The Minute I Saw You

by Paige Toon

  Bertie’s claws click and scratch against the red floor tiles as she follows me into the cosy kitchen and drops to her haunches in front of the always-warm Aga.

  Only one small window looks out onto the nearby street, with a vista that reaches straight past June’s roses lining the white picket fence. The green bushes are already bright with pops of colour, from pastel pinks and yellows to luminescent oranges and cherry reds. The month of June is when they really come into their own, though – our June used to fill this place with vases full of them.

  Pouring kibble into Bertie’s bowl and switching on the kettle, I set about making myself tea and toast before taking a seat at the kitchen table. Outside it’s sunny with only a few clouds drifting across the pale-blue sky.

  ‘Perfect weather for walking to work,’ I muse, and Bertie’s tail thumps in response.

  She knows she’s coming with me. Robert, Umeko’s retired husband, takes care of her during the day. He and Charles are good friends, having met at university many, many moons ago. Robert likes Bertie’s company, Bertie likes his, and Charles can relax knowing his old girl isn’t going to be lonely. It’s a win-win situation.

  As I pull on my old frayed denim jacket over my navy staff uniform, Bertie dances around my legs, almost knocking me over in her excitement to leave the house. She reminds me of the puppy she once was, panting and delirious as I grab her red lead from the coat hook and attach it to her matching collar. Opening the door, we step out from under the thatched porch into the cool spring air. The lawn is cast in shade and laden with dew so I’m careful to stick to the garden path as Bertie tugs me towards the gate.

  A car turns into the drive. It’s Evelyn, arriving for work. She’s the therapist who rents the room attached to Charles’s home. I say attached, but it’s actually set within the original cottage layout and used to form part of the living room, which is substantially smaller now. It has its own private access at the side of the building, granted by the council before they listed the place.

  I give her a wave and she responds in kind, as warm and approachable as ever. She’s in her late fifties now and her bob is tinged with grey, but when I first met her it was platinum blond.

  She disappears down the side of the cottage to the back where she parks each day.

  Bertie and I pass two pubs on our way to the rural footpath that leads into town – Grantchester has four within a hop, skip and a jump from each other. Right now, the windows look onto dark, empty rooms and the outdoor tables are damp and unwelcoming, but it’ll be a different story if this weather holds through the weekend as it’s supposed to.

  The grass is too long and wet to walk down by the river, but I catch glimpses of the water occasionally, glinting in the early morning sunlight.

  Eventually we break out of the green fields onto the residential roads. I look left and, sure enough, there she is again: the girl from the next-door pharmacy.

  Laughing, I come to a stop and wait for her.

  ‘Right, that’s it,’ she calls as she approaches. ‘If we’re going to keep meeting like this, we need to be properly introduced.’

  This week has been so strange. Not only have we continually crossed paths on our ways into work, we’ve also found ourselves leaving at the same time. It hasn’t made a difference if I’ve been five minutes early or five minutes late – we have been on exactly the same timetable. It was getting so ridiculous that yesterday I waited inside the doorway of Umeko’s for a few seconds before daring to step out onto the pavement. I almost jumped out of my skin to see her doing the same thing at the same moment. We stood there, facing each other with dumbstruck expressions on our faces, and then we both cracked up laughing like a couple of nutcases.

  ‘I’m going to the supermarket,’ she said at last, tears of laughter making her green eyes sparkle as she pointed in the opposite direction.

  ‘Okay, see you in the morning!’ I called after her as we went our separate ways.

  ‘I’m Hannah,’ I tell her now. ‘And this is Bertie.’

  ‘Hello, Bertie,’ she says warmly, bending down to give her a proper pat. ‘And hello, Hannah,’ she adds, grinning up at me. ‘I’m Matilda.’

  ‘Nice to finally meet you.’

  She’s in her early thirties, at a guess, with dark hair that comes to her shoulders. Her features are slightly pixie-like, with high cheekbones and a sprinkle of freckles dusting her small, upturned nose. She’s pretty.

  ‘Where do you live?’ I ask.

  ‘Selwyn Avenue,’ she replies, straightening up and jabbing her thumb over her shoulder. ‘You?’

  ‘Grantchester.’

  ‘Nice. Have you been there for long?’ We walk on together.

  ‘About six weeks. I’m looking after this cheeky monkey while my uncle’s away.’

  ‘She’s gorgeous,’ she says affectionately, stroking Bertie’s head again. ‘I’ve always wanted a black Lab.’

  ‘You can’t get one?’

  ‘My boyfriend and I work during the day so it wouldn’t be fair. What do you do with Bertie?’

  We carry on chatting until we reach our building. I learn that Matilda and her boyfriend were on holiday in Sri Lanka over Easter, which explains why we haven’t crossed paths until recently.

  ‘See you at five o’clock,’ I tease, coming to a stop outside Robert and Umeko’s front door. They live in the apartment directly above the practice and their entrance is on the right of the building.

  ‘Or maybe even at lunchtime!’ she replies with a comedy wink.

  I laugh and knock on the door. By the time Robert has made his way down the stairs to answer it, my thoughts have become once more preoccupied by what else is happening at lunchtime . . .

  *

  Abbey heads out for her break, leaving me alone in the shop to wait for Sonny. His appointment is minutes away and my stomach is overrun with idiotic butterflies.

  It was that comment about my eyes that did it, and the last look he gave me over his shoulder. I’m not imagining it; he was attracted to me too.

  Yes, I know he’s leaving for Amsterdam tomorrow.

  But there’s always tonight.

  I smile to myself then quickly rearrange my features, aware that insanity is not a typically appealing personality trait.

  It’s been a while since I’ve felt any sort of chemistry with a man so it’s easy to get caught up in this minor distraction. After today, I’ll be back to my humdrum reality and there will be no more cause to daydream.

  I sigh, drumming my fingertips on the table. I bet he does have a girlfriend in the Netherlands. She’s probably a tall, stunning model that he met at a photo shoot.

  Okay, now he’s late. But he is coming. Abbey called him yesterday to confirm the appointment.

  The door opens and a jolt ricochets through me.

  It’s him. He’s dressed in black jeans and an army green T-shirt.

  The next thing I notice is that his head is down.

  ‘Hi!’ I welcome him brightly.

  ‘Hey,’ he mumbles.

  His eyes remain fixed on the floor, but I can see that he’s wearing glasses.

  ‘Take a seat. I have your new glasses here for you,’ I say genially, pressing on.

  He walks over and pulls up a chair, but continues to avoid my eyes. His whole demeanour is totally different. This is not a man who’s interested in me at all, I realise, with a stab of disappointment. I’ve misjudged the situation entirely.

  I pass him his stylish new glasses case, hoping for a sign that he might be pleased, but his face is impassive.

  Maybe he’s embarrassed. I mean, his behaviour before – all that smiling and staring into my eyes – was a little intense. Perhaps he felt disloyal to his girlfriend and is trying to make amends.

  That’s probably it, I realise with a sinking heart as he takes off his old glasses. Now I feel like a fool too.

  I had planned to launch into chatty small talk, intending to ask how his Easter was and what he’s been getti
ng up to in Cambridge, but the circumstances have tied my tongue.

  He opens the case and extracts the Kilsgaards.

  Wait. Are his hands shaking?

  ‘Can you try them on?’ Perplexed, I push the mirror towards him.

  Something is definitely off. His hands are shaking. In fact, he seems shaken. Is he ill?

  He turns his face towards me without looking at his reflection. His eyes remain lowered. It’s clear that there will be no smiling today.

  ‘I need to check the fit,’ I prompt, and he obediently and perfunctorily leans towards me across the desk.

  There’s such a strange atmosphere in the room. I’m full of tension as I reach out to touch the frames.

  He hasn’t shaved for a couple of days, judging by the length of his stubble. My thumbs brush against his cheekbones as I check the fit of the glasses, confirming that the arms sit comfortably over his ears. I give the frames a wiggle to ensure they’re steady and won’t slip off his nose.

  ‘I’d like to make a small adjustment to one of the nose pads,’ I say, and he takes off the glasses and hands them to me.

  This time, he doesn’t watch me as I work.

  ‘Are they pinching your nose?’ I ask when he puts them on again.

  ‘No.’

  ‘How’s your vision?’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Can you have a look around the room,’ I prompt. ‘Is everything clear? Can you read what that poster says?’

  He swallows and nods.

  ‘Do you want to check the mirror?’

  He shakes his head and takes them off. I stare at him and he swallows again as he returns the glasses to their case.

  ‘Sonny?’ I ask worriedly. ‘Are you okay?’

  Suddenly he looks straight into my eyes, and what I see chills my blood. He stands up abruptly, shoving his chair back in his attempt to get to his feet.

  I’m in front of him before I even realise. ‘Sonny?’

  ‘They’re fine,’ he mumbles, his gaze once more averted.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  Another shake of the head. He picks up his old glasses and puts them on. ‘Nothing. Are we done?’

  He looks at me directly then and another jolt goes through me. His eyes have filled with tears.

  I’m shocked, but my overriding emotion is concern. However, before I can say another word, he sidesteps me and stalks out through the door.

  Chapter 3

  If I thought I was going to be able to stop thinking about him, I was wrong.

  As April melded pleasantly into May, Sonny continued to be a distraction. And not a pleasant distraction, not in the way it was at first.

  That look in his eyes was so stark, so bleak. He seemed broken. I couldn’t forget it.

  I confided in Umeko that he seemed upset when he came in to collect his glasses. She replied that she didn’t know his father well enough to call him about personal issues, but promised to ask after Sonny the next time she spoke to his dad about something accounts related. To my knowledge, that hasn’t yet happened.

  *

  One late afternoon in mid-May when I’m out at the front dead-heading the roses, I hear the side door to Evelyn’s clinic open. I can’t decipher specific words, but I can hear Evelyn’s serene, musical voice and the low, deep tone of a man’s reply. A minute later, this same man, I’m presuming, appears from the side of the building, wheeling his bicycle down the gravel driveway towards the road. I straighten up with a start. It’s Sonny.

  My sudden movement catches his eye and he glances my way, giving me a cursory nod. Then he does a double take, puzzlement creasing his brow.

  ‘Sonny,’ I say.

  ‘Oh, hi,’ he replies vacantly, coming to a slow stop.

  ‘Hannah. I work with Umeko,’ I remind him awkwardly as his gaze sweeps over my appearance.

  ‘I didn’t recognise you,’ he admits.

  It’s a fair comment. My casual clothes couldn’t be more different from the strait-laced uniform I’m required to wear for work.

  My long wavy hair is down and I’m wearing a grass-skimming sky-blue skirt with an apricot-and-white floral pattern. Several teeny-tiny plaits secured with colourful beads break up the monotony of my sun-lightened hair while the rest of it falls free, and my top is lacy and white, contrasting with my nut-brown skin tone.

  He nods at the whitewashed thatched cottage behind me. ‘You live here?’

  ‘It’s my uncle’s house. He’s away at the moment.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Glasses okay?’ it occurs to me to ask.

  He’s wearing them and they look good on him, even if he himself seems troubled. His blue eyes are rimmed with red, he looks as if he hasn’t shaved for a week or so and his face is gaunt beneath his stubble.

  ‘Yeah, fine.’

  It doesn’t matter that I’m out of words because he’s in no mood to chat. I can’t ask if he’s well, because he’s clearly not if he’s seeing Evelyn.

  ‘Nice to see you.’ I try to fashion my expression into something that he won’t mistake as pitying.

  ‘You too,’ he replies, swinging his leg over his bike saddle and cycling out into the road.

  He disappears from view and I return to deadheading roses, the cogs inside my head whirring.

  Why didn’t he go home to Amsterdam?

  Or if he did, why has he come back so soon?

  And why is he seeing a counsellor?

  Evelyn took over my uncle’s practice when he retired. Once upon a time, Charles used to kiss June goodbye and walk out of his back door, then make his way around the side of the building. He could have accessed his clinic via the now-locked interconnecting door in the living room, but he never did. He always said he preferred to keep his work life separate from his home life, but the claim was laughable – Charles was forever bringing his work home with him. To say he’s retired now is also stretching the truth.

  Having spent most of my teenage years living here, I’m speaking from experience.

  Charles is like a father to me, and June was like a mother. I do have a mother and father, but they’re not what you’d call conventional. They raised me on a small farm miles away from anything closely resembling civilisation and homeschooled me in my early years. It was only Charles and June’s intervention that brought me to Cambridge when I was thirteen. They persuaded my parents that a traditional education would be in my best interests and my parents conceded.

  Charles is my mother’s older brother, but they’re as different as chalk and cheese. Charles is . . . well, I guess he’s what most people would call normal. My mother, on the other hand, is a free-spirited hippie who rarely does things by the book.

  Sometimes I feel torn between my bohemian youth and my current situation, but right now I know I’m where I need to be.

  After everything Charles has done for me over the years, I owe him the peace of mind to go travelling, safe in the knowledge that things at home will be taken care of.

  The sound of Evelyn’s car starting up returns me to the present. A moment later she cruises down the driveway, giving me a friendly wave as she pulls out onto the road.

  I go back to wondering what it was that brought her last client of the day to her doorstep.

  Chapter 4

  ‘What time are you heading there?’ I ask Matilda.

  It’s a couple of weeks later and we’re on our way home after what turned out to be a difficult day. I need a drink. And I’m pleased to say that a drink will soon be forthcoming.

  ‘Archie won’t be back for a bit so shall we say seven thirty?’

  ‘Yep, great. That gives me plenty of time to feed this little madam and get myself changed.’

  ‘I hope you’re bringing her,’ Matilda says affectionately, patting Bertie’s head.

  ‘She’d probably be as happy in front of the Aga, but yes, I’ll drag her along.’

  ‘Good,’ she states definitively.

  It’s been over a month since Matilda and I f
irst started chatting on our way to and from work. Soon after, we bumped into each other in the queue at a coffee shop and, after slightly self-conscious ‘hello agains’, ended up sitting together.

  We’ve bonded over many a lunch in the last few weeks and this evening she’s invited me out for drinks at the pub with her boyfriend and some pals. I’m looking forward to a night out. My only friend from school who still lives around here has recently had a baby and hasn’t been up for much socialising.

  ‘I’ll see you later,’ Matilda says as she crosses the road.

  ‘See you,’ I call back and soon I’m in the grassy field walking on the high footpath that will lead me to home.

  It’s Friday night and the route is busier than usual with cyclists. Everyone’s keen to get home to start the weekend and I’m constantly stepping off the footpath onto the grass to make way. This is made trickier by the fact that there’s a herd of cows about and several have taken more than a passing interest in Bertie.

  It’s all I can do to get us home in one piece.

  ‘I want to look nice. I’m meeting new people,’ I say as I redo my plaits in front of the mirror. ‘What do you reckon, black off-the-shoulder top tonight?’

  Deciding on a black and ochre patterned long flowing skirt to go with it, I head downstairs to survey my choice of footwear.

  Bertie clips her way into the tiny hallway behind me.

  ‘I know I should wear those.’ I stare downheartedly at my comfortable but dull black work shoes. ‘But I really want to wear these.’ I pick up the emerald-green sandals that I bought on a whim earlier this week. ‘I know they’re not good for walking in, but it’s not far.’

  Bertie stares at me as I put them on, her ears pricked fully up.

  ‘You heard me say “walk”, didn’t you?’

  She wags her tail in response. She’s not going completely bonkers though, so she must be tired. Maybe I should leave her here. She’s already been to work and back today.

  ‘Are you coming or staying?’ I’m still undecided as I open the door.

  She wags her tail harder and pants, beginning to resemble the grinning lunatic I’m familiar with.