July, 27th
Margaret:
I hadn't thought of asking John to come with me to sign a little paper at a jewellers' on my cousin's behalf, but I was enjoying the conversation too much and didn't really want to let it go yet.
-"This way", I say and we set out at the same time. I think this is the first time we walk side by side and I delight in the small fact that we both walk in long strides. Some shop windows reflect our image, two tall people, one of them embarrassed and awkward and the other well lived and wise, striding side by side to an inconsequential destiny.
We pass by a park where young children play with a ball. The ball gets out the game and rolls almost to our feet. John cuts to the ball, steps on it as to make it bounce, holds it with one hand, lets it fall and gives it a high precision kick that makes the ball fly exactly to the hands of the kid who was expecting it. Amazement inducing.
-"Did you ever play football?", I ask when he joins me, "I mean, professionally".
-"No", he says, "not football. I played rugby when I was a teenager and really liked it". Now that he mentions it I realize he has the right physique for tough contact sports. "I had dreams of playing for the national team but had to quit at seventeen".
-"That's the age you were when you dropped school, right?" he nods, "Why did you quit?" I ask suddenly interested. Most dropouts are people like Bessy, with early parental responsibilities or simply apathetic, but he doesn't strike me as any.
-"My father died and I had to work", he says simply.
That's so sad. "I'm sorry to hear that. Was he ill?" I wouldn't normally feel like I could ask, but today... it feels like I can.
He looks me out of the corner of his eye.
-"One could say so. He was depressive and committed suicide. I mentioned it once to your father, didn't you know it?", he says in the flat voice of people who have to live with something painful for so long. I shake my head.
This information comes as a shock. Depression is a little understood mental disease of which I know next to nothing, so I stick with facts. A father with children and wife to support, committing suicide... sounds so selfish and weak. So unlike the son. I'm silent.
-"It was long ago", he continues. "My life didn't become the one I had planned and expected, but it's alright."
-"What had you planned?"
-"I wanted to study mechanical engineering or becoming a professional rugby player", he smiles lost in thought. "Instead I had my own business for a good decade" he says so wistfully that it squeezes my heart.
-"How old were you when it happened?" he frowns at me, "I mean, you all; your mother and sister, and himself."
-"My father was forty-five. My mother was about thirty something, no, closer to forty, I was sixteen and my sister was five," he recounts.
-"You have an eleven year gap with your sister," I remark. "Are any of you adopted?"
He looks injured. "Of course not", he replies a little hotly. "My mother got sick when I was little and my sister was unplanned, as far as I know, or she was my father's last attempt to love life back." He shrugs. "I don't know. But no, we're not adopted. What makes you say so?" he finishes still frowning.
I'm unimpressed.
-"I was adopted, this is why I asked", I say calmly but secretly hoping to shock him. I succeed a little too well but try not to regret it.
-"Had you never noticed it?" I continue and smile, "Both my parents were really old, besides it wasn't a secret. I figured it out myself pretty soon and was alright with that" I normally don't discuss my feelings about being an adoptive daughter but one for one, I guess.
-"How did you find out?", he asks quietly.
-"Well, my mother was forty-five when I was born. It's not impossible but pretty unusual, don't you think?", I pause, "and... it's alright. They loved me well and I've always been thankful for that. The one thing I'm sorry for is that they didn't live longer, I suppose". I'm getting a little sad myself but smile up at him. "I also met my birth mother, who was Melanie Sanders' partner".
-"Financial partner?", asks John.
-"Sentimental partner" I say and look him in the face while this information sinks. I don't know why people make such a fuss of discovering someone they know is homosexual. "And she's the one who left me the money. She died in an accident last December", I finish.
-"I'm sorry to hear that", he says.
-"Thank you", I reply.
John:
So last year Margaret lost her adoptive mother, her adoptive father and her biological mother. Sounds like she had a really tough year, tougher than mine for sure.
We're at the front of a small jewelry store and she rings the bell at the door. We're let in, she speaks to the assistant, someone else comes and she signs a little paper.
-"Well, we're done with this", she says as we get out. "Thank you for coming with me", says as she lowers her face and irons the skirt of her dress with her hands. The ball is in my court and I hit it as hard as I can.
-"I'm a little thirsty" and it's true. "Would you join me for a coffee or something?" I say fervently hoping that she says yes.
-"There's an ice cream shop a couple of blocks over there" she says and the hint of mischief I detected that night so long ago at the Black Dog, is there. I could almost catch it with my hand. I scramble to say something about being a good girl but it can be misconstrued so easily that I keep my mouth shut.
-"I've been a good girl", she says, "so I'll have strawberry."
I try to smile just to myself but I can't. The smile just spreads over my face and I look away to disguise it.
We walk the two blocks get into the shop and buy two cones, strawberry for the lady, lemon for the thirsty gentleman.
Seeing Margaret eating her ice cream does things to my head I hope my face doesn't show. I feign interest in my lemon cone but it's stupid. I give up and I stare at her for a good minute and she doesn't mind one bit. She seems so happy with her strawberry ice cream that I get to wonder if, rich as she is now, she doesn't get them more often.
We're done in a few minutes and fortunately I've managed not to spill over my shirt or trousers. Margaret looks perfect as always. We set out to wander - "not all who wander are lost" comes to my mind.
Margaret:
This ice cream was heaven sent, as it was the rest because I'm a little tired on my feet, although I wouldn't mind keep walking until I have blisters just not to stop this conversation.
We pass a bookstore featuring a book about the 9/11 terrorist attacks.
-"Everyone remembers what they were doing when they heard about the Twin Towers attack", I say pulling for a topic that's always so interesting. "I was at school and they made us go underground. In retrospect it was a crazy and unnecessary thing to do, but I remember the fear they'd bombed London next very clearly". It's been more than a decade and we can almost laugh about it, or so it seems.
-"What were you doing that day of September?", I ask him.
-"I was" he pauses slightly, "getting divorced".
That knocks me over with a feather. Married? John's been married? How many times? To whom? Why did he divorce? Is he married now? None of those questions are good, I know. I realize that I'm silent and opening my mouth and then shutting it; I probably look like fish.
-"I suppose it's not a topic you enjoy discussing", I begin and he nods.
-"That's right", he says.
-"But there's something I'd like to ask", I continue now more firmly. "I suppose the answer is public knowledge, it's just that I don't know it". I turn to look at him and slower my pace. "Do you have children?"
-"No, I don't have children" he says in that calm voice I like so much.
I don't know if that reply makes me feel happy or relieved or sad. It's just that I'm realizing that John has lost so much that his words that January afternoon come back to me. He must have been very lonely, he's probably still so.
-"Speaking of which", he says suddenly, "I understand congratulations might be in order".
-"Really?," I say carelessly. "Who's getting married?" It takes me a couple of steps to realize that John hasn't moved from his spot. I turn to him and he's very still, head slightly cocked to his right. He raises one eyebrow and I mimic his gesture with an eyebrow of my own, but when I realize who he thinks is getting married the other eyebrow joins it, violently, and stay up near my hairline.
-"Me?" I say incredulously. "You think I am getting married?" My eyes are wide, this situation is so ridiculous, so absurd, that of all people John Thornton believes me to be engaged to someone else that I can't help it. A fit of laughter rips through me.
-"I guess I was mistaken", he says quietly after a while, looking quite offended. I can't talk because I'm laughing hysterically but nod my head.
It's the most unladylike thing to do, to morph into an hyena, but I'd never been so relaxed around him and it's so far from reality that I can't stop myself. He doesn't seem so offended anymore, now he's more like mystified.
-"What's so funny?" he asks, still very quietly.
I try to calm down and wipe the tears from my eyes. I don't know how to reply. It's not funny, John, not funny at all.
-"I guess I'm surprised you'd think that, because you're the last man to have asked me out" honesty taking over my voice, "and as far as I remember I said no".
-"You said no", he repeats.
-"I... I know you probably don't care about it anymore, but I want to believe it's not too late to apologize." I would hold his hand but I don't dare. "I would like to apologize to you, for being so heartless and rude when you told me about your feelings, I said things I should have never said to anybody, least of all you, and there are no excuses for it. I am sorry" I look up at him, my tears not from laughter anymore. "I hope you have forgotten me and one day you'll forgive me too".
-"It's", he starts saying "alright", and he shrugs.
John:
We're near the old General Post Office building now. Margaret put a shield around her after she apologized and I'm speechless. So, she's not engaged... She said she was sorry for how she turned me down but not exactly for doing it. Margaret stops and asks me if I've ever been to Postman's Park, and the answer is no.
A moment ago we were in a bustling street but it's like we've stepped into a parallel dimension, so calm it is in here. It's the Memorial to Heroic Self Sacrifice, remembering everyday people who died saving others - not firemen, not soldiers, just ordinary people.
-"Imagine giving your life trying to save someone", Margaret says thoughtfully.
-"You tell me", I say and she stops right where she is.
-"I didn't die", she replies frowning. "And it was quite a stupid thing to do. I should have warned you instead!"
-"What happened that night?" I want to know. "I was minding my own business then two people came and hit you. I didn't know you were there in the first place." I've tried to make sense of that night many times but there are too many missing pieces.
-"I was about to cross the street and saw two people riding a moped that looked like my friend Bessy's", she begins. "Later on I learned it wasn't, but at that moment I thought they might have stolen it from her. I saw them getting off it, going into the parking lot and stationing themselves behind the bushes near your car." She scratches her arm idly. "I didn't know for sure it was your car, either. Well, then I saw you coming out and heading for your car and those people attacking you. It was... There wasn't any choice in my mind then. I didn't consider options. I just pictured you unconscious and bleeding and it was" she shakes her head, "horrible".
Well, it had been horrible having her bleeding and almost unconscious.
-"It wasn't heroic but idiotic of me. If I had spoken to you the moment I saw you going out it would have been much simpler, don't you think?" she challenges me to disagree. I disagree but I don't voice it.
-"I think you should have let me thank you", I try to find a fault in her reasoning.
-"You're welcome", she says and opens her palms up. No big deal. "I should have. My bad".
The events that happened the next day are still fresh, the wound still open.
-"About your apologies" I have finally found the right words in my head, "I just want you to know that I accept them. It's alright, don't think more of it. I'm sorry I..." My voice comes out strangled by a lump in my throat, "I know I picked a really bad time and I'm sorry. But the thing I regret the most about that day is that you thought I was doing it for some misguided sense of duty or obligation". Oh well, here we're jumping off the cliff again. "I wasn't" I shake my head and loneliness rubs its ugly hands again. "I hadn't done it before because I never thought you'd accept it. And I just let myself believe that for once things might..." I don't finish the sentence.
While I spoke Margaret covered her eyes with her left hand and looked down, sobs rocking her body. I carefully, very carefully, hold her right hand and she doesn't pull away. I stroke it and hold it together with my hands near my chest. She looks up, her face contorting into strange grimaces with the effort of not crying.
-"Shhh", I say pulling her closer, to my chest, letting go of her hand and hugging her lightly. "Don't cry. Please".
-"I know that you helped me with the Police investigation even if I never told you why I did it. I've always wanted to thank you for it, I even had planned to do so when my father returned from Oxford, that same day", her broken voice blurts to my shirt, her tears wetting it and feeling warm against my skin. "But he died and I couldn't. I'm so sorry", and she's so sad but her words alight me with happiness.
-"I had planned to ask you out again exactly that day", I say and she looks up frowning in surprise. "That's why I phoned your home, that's when I found out your father had died".
Margaret blinks as if trying to make sense of what it had been just said.
-"Really?"
-"Yes, really."
Her right hand squeezes mine and she raises it to my face, with her index lightly outlining my nose and letting her palm and fingers over my jaw. It's a light caress, barely noticeable, but it makes my heart beat faster.
- "This is one nice beard you have. Why did you grow it?" she asks smiling, I suspect that pleased with herself to have broached facial contact.
- "I don't know", I just did. "Do you like it?" Does she like bearded men? Daniel said I looked like an angry lumberjack but he likes to add color. Was he right?
- "Mmmmh" she smiles, "I do like what's beneath, that's for sure". The wandering finger stops on my lips and she lowers her hand. She is serious now and I know I can kiss her, that she wants me to but won't ask for it herself. I put her arms around me, then my left arm goes down to encircle her waist and my right hand slides up her back and neck, cradles her nape for a moment, the thumb slides to her jaw and with the tip of my index I tilt up her chin, look into her beautiful eyes making sure she doesn't want to say no, and then, I pour my heart out in a kiss.
A/N: To those of you who live and love London: I'm sorry I'm being so unfaithful to your beautiful city. Besides, this is supposed to coincide with the Olympics opening ceremony but there's no mention to it! How could that be? However, the most fiction like thing about this piece is that the weather is nice.
This is the second chapter based on "Before sunrise" and "Before sunset" films. I first heard of Postman's Park in the film "Closer" but I actually remembered about it thanks to a post by Mike Dash (The Smithsonian's Blogs: Past Imperfect): "On Heroic Self-Sacrifice: a London Park Devoted to Those Most Worth Remembering", and the unlikely titled tourist guide "Nothing to see here". I'm not sure it's anywhere close to a restaurant used by business people, a jeweller's, a park where children may kick a ball around or a bookstore selling books on 9/11.