Truly, Madly, Deeply

Mum looked from me to her fuming other half and back. ‘Well, I…I think it’s good to protect our client list…but really the time on your round is quite a bit longer than the other drivers…not that I think you’re doing a bad job, obviously.’

‘Thank you.’ Ignoring the daggers of death Trev was now willing at me with his stare, I calmly handed my clipboard to Mum and walked into the staffroom to collect my things.

The more I considered Mr Gardner’s request that weekend, the more intrigued I became: so much so that by Monday morning I could bear it no longer and took a detour at the end of my round to visit Mrs C.

‘Emily! What a lovely surprise. Come in, dear.’

When we were sitting with china mugs of tea and large slices of homemade ginger cake, I broached the subject of the photograph.

‘I have a favour to ask,’ I began, studying her expression carefully. ‘Last Friday, I went to see a new client who has recently returned to the area and he mentioned The Rialto Ballroom.’

‘Really? How funny.’

‘I know. I said as much to him and then I happened to mention that I’d been shown a photo of it that morning. With hindsight, I realise I shouldn’t have said anything, but it took me by surprise and I mentioned the photograph before I thought better of it. The thing is he reacted very oddly when I told him the date the photo was taken. I think he might have been there the same time as you. And I know I probably shouldn’t ask, but I wondered if I might borrow the photo, just to show it to him?’

Mrs C observed me quietly and stirred her tea.

Instantly, I regretted asking. ‘Obviously if you say no I’ll completely understand,’ I added.

‘How old is this gentleman?’ she asked, her expression giving nothing away.

‘To be quite honest, I don’t know. It’s difficult to tell.’

‘Hmm.’ I watched the silver spoon make several more rotations. ‘The photograph is very precious to me, Emily. When I was in Canada it was the one thing that reminded me of home, of who I really was. Of the life that might be waiting…’ Her eyes were very still, focused a thousand miles away. ‘You have to understand that when I went to Canada I had to become somebody different: someone’s mother, someone’s wife. And for many years, I felt like my life wasn’t my own. Remembering who I’d been in England gave me strength enough to return years later. The photograph was a big part of that.’

Her candidness hit me like a fist to the stomach. I knew she hadn’t had an easy life in Canada but I’d never appreciated how much of herself she’d been asked to give. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. Forget I did, OK?’

She shook her head. ‘No, it’s lovely that you asked. I know how precious my memories are: if this gentleman wants to see the photograph to bring back his, I see no reason why he shouldn’t.’ She reached for the photograph album by the side of her armchair, turned its pages and gently removed the picture. ‘There. Take good care of it.’

My hands were shaking as I accepted. ‘Thank you, Mrs C. I promise I will.’

I called Mr Gardner as soon as I returned to my van, but there was no reply. Disappointed, I placed the photograph carefully in my work diary and drove back.

For the next three days, none my attempts to reach Mr Gardner were successful. By Friday, my anticipation was at bursting point and my delivery round seemed to take an age before I was finally driving down the steep streets of St Merryn.

Waiting on the doorstep of his cottage, my heart was thudding against the cardboard box I held. I wanted to see his face when I produced the photograph, excited to see him reunited with a piece of his past.

The door opened and a young man appeared, taking me completely by surprise. It was as if I was meeting Mr Gardner over fifty years ago: his eyes were the same sapphire blue, his frame as tall and his hair as thick, albeit a dark mass of black-brown rather than silver.

‘Hi,’ he smiled, and my world seemed to spin momentarily. ‘You must be the famous Emily. Come in.’

As I shakily entered the hallway, he shouted over his shoulder. ‘Dad! Delivery!’

Tim appeared at the far end of the hall. ‘Ah, Emily! I see you’ve met Ethan. You see, son? I told you she was beautiful.’

Flushed, I hurried past him and began to unpack the meals.

‘I’m sorry I missed your calls,’ Tim said, as Ethan joined us.

‘That’s OK. I have a surprise for you.’ I closed the fridge door, opened my work diary and handed him Mrs C’s photograph.

For a moment, Tim appeared to wobble and Ethan rushed forward to steady his father. Sitting on a kitchen stool, he stared at the photo.

‘Dad?’

‘I’m fine, son. This just takes me back…’ He looked at me. ‘Can I ask the name of the person who gave this to you?’

‘I’m not sure I should say.’

He nodded. ‘Of course. But it looks so familiar. If I didn’t know better I’d swear…’ Slowly, he turned the picture over and closed his eyes. ‘T.W.M.A.’

Ethan and I watched helplessly as Tim’s loud sobs filled the kitchen.

‘What if she says no?’

‘Dad, you can’t think of that. You said it yourself, you had a connection once.’

‘I don’t know. What did you tell her, Emily?’

I smiled at Tim. ‘I said I had a surprise for her and that I was taking her out for afternoon tea.’

Tim Gardner’s face was pale as he hovered in the lobby of the hotel, wringing his hands. ‘I didn’t think she would come. What do I say to her after all these years?’

‘You start with, “Here’s the photograph that I gave you.”’ Ethan grinned at me and I found myself grinning back. Like father, like son…

‘When I handed Genevieve that picture my heart was breaking,’ Tim said, gazing through the glass door that separated him from the girl who walked out of his life sixty-two years ago. ‘She was leaving for Canada the next day. I penciled “T.W.M.A” on the back to remind her I was waiting: Till We Meet Again. I told her to keep it as a reminder of the woman I knew she was.’

I put my hand on his shoulder. ‘She said it was what kept her strong during all those years in Canada. And what made her come home. I think you might have been an important part of that. Why don’t you just go in there, say hello and see what happens?’

His blue eyes glistened as he looked at me. ‘Thank you. For finding the love of my life again.’ Shaking hands with Ethan, he turned, took a deep breath, and walked into the hotel restaurant.

And that’s when I knew: I knew my job was more than time slots and ready meals, more than delivery rounds and menu plans. It was a gift, in the truest sense of the word.

Would Mrs Clements and Mr Gardner rekindle their romance after most of their adult lives spent apart? I couldn’t say for sure. But learning that Genevieve Clements had made the ultimate sacrifice –to leave her sweetheart behind –to do what she thought was right for her family, made me wonder if maybe she had waited all her life to put right the decision she had regretted most.

‘I think they’ll be OK.’

I looked up to see Ethan Gardner smiling at me. ‘I hope so. She might never forgive me for setting her up.’

‘Maybe. But you made Dad smile and I haven’t seen him look that happy for years. I’d take that as a good sign. So, do we wait?’

‘I suppose so.’ I peered through the glass door but couldn’t see their table.

‘Well, I think I should get a coffee while I’m waiting.’ He held out his hand, his blue eyes –so like his father’s –intent on mine. ‘Shall we?’

Heart racing, I reached out and felt his warm fingers close around mine. And as we walked through the doors, I smiled to myself.

I love my job.

Clarion Call

Catherine King

CATHERINE KING was born in Rotherham, South Yorkshire. A search for her roots –her father, grandfather and great-grandfather all worked with coal, steel or iron –and an interest in local industrial history provide inspiration for her stories.