen in a different light. ‘Unreasonable’ was another way of describing some of the demands Chloe placed on him, if one took an unkind view. All of a sudden he found his judgement of their marriage changing. From one that demanded a role a good husband should fill to one in which he was being taken for granted.

  That numbness present on the night he’d met Sam had returned, laced with the hatred that came from knowing there was something better and that this didn’t have to be his lot. At every demand and complaint he found his imagination picturing Sam standing before him instead, smiling and filling his being with a warm and luscious glow as he knew it could. As he knew it might if he
got down from his high horse and behaved like those other men – the ones feminists complain about in the newspapers. The ones that seemed to give every other heterosexual man a bad reputation whether he deserves it or not. So far he did not, but if he couldn’t soon locate the respect in his marriage he’d always believed he had regardless of what he felt, then he might find that reputation preferable. The problem was he needed to feel something now. Putting up with the numbness again was a fate he couldn’t fall into. What was the point in taking a step forward just to go back to where you were originally? All his supportive words to Sam during her time of need were focused on helping her take such a step. He’d be going against his own advice to accept being put back in his place.

  Discontent placed his imagination on overdrive. He recalled that moment on the steps outside Sam’s apartment when she fell into his arms, accept this time he didn’t just stare back, this time he leaned in and kissed her on the lips. An advance and an embrace time had taught him would have been reciprocated. What then? Would she have taken him by the hand, fluttered her eyelashes and beckoned him inside. He pictured it so. So far he had resisted imagining anything more lustful than what could be shown in one of the Christmas family romances his wife and children had been watching on TV every evening, but it was only a matter of time.