by Dani Atkins
‘But this is next week,’ I had said, examining the date on the tickets.
He had smiled at me across the flickering candlelight. ‘It is.’
‘But what about my work?’
‘Sorted.’
‘And yours? You said you were going on a business trip next week.’
He raised his glass of champagne and took a sip. ‘Well, that just proves you can’t believe everything I ever tell you, Birthday Girl,’ he said, his eyes twinkling.
Something I hadn’t wanted to intrude on this perfect moment, nudged me from the depths of my subconscious. This wasn’t the time to let her in, so I shut the door on my fears, as I’d done so many times before.
David and I had been dating for eight months. Just eight months. There might be those who thought we’d been together much longer than that. But they’d be wrong. They’d been wrong all along. It was a long time after Graduation before David and I met again, at Mike’s wedding of all places. Mike, the perennial player, the guy you could never see settling down, had met his German girlfriend, fallen in love and proposed within an astonishingly short period of time.
I’d been surprised to receive a wedding invitation. Although David and I had exchanged the occasional text and email, I’d had no contact with anyone else from the house since the day we had all worn our black gowns and thrown our mortar board hats high into the air for the obligatory photograph.
To be honest, I hadn’t even been sure I would go to Mike and Marietta’s wedding, because there were some memories that were best kept securely hidden under lock and key. And those last months, after the ‘Ally Incident’ – as it had forever been named in my mind – was one of them.
But, even while Good Charlotte, Sensible Charlotte, I’ve-Moved-on Charlotte was planning to decline, Hopeful-Romantic Charlotte had already sent back her acceptance card. And thank God I did, because that was the day when a new and wonderful part of my life had first begun, in a pink-festooned wedding marquee, when David had crossed the wooden floor to the table where I was sitting, held out his hand, and asked me if I would dance with him. The song was an old classic, Roberta Flack’s The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face, and it was still playing when he’d bent his head to kiss me. I had kept my eyes open until the very last second, still looking for a trace of her, or the grief she had left behind in his eyes. But there was none.
It had become ‘our’ song, and it was only a long time later that David confessed that it hadn’t been random chance that the song, with the lyrics that told our story with such heart-touching accuracy, had been cued up to play. He’d requested it. It was the first romantic thing he had ever done for me. But it wasn’t the last.
New York had been an exhausting whirlwind. David had been before, but it was my first time and he was determined I should see it all. By the third day of our stay I was beginning to flag. We had managed to squeeze in the Empire State Building, a very chilly boat tour around the island, and a visit to Chinatown already that day, and I wasn’t sure I had the stamina for the late afternoon trip to the Rockefeller Center that was next on our itinerary.
‘Would you mind terribly if we didn’t do it today?’ I asked, as we grabbed a late lunch in a diner that looked so familiar I was sure it must have featured in a movie I’d seen. But then I’d felt that for the whole trip – practically everywhere we went, it felt like Hollywood had taken me there before.
David had been studying his map, plotting the course to our next destination. He folded it carefully before looking up. There was a hopeful look on my face. ‘We could always just head back to the hotel . . . and fool around?’ I suggested, feeling sure he would definitely agree to any plan that ended up with us in bed together. And the feeling was far from being one-sided. Each time he held me against him, I trembled like it was my first time. And, amazingly, it just kept getting better and better.
But surprisingly, he didn’t agree. ‘I thought you said you were tired.’
‘No one is ever that tired,’ I flipped back at him with a smile.
There was a light burning in his eyes, a light I recognised, it was the one that always lit a companion fire deep within me. But this time he doused it. ‘Actually, I’d really been looking forward to this afternoon,’ he said. ‘Are you sure you’re not trying to cry off because you’re scared I’ll out-skate you?’
I smiled and took another bite from the foot-long hot dog that I was determined to finish. ‘That’s never going to happen. I skate better than I ski, you know,’ I said confidently, wiping traces of ketchup from my lips with a paper serviette. ‘I was just wondering if we could switch it to tomorrow, that’s all.’
David shook his head, and there was a look of disappointment in his eyes. ‘Our schedule is pretty full for tomorrow, and I’ve got tickets for the four-thirty session today. We’d probably have to queue for ages if we want to change it.’ It was his trump card; he knew how I hated to queue in the cold.
‘Oh well, never mind. Let’s go today, as planned,’ I said, getting to my feet as he paid the bill. ‘Just remember when you’re nursing all those bruises later on, that you turned down my naked body to get them.’
He smiled, and I thought there was a small glimmer of relief on his face. ‘Actually, I’m looking forward to having both the bruises and you in my bed later. You just might have to be gentle with me,’ he teased, looping an arm around my neck and pulling me towards him for a quick kiss.
The rink was crowded, but the moment we glided out onto the ice I was glad he had persuaded me to come. There was something truly magical about the place. I wasn’t sure if it was the enormous Christmas tree, twinkling in the dark afternoon with a thousand coloured lights, or the gilded statue of Prometheus, or the bubbling illuminated fountains. Perhaps it was a combination of all three. We weren’t the only ones to be captivated by our surroundings. There was a similar look on virtually every stranger’s face as we skated past: a warmth, a camaraderie, a feeling of Christmas and excitement.
David was actually far more proficient on the ice than he’d led me to believe, confessing with a wry grin that he’d actually been on the ice hockey team in the first year of university. He took my gloved hand in his and skilfully manoeuvred us past the families, the couples, and the many tourists who had all flocked here for the same reason we had done. Or so I thought.
Christmas music played through the many speakers positioned around the rink, and the festive atmosphere was infectious, not just amongst the skaters who bumped, jostled and stumbled all around us, but also in the thousands of onlookers watching the rink from all sides.
Our ninety-minute session was drawing to a close when the first soft flakes of snow began to fall. I looked up at the night sky, beyond the two hundred flagpoles with the United Nations flags that ringed the rink, and watched the falling flakes. I could feel them settling gently on my upturned face, jewelling the tips of my eyelashes like crystals.
‘You look like a snow queen,’ David whispered, skating up behind me.
‘Aren’t they meant to be wicked and evil?’
‘You’re not wicked,’ he whispered into my ear. I could think of at least one person who wouldn’t agree with him, but the last thing I was going to do was let her intrude on this perfect moment. I already carried her around with me far more than was good or healthy. Far more, perhaps, than even David did, I acknowledged for the first time. And wouldn’t Freud have an absolute field day with that one.
‘Will all guests please clear the ice for ice resurfacing,’ boomed a request from the address system, marking the end of our session, and although I was sad it was over, I was secretly looking forward to getting inside in the warm.
‘Let the crowds go first,’ suggested David, sliding his arm around my waist and steering us out of the throng of skaters shuffling towards the exits. ‘Come on, we’ll sneak in one last circuit now that it’s emptying.’ We glided away from the crowd, and without the threat of mowing down less experienced skaters beneath our blades, we we
re able to build up speed.
There were fewer people left on the ice, and I glanced anxiously at a red-jacketed official as we whistled past him at the edge of the rink.
‘Shouldn’t we get off now? They’re going to tell us off in a minute.’
‘We’re fine,’ David assured me.
The snow was falling a little harder now, settling on the ice, covering the scores left by a thousand skaters, making the surface look clean, fresh and pristine. A new beginning. I smiled at the fanciful notion, and felt David’s grip tighten on my waist as we skated around the perimeter in perfect harmony.
‘Close your eyes,’ he said gently.
‘What? While skating? I don’t think so. I’ll fall.’
‘No you won’t. I won’t let you,’ he said, and there was a huskiness in his voice that wasn’t there before. ‘Do you trust me?’
‘More than anyone in the world,’ I said, suddenly strangely choked and emotional.
‘Then close your eyes.’
I did as he asked, letting his body keep me safe, his eyes guide me through the darkness.
‘I love you,’ he whispered into the curtain of blonde hair billowing back from my face as we skated. He’d said the words before, many times, but there was something in them that felt different this time.
‘I love you too,’ I replied, turning my face to his and opening my eyes. The rink was now completely empty except for the two of us, but I didn’t see that. I couldn’t see anything beyond the expression on his face as he looked at me. If I live to be a hundred years or more, I swear I will die with the memory of that look burned into my heart.
The speakers, which had been silent as the rink emptied, now gave a small crackle as the opening strains of a song began to play. I recognised it from the first poignant guitar chords.
‘It’s our—’
But I never got to finish that sentence, because he had brought us both to a halt directly in front of the sparkling Christmas tree, and with both my hands in his, he went down on one knee before me.
I know now that a rousing cheer went up from the thousand or so onlookers, because I’ve seen it on the DVD they gave us, but I never heard it. I heard nothing at all except David’s words as his brilliant blue eyes, so full of love, looked up at me.
‘Charlotte, I can’t imagine a life without you in it, and I don’t want to. The last eight months have been so incredible and wonderful. I love you so much, and I will spend the rest of my days proving that to you.’ Very gently he tugged the glove from my left hand. ‘I want to dream with you, make memories with you, grow old with you. Please let me do that. Please say you’ll marry me.’
There was a ring between his fingers; he held it poised above my finger. Waiting. I could hardly speak, but I forced my reply past the emotion that threatened to choke me, because he had earned the right to hear my words.
‘Yes, yes, yes. A thousand yeses.’
David’s eyes were sparkling, more brightly than the stars above us, as he slid the diamond in place. He got to his feet, and pulled me into his arms. ‘I promise I will never leave you, never hurt you, never do a single thing to make you regret saying yes,’ he whispered huskily. He kissed me then, with such warmth and passion that I was surprised the ice beneath our feet didn’t melt clean away.
Charlotte
The door opened, and a tired-looking orderly stood in the frame. ‘Patient for Radiography?’
‘Yes, that’s us,’ confirmed the nurse, moving to the bank of monitors and beginning to prepare David for transportation. ‘If you would just like to say goodbye to your husband, Mrs Williams, we will take him up and let you know as soon as we get back.’
‘I can’t go with him?’ I asked shakily, getting to my feet.
‘I’m so sorry, but no,’ she apologised. ‘Regulations. But we’ll come and get you from the Relatives’ Room the very moment he is settled again.’
The orderly was standing behind me, impatiently shifting his weight from one foot to the other, clearly anxious to go. Somewhere there was probably a wife and family waiting for him to come home. For a moment I envied him the simplicity of his life. The nurses were working swiftly, in clockwork precision, as they unhooked, unplugged and disconnected equipment I had a horrible feeling I was soon to become far more familiar with than I could ever have imagined.
I bent down low, and although David’s eyes were still closed, I had to believe he could hear me. ‘I’ll be waiting for you. Right here.’ I kissed his lips, tasting the saltiness of my tears as they fell onto them. ‘I still remember the promise you made me six years ago. I just hope you do too.’
His eyes opened then, weakly, as though even that was too much effort. Very slowly he nodded.
Chapter 4
Ally
The noise of the door opening jerked me back from my memories as though I’d been sucked out of a vortex. A very different Charlotte entered the room. This one walked slower, her feet hesitant as though they barely remembered how to do it. With unseeing eyes she felt her way along the back of the row of chairs and sat down heavily. She positioned herself at an angle, facing away from me and looking out sightlessly on the window with no view. I saw her slide a hand into her expensive-looking handbag and withdraw a small bundle of tissues which she concealed within her clenched palm.
She looked shell-shocked, and despite myself and everything I had sworn to feel or not feel over the years, it simply wasn’t within me to remain silent.
‘Is . . . is everything alright?’ That had to be a strong contender for the most ridiculous question anyone had ever asked. It was patently obvious that nothing at all about this night was alright, for either of us.
Charlotte turned her head slowly, as though having to retrain the muscles and bones in her neck to obey her command. Her eyes, the ones he had elected to look into every morning instead of mine, were bright with the tears she was struggling not to shed.
‘Fine. Everything is just fine.’ Her lips visibly trembled as the lie slid off them.
Nervously I twisted the thin gold band on my wedding finger. I could taste a coppery tang on my tongue, and realised I had unwittingly been gnawing on my lip as thoughts of the past – of David – had dragged me from the place I belonged. Joe was the one who should have been occupying all my thoughts, all my energy, no one else. And yet David, and all that happened between us ran like a vein of ore through my rock-solid marriage to another man. Strands of unfathomable serendipity were stretched like piano wire through my life, and tonight past and present were welded together in a fiery forge. How many times over the years had I secretly asked myself that one unanswerable question: Where would I be now if I had ended up with David and not with Joe? And now, I had my answer: right here, in this drab, sad little hospital waiting-room. Right here, sitting in the dark, waiting to learn if the man I loved was going to make it through till morning. The only question was . . . which man?
Ally – Nine Years Earlier
David had phoned eventually, at just about the most inconvenient moment imaginable, just as I was about to join my family at the table for Christmas lunch.
‘I have left messages on the mobile phones of practically every bloody person in Moonlighters, but not a single one of them knew who the hell you were. Some of them didn’t even remember you being there. You were like a bugle-playing Cinderella, running away at midnight. I started to think I must have imagined you. Then eventually I discovered that the only person who knew your name was halfway up the Himalayas on his Christmas break. And incidentally, who does that?’ David finally paused for breath.
I managed to erase the smile from my voice before replying coolly. ‘I’m sorry. Who is this?’
There was a brief pause, but he was better at this game than me. ‘Very funny, Orchestra Girl,’ he said, and I just knew he was smiling. ‘Let’s see if you’re still laughing when I pass you my mobile phone bill.’
I pursed my lip. Max had been right. I had made it inordinately difficult for hi
m. But if it had been a test, even an unintentional one, there was no denying that he’d passed.
David rang me every single day of the Christmas break – confirming what I already knew about both his determination and his ability to pay for the calls. I suppose in old-fashioned terms you could call it a type of courtship. We got to know each other far better over those weeks during our late-night phone calls, than I think would ever have been possible had we been face to face.
Yet when January and the new term began I was nervous all over again when he suggested meeting up.
‘When are you back?’ he had asked, and I rolled over in bed to glance at the calendar in the dim light of my bedside lamp. It was gone one o’clock in the morning and this call, like so many others, had stretched into the early hours, long after my parents had gone to sleep.
‘Saturday the tenth of January,’ I replied on a whisper.
‘Is it a secret?’ he had whispered back. ‘I promise not to tell anyone.’
I gave a small giggle into the darkness. I still found him incredibly funny. I had probably laughed more with him during these calls than I could ever remember having done before. He was tugging out a different, more light-hearted Ally from somewhere within me. And I rather liked her.
In the end, we had arranged to meet at one of the campus bars. I’d turned down his offer for dinner – too intimate, or for him to meet me at the train station – too coupley.
My heart had been pounding with increased tempo when I’d entered the bar and then even more so when David had looked away from the person he’d been talking to, and slowly turned around to face me. I don’t remember weaving through the crowds to reach him, have no recollection whatsoever of crossing the length of the room. The raucous laughter around me faded away, and in my ears was a strange whooshing sound. It sounded vaguely like waves on a shore, which seemed apt because I felt as though I was being pulled towards him as surely as the tide is drawn by the moon. Invisible and powerful forces were at work here. I reached his side, and stood before him nervously. What if the connection I felt to him had only existed down the lines of a telephone? What if in real life the differences that I had thought were so insurmountable really were too wide to bridge? David reached down and clasped my hand and suddenly a million little pieces fell into place like tiny microscopic cogs within an intricate timepiece.
