She pulled her coat collar up, shivering in the chill breeze which had sprung up  'It's always colder on the beach 'she thought to herself, 'I should have realised and driven home. 'Why prolong the agony?' It would have been better to have made a clean break with the past and driven away, leaving it all behind, the town, the university and him.  Why try and go back? It never works, it's always a disappointment.
But no, she had left him as soon as he had paid the bill at the restaurant. The muttered 'We must meet again sometime' as they pulled on their coats, both knowing that they didn't mean it. She would have turned right out of the car park, heading for the main rood and the motorway but for the sudden pull of nostalgia, the desire to see the old house, the house where she had been born and lived with her family all those years ago. So she had turned left, passing the widened high street, the now unfamiliar shops, and came to the turning to the lane.
 It was a shock. The narrow lane was now a proper road, with a path on one side and a kerb. The old barn on the corner had gone. There were now houses on both sides. They had built on the field opposite their house. The old oak had gone too and the ditch outside the house was now paved over. The house had been extended, a new bedroom over the garage, the windows had all been replaced, completely altering its appearance. She wished she hadn't seen it like this, it would stay in her memory.
Tears pricked at her eyes as she thought of the happy years, so long ago now, with her Mother and Father, her sister and brother. How happy they had all been, the children so assured of their futures. The days they had lounged in the garden under summer skies, talking about what they might do with their lives, what they wanted to be when they grew up. The teas, biting into toast and jam, the sun in her eyes. Her bedroom overlooking the lawn. Shutting her eyes she could see the wallpaper, the cover over her bed.  The house was only two hundred yards from the beach, so they could all walk the short distance in their costumes, their parents in bathrobes. You couldn't do that now, she thought, it wouldn't seem right. As for swimming, she hadn't swum in the sea in England since she left home.
She shivered again, the sun having gone in. The water was grey and uninviting, some litter blew about in the wind, which came off the sea. She would walk as far as the bowling green and turn back, get in the car and drive home, to the town and house now her home, the familiar, the comforting familiar.
She had met Graham at school, he had been in the class above hers. She thought he looked handsome, clean-limbed. They had sat at the same table at lunch, and he made her laugh, pulling faces when the French master who sat at the top of the table, looked away. They walked home together after school one day and then it became a habit. They fell in love, painfully so, kissing hungrily in the back row of the cinema, or on the doorstep after visits which her father had in the end reluctantly agreed to and closely supervised.
They had kept in touch when she went up to Cambridge and he stayed in town attending the college. a mile or so away, part of the county university. They both did well, gaining first class honours, staying on for a Masters. Inevitably they had met others and in time got married, but not to each other. He had taken to the academic life and remained to teach at the university, in time getting his D Phil. He wore trousers without creases and a sports coat with leather patches. He had taken to smoking a pipe, which he still kept up, digging around the bowl with a point on a penknife that he kept in his pocket. He had scraped around in the pipe while they were in the restaurant, much to her annoyance.
 She, on the other hand, had had a marriage like a fast train, events and places flashing by. James, her husband had worked on the export side of several companies, gaining promotion as he moved from one to another. He had done well, a good salary had assured a comfortable lifestyle. They had lived for some years abroad, North and South America then Hong-Kong and Singapore. Whilst in the UK they had travelled widely in Europe, eventually buying a small house set back from the coast in Provence. They had taken the family down there every summer, she staying with the children when he had returned to the city and their house in Wimbledon.
 She loved her life in Wimbledon. They knew so many people and had  many friends. They were involved in so many local activities and societies. She had, for a short while been a local councillor, but the work had been too demanding. She and James had loved the theatre and they saw many of the new plays and musicals as they came to the West End. 
 It had been a devastating shock when James had died suddenly from a heart attack. Their two daughters had been very supportive. She had stayed in the house, not wanting to rush into making any hasty decisions that she might later regret. She was not short of money. James had been a senior director of the company and there had been a large insurance as well as a generous pension.
 But a year had gone by and she was feeling she had to try and move on.  It was too late for her to return to work, the job in town that had paid well and had held out good prospects, had she not married and started a family She still had her friends and her interests, but she needed something more. Perhaps a return visit to her roots, her early years might help. She thought about Graham and wondered what he was doing now, if he was still at the university. She dismissed the thought, shaking herself out of the mood, getting on with other things. But her thoughts returned again and again to those early years and Graham.
 One day, on impulse she had lifted the phone and after a pause dialled the main number of the University. She discovered that he was still there. After all these years, still the same Graham she thought. She mulled over the idea of contacting him, perhaps writing a letter, saying that she was going to be in the area, perhaps they could meet up for lunch, chat over old times, something like that.  At worst it would be a day out, she would see the old house, take a walk along the beach.
 Several times she started to write the letter and then abandoned it. She discussed it eventually with her elder daughter. ' Why don't you Mother, sounds like a good idea. I never knew you had a boy friend back then, but I supposed you must have.' She blushed at this. Then, again on impulse wrote the letter and posted it, pausing at the last moment before she let it drop into the pillar-box.
 Surprisingly, the reply came a week after. She was beginning to hope that he would not get her letter, or dismiss the suggestion of a meeting. But he sounded enthusiastic. ' How lovely to hear from you. I've been divorced a long time now, my wife went off with the husband of one of our friends and I've been a bachelor boy ever since.' He suggested a venue for lunch.
 She had spent a long time choosing an outfit for the day. Nothing too flashy, but not too frumpy. Her daughter approved, ' I wish I was coming too Mum, perhaps I could eat at the back of the restaurant. I could give you my verdict after, nobody would know'. ' Except me', she had replied laughing. She had been light-hearted and eagerly looked forward to the day, now that the die had been cast.
 She knew it was all wrong the moment she opened the restaurant door. There was a fusty air and too many people. The tables were too close, the waiter did not take her coat. She found him in a dark corner examining the menu. His hair was a lank and grey. 'Hello' he said, clumsily getting to his feet. He looked as if he had just come from a lecture. ' How nice to see you again'. Not quite the right thing to say, a bit too formal. His eyes were tired and had bags underneath. Still the sports jacket with the leather sleeves, and he smelt of stale pipe tobacco. They shook hands, embarrassed. She noticed that his hands were large and coarse, it looked as though he bit his nails. Their conversation flickered into life. They smiled at one another. ' Do you remember'  It was like trying to light a long dead fire. It was not going to work. They got through the meal somehow, both realising how much they had changed and grown apart. The years had taken them in different directions. They had lived different experiences. He had been stuck in a small town time warp, she had experienced the wider world. There was nothing to be done.  They had best get out of this regrettable error and go their ways.
 Feeling that she needed fresh air and having seen the old house once more, she continued to the beach, parked and in her driving shoes, set out for her walk. The taste of salt on her lips and the low winter sun on her face had restored her spirits.
 Reaching the bowling green at last, she turned, the wind now at her back and looked ahead to the mile walk back to the car park and the journey home.  There would be comfort and familiarity there. Life would go on. Her future would reveal itself. There were more people about now on the beach, some with children, somewhere a dog barked and she heard, carried on the wind, the town hall clock strike five.
      Max Frost
      29 Feb 2004