Another Brick in the wall

The train sped through the green fields dotted with back and white cattle, from my seat I could see a fox running towards a copse of oak trees. Engrossed in the passing picture postcard scenery I didn’t notice anyone sitting near me until a voice made me look around. Across the aisle from me was the very first man who had proposed to me. I was sure it was Lester, it was his voice but if it was him he’d changed much from the youth who went away to Canada when I turned down his proposal. He was alone, talking into his mobile phone.
“ Please don’t phone me again I’m on the train and this isn’t the right place or time. Goodbye”
he put the phone away and looked at me
“Damn mobile phones” he said.
“You could have switched it off”
“ I have done. I hadn’t realised it was still on”
I realised that I’d been staring at him and looked away.
“I’m going to the buffet bar, can I get you anything?”
"A black coffee please” I fished around in my bag for the money but he had already gone. “Oh well, I’ll have to pay him when he comes back” I muttered.

If he was Lester then his father had been a director of a large manufacturing company. They had provided most of the female population with jumpers, pullovers and cardigans as well as dresses. Lester had been about 19 or 20m when he left for Canada I’d often wondered about him, what my life would have been like if I’d married him. I’d been a couple of years younger than him and not madly, deeply, head-over-heels in love with him. But we had been friends. Maybe if I’d married him we would have had a more successful marriage than my “love” one had turned out to be.

He came back carrying a tray with drinks on it and set it down on the table by my seat.
“Do you mind if I sit with you?”
“No, of course not”
He sat facing me and handed me the coffee.
“I don’t know if you take sugar or brandy in it so I’ve brought both.”
I tried to pay him for the drink but he wouldn’t take my money.
“It’s my pleasure. Please have the brandy”
“I’ll share it with you”
I poured half of the miniature into my coffee; it had been along while since I’d been treated by anyone.
“Look, this isn’t a pick-up line but I’m sure I know you” he said” I’m Lester Murray”
“I used to know a Lester Murray. He went to Canada”
“So I do know you. You’re Christine. You turned me down and I went off to Canada to sulk”
“Really? Silly boy. You should have persisted,” I laughed at him.
We talked about the old times, how he had taught me to swim, how the top of my bikini had floated away, how we would go for drives in his car and listen to the records when we parked. It doesn’t sound much but we talked until the train pulled in to Nottingham station. On the platform he asked if he could see me again. A date at my age, gosh, what could I do but agree?

“I’m back here for my father’s funeral” he said
“I’m visiting my sister”
“So you don’t live here anymore?”
“ No I live in north Wales, near Chester”
“Happily married?”
“ No, it’s a long story but I’ll tell you if you really want to know”
“Look, there’s the car for me. Can I give you a lift?”
“No thanks, there’s my sister”
“ How can I get in touch with you? I really want to see you again.”
“When’s the funeral?”
“Tomorrow. Why?”
“Give me your mobile number and I’ll phone you the day after tomorrow.”
So armed with his phone number I went to my sister’s car.
“ Who was that?”
“One of my ex’s. I’m going to meet him sometime.”

Staying with my sister can be awkward. She doesn’t always welcome having anyone else in her house but this time it was fine. She knew that I was only staying for a couple of nights, tonight and the night after. We had been sent for by our father, who lives in Derby. He had things to say to us that couldn’t be said on the phone.
And so it was after my filial duties had been carried out that I phoned Lester’s mobile.
“How long are you in Nottingham for?” he asked
“ I was going back today”
“Can you stay for longer?”
“I could, if I could find a reasonable hotel. I can’t stay with my sister. She gets edgy if she has visitors.
“In that case I’ll come and pick you up now. Where are you?”
I told him where I was then phoned my sister to tell her not to phone my home, as I would not be there.
Five minutes later he was slowly driving down the road alongside of the prison to where I was waiting.

He drove me to Trent Bridge and we walked beside the river. It turned out that he still lived in Canada. He was divorced with two girls aged 16 and 21. He said that he often thought about me and had wondered what our life would have been like.
“ I was young, too young.”
“But you got married not too long after.”
“Yes within two years, but that’s a long time at that age.”
We sat in the sun watching the swans
“Do you want to tell me what happened? He asked
“The brief version is that my husband started an affair when I was pregnant with my younger son and it’s still going on. She lives in the same house and they sleep together and I’m nothing more than a bad house-keeper and a mother to my sons”
“How old if the younger boy?”
“He’s eighteen now.”
“So, time to move on now. The chicks are grown. You can safely leave them.”
“I’m a coward. I like the safety of the house. I know I don’t have a partner and that sometimes I can go for days and neither of will say anything to me but I still cling to the security of living in a nice house and having no really big bills to pay. I have the freedom of doing more or less what I want to do. If I want to leave for a few days no one objects.”
“What if you find someone?”
“Then I’d leave. I’d have some one to go to, somewhere to go to rather than just being homeless and friendless.”
“I can see the allure of the situation. Still I promised you a dinner. Come on.” He sprang to his feet and held out a hand. I took his hand and we walked hand-in-hand back to his car.
“Have you considered a divorce?”
“I started one. I’ve got a decree nisi but he promised me things would change if I didn’t get the absolute.”
“Did they?”
“Not really”
He took me to his hotel. I was surprised. I thought that he would be staying with his family and he booked a room for me. We found a restaurant in Nottingham that still had a table unbooked and we dined there. Lester was the perfect gentleman. But then he always had been.

Walking through the streets of the city we held hands and talked. It had been along while since I’d talked so much. Most of my phone conversations with my friends and family consisted of me listening to their troubles. I was used to keeping quiet about mine. I didn’t mind this, as I know that if I ever needed to talk that they would listen. Lester listened and talked. He told me how he had felt inadequate when his wife had her first affair, how he had begged her not to leave him after her second affair. He told me about his daughters, who came to stay with him whenever they could. He told me about the cold void in his life when his wife took the children. How that hurt more than her infidelities.

And finally taking both my hands and pulling me towards him he said,
“We’ve made a mess of our lives up until now. Do you think we might stand a chance of being happy together? And then he kissed me. And I kissed him. And it was good. Not just good it was great. It was the kind of kiss that I didn’t want to end. If only Lester had kissed me like this before.
And now? What happens now? Lester went to his room and I went to mine. I returned to north Wales and I suppose that he went back to Canada. All I have is my memory of the kiss that still makes my lips tingle. And his mobile phone number.
I did ask at the front desk if he was in but the man there said that he had left. Expecting to pay the bill he informed me that Mr Murray had paid for everything.

On the train back I replayed what had happened but I could not see what mistake I might have made.
And so I sit and write about another sad chapter in my life. Another brick in the wall that helps to protect my inner self.