A/N: I'd advise listening to 'Someone Like You' by Adele whilst reading this, so you can envision it. If you want to know which village she's visiting, it's Collingham, just outside Wetherby. The street is Millbeck Green, if you want to Google map it and find out what the house looks like. Enjoy. :)
Someone Like You
I'm sitting on a stone dyke in a small village in West Yorkshire, England. A little way off, down the street, two teenagers – a boy and a girl, maybe brother and sister – are laughing together. A light breeze whistles through my straggly hair and kicks up some leaves that remain from last autumn. The day is a typical lazy Sunday: calm and still and there is little movement on this street, save for the occasional car and the two teenagers. And me.
Across the street from me is a large, homely house with big windows – eight, if I've counted correctly – a garage that is clearly disused, a sloping roof, intricate stone details and a door that sits precisely in the centre of the building. Chipped into the wall that marks the end of the property and the beginning of the pavement are the words 'Stone Grange' – no doubt the name of the house. It is this building that I am here to visit, that has haunted my nightmares and contains my dreams.
I stare out the house patiently, unblinkingly, not caring who sees me sitting here, on this wall that belongs to someone else. I half hope that I am entirely inconspicuous, given my now-blonde hair and glasses. I'd like to think I fit the English stereotype, but I can tell that Americans stand out a mile in a village like this. I wonder if he fits in here. I hope he sees me here, hope he'd be reminded of who I am.
A pretty, if heavily pregnant, woman waddles out of the house to their Vauxhall Insignia Estate that sits in their driveway. So it's true. He's married. A small boy runs out and clutches his mother's leg. She laughs and tickles him, before picking him up and planting a kiss on his forehead. She carries her son to the car and puts him in the backseat.
'You shouldn't be doing that, Allie. Not in your condition,' a handsome man says, appearing in the doorway. My breathing stops. The world stops spinning. Everything is on hold. Her name is Allie. Short for Natalie… Alice… Allison. Her name is Allison.
'I'm pregnant, not dying,' she tuts. She has an English accent.
'Hmm…' he says sceptically, turning back into the house. The woman starts to get into the passenger seat. In doing so, she sees me. She frowns and stares back for a moment. I hold her gaze arrogantly until her discomfort causes her to get into the car.
The man returns now, carrying a picnic basket and Frisbee. I bite my lip. Who would ever have thought that he, of all people, would be throwing a Frisbee? I can't believe the futility of it all. It's exactly what I've always wanted.
He puts the stuff in the car boot and while his back is turned I stand up and pull my jacket on. I wander over to their little wall, my hands in my pockets and wait for him to stand up. He turns around, as I expected, and blinks at me, startled.
'Sonny,' he breathes.
'I guess she gave you everything I never could, huh?' I say, keeping my voice level. I reach down to my left hand and remove the ring that's sat there for so long. I drop it into the bin that sits on the other side of the wall. The clatter echoes in the silence between us.
Before he can speak and re-break my lifeless heart, I turn and walk off in the middle of the road. My finger feels bare, free. So many memories come rushing back… marriage, babies, whispers after sex, holding each other for hours, laughter, tears, hopes, promises, dreams… I keep my pace even, my head held high. I feel like a tornado through Kansas. I hear an engine start, but don't look back to see if it's their car. I walk away, just to show him – just so he knows – that the only tears over us are his.