When Love Knocks Twice (A Contemporary Love Story) Read online

  Finally they loaded the suitcases into the car, along with the remaining food and those odd things that one always seemed to accumulate while away on holiday. They had no sooner climbed into the car than the rain started, a heavy drizzle. Before Tom had a chance to start the car, Gail made a last plea.

  “ Let's not go.”

  “ What?”

  “ Let's not go. We can find somewhere to stay I'm sure. I don't want to leave.”

  Tom gave her a very funny look, so she continued. “Okay, I'm not being rational, I'm not being sensible. You'd better start the car before I get out.”

  So he did.

  Half an hour later, as they came off the bridge onto the mainland with hardly a word spoken, Tom appeared to remember something.

  “ Did you turn off the gas bottle before we left?”

  “Yes. Did you check under the bed for anything we might have left?”

  “ Yes. Did you double check that we'd cleared the bathroom?”

  “ Yes. Did you check the fridge was empty?”

  “ Yes. Did you put the cottage key back in the keysafe?”

  Gail checked her handbag. “Yes.”

  “ That's all right then.”

  “Listen to us,” commented Gail, drily. “Just like an old married couple.”

  Tom didn't comment. The windscreen wipers set up a melancholy rhythm. It occurred to Tom that whereas their journey to Skye had had the air of a school outing about it, the return journey had the feeling of impending exams, an air of doom. Whereas before there had been a companionable silence there was now an uneasy tension.

  “ You remember what I said last night,” said Gail, breaking a long silence.

  “ What exactly?” replied Tom.

  “ One part of me wants to turn my life upside down, move in with you, marry you or whatever. That was supposed to provoke a response from you, but all I got was silence.”

  “ I wasn't sure if you were being serious or flippant.”

  “ Neither was I, but either way you didn't respond.”

  At this point Tom was trying to overtake a slow-moving truck, and used the necessary concentration required, to evade a response once again.

  “ I know,” said Gail. “You're trying to make sense of this mad woman, and failing miserably.”

  Having safely negotiated the overtaking manoeuvre, Tom glanced round at her to try and gauge what expression was accompanying these statements.

  “ Keep your eyes on the road,” warned Gail.

  They lapsed into silence for a few minutes.

  “ It's not going to work, is it?” started Gail, more of a statement than a real question, as if challenging a rebuttal.

  “ I think we need to go home and think about it.”

  “ Then it will never happen. We will get back in our ruts and stay there. Is that what you want?”

  “ No, but I'm not sure what the viable and practical alternative at the moment.”

  They lapsed into silence again.

  They made their way over Rannoch Moor, an inhospitable place even in the best of weathers, but now in the mist and rain, it was an even more depressing world, which seemed to echo the atmosphere in the car.

  Gail appeared to become somewhat distracted, staring vacantly out of the window. She was thinking of the large empty house she was going home to, on her own, compared to the small cosy cottage with the two of them. She turned and glanced at Tom's profile concentrating on the road. Was it possible to have a second relationship as good as her first one? Is that what she wanted, and did she want it with this man? Would she distance herself from her family to make it work? She was so confused it was giving her a headache.

  Tom tried to keep his mind on the road and his concentration on the driving but it was hard work. Somehow he felt that these next few days could determine the rest of his life, but he couldn't bring himself to tell Gail what he really felt about her, about the ache he felt at the thought of leaving her. He was not prepared to put that much emotional pressure on her. That wouldn't be fair.

  The journey seemed to pass a lot faster than their previous one had, and neither of them could decide whether that was a good or a bad thing, until they hit stationary traffic on Loch Lomondside.

  “ We don't seem to have a lot of luck by Loch Lomond, do we?” suggested Tom.

  “ No,” came the monosyllabic reply.

  They sat in silence, the engine switched off, magnifying the quiet.

  “ Oh, what the hell is the matter with this traffic?” cried Gail.

  “ It's probably a minor accident, or even just a breakdown.”

  “ Why did it have to be now?”

  “ It didn't have to be now. Whenever it happened it was going to hold someone up, and in this case it happens to be us.”

  “ Bravo Mr Logic,” retorted Gail, and if hands could have moved with sarcasm they would have done so.

  “ At least we're not dashing for a plane,” replied Tom, ignoring Gail's tone.

  “ Oh, I just want to get home,” she cried.

  It took them another hour to get free of the traffic jam, passing three damaged cars sitting by the roadside, still surrounded by police cars.

  “ There is always someone worse off than us,” commented Tom, pointing out half a dozen somewhat shaken individuals sitting by the roadside. “That's ruined their day.”

  They grabbed a quick bite to eat in Alexandria, not so much a social occasion as a fuel stop.

  It was past four o'clock by the time they pulled into Gail's driveway, and switched off the engine. They climbed out and stretched limbs, before Tom opened the boot and picked out Gail's suitcase.

  There was a pause that was full of furious thought.

  “ Perhaps it would be best if I didn't stay,” suggested Tom, against his better judgement.

  Gail's heart sank. This was the moment that she had been dreading, and if there had been any doubt in her mind, it disappeared there and then. She took a deep breath.

  “ Tom Drysdale, you crept away from me forty years ago. I am not going to let you do it to me again.” There was a determination in her voice that surprised even her.

  “ You're sure?”

  “ I'm sure. Now get your bloody bags out of there and come indoors.”

  The house was cold, and echoed. To Gail, it didn't seem to be the house she had left, but she wondered whether it was the house that had changed, or herself. Stupid woman, she thought, the house is an inanimate object.

  Gail unpacked, the house warmed up, and they ate whatever she could find in the freezer. They drank a bottle of wine, whether as an anaesthetic or in order to dull the senses, was not clear.

  At ten o'clock Gail yawned for the umpteenth time and declared. “I need to turn in. We were up early this morning. Are you coming to bed?”

  There was a moment's hesitation from Tom before he replied. “Is this going to make things difficult? Would it be better if I slept in the spare room?”

  “ Do you want to?”

  “No.”

  “ Then don't. Come to bed.”

  So for a second time he joined Gail in her bed, and in time they hugged each other fiercely as if trying to ward off, or influence, the future in some way.

  Sunday

  In the morning breakfast was a very quiet affair, both of them lost in their thoughts, but not revealing their feelings.

  As she cleared the dishes into the dishwasher, Gail said, “You're going to go, aren't you.”

  “ I have to go.”

  Gail bit her tongue. She desperately wanted to say 'no you don't have to go' but she managed to restrain the rising bitterness she was beginning to feel.

  “ In that case then, you'd better go.”

  All this time she had not turned to face him, determined that her expression would not give her true feelings away.

  On the driveway, there was a token hug, no kiss, no display of warmth, as each determined not to give themselves away.

  “ I'll give you a ring,�
�� promised Tom.

  Gail didn't recognise, or ignored, any double meaning.

  “ Yes, do that,” she replied without enthusiasm.

  Recognising that delaying things wasn't going to help anything, he climbed into the car, and with a quick wave, he pulled out of the driveway and left Gail standing on the doorstep.

  The next three days

  Gail slammed the door closed behind her, that might have ruined a lesser door, but this one was made of stern stuff and stayed on its hinges.

  “ Damn, damn, damn,” she yelled at the empty hallway. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.”

  With one kick she sent her walking boots flying across the room to leave a muddy mark on the wallpaper opposite, before she subsided heavily on the bottom step of the stairs with her head in her hands.

  Except she didn't hate him, she confessed to herself. She wanted his company. She wanted to hear his dry wit. She wanted to feel his hug, his hands stroking her. She wanted to wake up with him each morning. Was that love? If it was then she had to admit that the last eight days had been enough to make her fall in love.

  And where did that leave her? In an even worse place than when he had walked back into her life. It sucked, she decided, staring at the far wall as if expecting it to agree with her. And I can't tell him how I feel, she argued, because that would be unfair emotional pressure

  She glanced at the ceiling and called out “You took Gordon from me, and now you've taken Tom as well. What have I done to deserve it?”

  After a while she summed the strength to get to her feet, put the walking boots back in place, and move through to the kitchen where the breakfast dishes were crying out to be washed. That can wait, she thought, and carried on through to the lounge, switching on the television as she went.

  And that's where she spent the day, with a short break to have chocolate and ice-cream for lunch, until the doorbell rang at five o'clock. She debated whether to answer it or not as she didn't feel up to visitors. Her decision was over-ruled by the sound of key in the lock and Emily's voice in the hallway.

  “ Hello? Mum?”

  “ In here,” called Gail, reluctantly.

  Emily marched through into the lounge, waving a sheet of paper before slamming it down on the coffee table.

  “ Nice cottage,” she barked.

  “ Yes, it was a nice cottage.”

  “ Which according to its web page, only has one bedroom.”

  “ Were you checking up on me, your own mother?” accused Gail.

  “ You sent me a postcard of it, so I went searching just out of interest,” replied Emily, her voice rising in pitch and volume.

  Gail didn't respond so Emily continued.

  “ So, what would Dad say?” she demanded.

  Gail's complexion was getting paler and paler, anger rising. She stood to face Emily.

  “ Don't you dare throw that in my face. I'll tell you what your father said. Some of his last words were 'go out and get a life'. Well finally, after five years, I got it. For the last seven days I've had a life, and now he's gone, and taken my life with him, so I hope that makes you bloody well happy.”

  And with that Gail stormed out of the room, leaving a speechless Emily alone in the lounge.

  It took an hour for Emily to calm down and pluck up the courage to seek out her mother. She found her sitting on her bed, wiping a tear-stained and streaked face. She knelt down beside her.

  “ Mum, I'm sorry, I'm so very sorry. I didn't realise you felt so strongly.”

  “ No, well why would you? It's not something that crops up in normal conversation.” Gail paused. “The problem is you don't stop needing love just because you're over sixty.”

  “ Did you have a good time on Skye?”

  Gail smiled a little wistfully. “I had a wonderful time.”

  “ Did Tom enjoy it.”

  “ I think so. It's not the sort of question you ask. 'Are you enjoying yourself in my company?' But we laughed a lot, and shared thoughts, and swapped stories, and I beat him at tennis.”

  “ Well that doesn't surprise me,” interrupted Emily. “Demon granny of the tennis courts.”

  “ Less of the granny or I'll start to put my hair in a net.”

  “ So what are you going to do now?”

  “ Who?”

  “ You and Tom.”

  Gail sighed. “Nothing. He and his family live over five hundred miles away. It makes popping round to see each other a little difficult.”

  “ So move five hundred miles,” suggested Emily.

  Gail reached out and stroked Emily's hair. “Ah, the confidence and simplicity of youth, for whom no obstacle is too great.” She paused. “It's complicated.”

  Tom dropped his keys on the hall table and his suitcase onto the floor. The house was cold, dark and empty, and reflected his own mood he decided.

  The journey south had also seemed to echo his own situation. There had been multiple accidents, or breakdowns, or stationary traffic going nowhere. Just like me, he thought.

  He had had plenty of time in stationary traffic to mull over his situation. It's impossible, he decided, and unfair, and unjust, and heartbreaking. Yes, heartbreaking, because he was back in love with Gail, he admitted to himself. Had it been love forty years ago? Or was it the schoolboy crush of an adolescent struggling with his hormones and emotions? He didn't care any more. He just knew that he would prefer to be with Gail than on his own in this house.

  And there had been a moment on the drive home, at the back of a queue of stationary traffic, when he had glanced in his rear view mirror to see an articulated lorry bearing down on him at full speed, only to avoid him at the last minute, swerving into the outside lane, screaming past him, the trailer rocking from side to side as it sought to stabilise itself. Life had almost ended there, and it gave him much food for thought.

  He was exhausted from the long and stressful drive, and without bothering to sort anything out he went straight to bed.

  The next day he pottered aimlessly about, achieving nothing. He forgot to shave, dressed in some old clothes that looked somewhat disreputable. What did it matter, he thought, there's no one to see me. The weather cleared, blue sky heralding a return to summer, but he couldn't appreciate it.

  He came across a number of jobs that needed doing around the house. No hurry, I'll do it tomorrow, he decided, and spent long hours staring out of the window. The telephone rang a number of times but he couldn't summon the energy to answer it. Probably only salesmen, or surveys, or PPI solicitors anyway.

  That evening he ordered in pizza and opened a bottle of wine. Comfort food.

  The next morning he woke with a headache and an empty wine bottle. He didn't even remember coming to bed. He popped a couple of tablets to get rid of the headache and stood looking out of the bedroom window.

  “ I have to find a way through this,” he said to himself. “I will overcome. I could live like this before and I can do it again.”

  But the genie is out of the bottle, he acknowledged, and whatever I do it's not going to go back in.

  Gail went through the motions of life the next day but her heart wasn't in it. She met some friends for coffee but sat on the sidelines of conversation. She mentioned nothing of the past eight days. They remarked on her lack of life, in an understanding and compassionate tone of voice, blaming it yet again on her widowhood. How little you know, she thought.

  Emily phoned to find out how she was. Surviving, she replied. The grandchildren came round and she put on an effort to be normal Gran for them, but once they'd gone she realised what an effort it had been. She felt careworn and spent, feeling her age. She was getting old, she decided. Perhaps she should stop playing tennis.

  Tom had managed to rouse himself to put the washing machine on and go through the accumulated week's mail, but couldn't be bothered to process any of it, so he left it in an overflowing pile on the kitchen table. He looked at the grass in the garden, badly needing cut. I'll do it tomorrow, he
decided, and went to pick up a well thumbed book to lose himself in.

  And that's where he was when the doorbell rang at six thirty that evening. He opened the door to find his son John, on his way home from work, judging by his clothes.

  “ Come in. Come in,” greeted Tom.

  “ I was on my way home, Dad, and I thought I'd find out how you got on on your trip north.”

  Tom's expression must have reflected something, which made John take in his unshaven chin and the general mess in the house.

  “ Are you all right? What's happened? Have you had some bad news?”

  “ Well..yes... and no.”

  John shook his head. “I don't understand.”

  So Tom told him about the week's events.

  “ Wow,” said John. “That's some holiday.”

  “ It certainly was,” replied Tom in a disconsolate sort of way.

  “ And this woman. Gail. She was an old flame of yours?”

  “ An old friend.”

  “ But you really reconnected by the sound of it.”

  “ We seemed to.”

  “ So, are you going to keep in touch?”

  “ She lives five hundred miles away.”

  “ But you say that you love her?”

  “ Yes.”

  “ Have you told her?”

  “ It's not that straightforward.”

  “ Why not? If you really badly wanted to, there's nothing stopping you from moving.”

  “ Except for you and Carrie, and Stuart and Jess.”

  There was a pause, while John looked a little awkward.

  “ Well, this is going to complicate matters.”

  “ Why?” asked Tom.

  “ Seeing how your holiday went wasn't the only reason that I dropped in tonight.”

  “ Oh?”

  “ Stuart and I have been offered a chance to take over a business that has a lot of potential but needs some fresh blood.”

  “ That sounds great,” enthused Tom. “Where is this business. Is it around here?”

  “ Well. That's what makes it awkward. You see, it's in the Lake District. It's an outdoor pursuits centre. Right up our street.”