LITMIR.BIZ

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are you, Jeremy? How is your life going? Have you met anyone? Are you enjoying the US? And what about work, you sound so busy with everything …’ God, I can’t stop myself blathering! He laughs as he raises his hand to interrupt my inquisition.

      ‘You’ve never been short of a question, Alexa, have you?’ He raises one eyebrow and pauses. ‘I suppose some things never change.’ His comment is teasing and laced with innuendo.

      His look is direct, though somewhat mischievous at the same time. I shuffle uncomfortably at the intensity of his stare and the weight I assume is behind his words. I wish I could read his facial expressions more clearly but as we haven’t seen each other for so long, they are unfortunately too masked for me to decipher at this point.

      ‘It’s just that there is always so much to catch up on in the time we have. I don’t want to miss anything, don’t want to waste our conversation,’ I reply in my defence.

      ‘We won’t, I promise you. Now drink up.’

      I notice I still haven’t touched my champagne. We both sip a mouthful of the golden bubbles at the same time. It tastes so delicious, initially dry with a sweet aftertaste and I feel the bubbles pop on my tongue. I can’t help but take another.

      ‘Now, before I attempt to answer your myriad questions, tell me, what are your plans for this weekend? Who has the pleasure of your company?’

      Happy to ease back into conversation, I comfortably rattle off the details of my weekend, particularly as he knows most of the people I am seeing. I tell him about Robert and the kids being away on their great adventure and about my catching up with Samuel at the university, my family and my old school friends. He listens attentively, without interrupting, and I barely notice as he refills my glass. I can’t say whether it is nerves or excitement that keeps my chatter going and the champagne flowing.

      ‘Enough about me.’ I realise Jeremy hasn’t spoken in some time and we have plenty to discuss other than my plans for the weekend. I stop to look at him more carefully and notice his tense expression. ‘You’re very quiet, Jeremy. Is there something wrong?’

      He stands up and walks deliberately toward where I’m seated on the lounge. Silently, he squats on the floor ensuring he is looking directly into my eyes and places his hand on my stockinged knee. A mild electric current travels straight up my leg and I jerk at the sensation. The hint of a smile emerges on his face at my reaction, as if pleased he still has this impact, before it quickly disappears and he regains focus and control of the moment. I immediately blush, blending perfectly with the rose cushion at my back. There is no way he can’t notice that I am practically beside myself at his touch. Completely embarrassed, I shift my body weight uneasily on the lounge, while his position is statuesque. My rising anxiety immediately prevents me from uttering a sound.

      ‘Alexandra, I want to ask you something and I’m honestly not sure what you will say or how you’ll react.’

      It must be serious if he is using my full name.

      He pauses, staring unrelentingly into my eyes.

      ‘Which is unusual for me …’ he muses.

      He fixes both hands firmly on my knees, as if anchoring my feet to the ground lest I should fly away like a helium balloon. ‘So, I’ll just come straight out with it.’

      I don’t move an inch.

      I do nothing except hold his gaze.

      I concentrate on moderating my breathing.

      I wait for him to continue.

      ‘I would like you to stay the weekend here with me and cancel your other plans.’ He pauses, looking at me from beneath his long, thick eyelashes. My heart literally skips a beat.

      Or two. Or maybe three.

      As his gaze intensifies, I become lost in his eyes.

      Our shared, ancient memories come flooding back into my brain: flashes of university days, ridiculous pranks, lust and love and orgasms and sex, friendship, tears of laughter, tears of pain, experimentation, stolen moments. It was fun, it was edgy, exhilarating and exciting, and there seemed to be no other way with Jeremy.

      The look in his eyes conveys all of that and more to me in a few long seconds. I never knew quite what was going to happen next with Jeremy and here I am, all these years later in the same situation. Albeit with very different life circumstances. Our silent dialogue continues dancing between us. Once again daring us to take a risk that would never be taken with anyone else, only each other.

      My mind begins to race as fast as my heart. What if I did stay? Would it be the worst thing I could do? People always talk about living life to the fullest, expecting the unexpected … Wouldn’t a weekend with Jeremy make me feel more alive than I have in years? Given the effect of his touch on my knee, I can only imagine how I would respond to, well, his touch on other parts of my body …

      Finally, my motherly instinct anchors these abstract and fleeting thoughts so commonsense can prevail. My children. My life isn’t just about me any more; there are consequences for my actions. The guilt … the betrayal … Robert …. My stomach is in knots. How can I feel such anticipation and remorse simultaneously? It doesn’t make sense to me. My clinical mind quickly shifts a gear and makes a mental note to explore the psychology around such intense emotions and the resulting change in my physiology. My immediate situation renders my clinical experience redundant. God, what am I doing, thinking, feeling? Jeremy still has his hands on my knees as his eyes bore into my soul. Moments pass until, as if reading my thoughts, he releases his hold on my eyes and withdraws his touch, rising to step toward the panoramic view.

      I immediately inhale as if I have been released from a spell. I must have been holding my breath for quite some time. As he continues to stare out toward the harbour, he says, in a bemused voice: ‘Let me guess. You are currently analysing every angle of this situation.’ He turns to look into my eyes once again before returning his gaze outward and nods, as if to confirm for himself that he is on the right track before continuing.

      ‘You are weighing up the pros and cons of accepting my offer. One side of you is excited, enticed almost, about the possibilities of the experience, the other is fully grounded in the responsibilities of your existing life, giving rise to endless questions and what-if scenarios and which mean you need more time for consideration and reflection. Truly, Alex, it would take many lifetimes’ worth of experience to answer your questions and even then, never reach a satisfactory conclusion. Am I right?’ Once again, looking toward me for confirmation.

      All I can do is nod my head in agreement. He is reading me like a book. Actually, if I’m truly honest about it, he is reading me better than I can read myself, which disturbs me no end. The accuracy of his words catches me off-guard, his summary both measured and precise. Am I that easy to read or does he really know me that well? I thought he would have forgotten over the years … but if I haven’t, how could I naively assume he had? That is a truly scary consideration given my current predicament. He continues with his barrage of my presumed concerns.

      ‘What about your family? Do you really want this? What will it mean if you stay? What would your friends think? How would you justify your decision? Could you live with yourself? And dare I say it, what would happen if you truly let yourself go, even if it were just for one weekend?’

      I sit before him, embarrassed at the truth behind his take on my questions, by the depth of his knowledge of my thought processes. But I also know he isn’t playing fair now and is deliberately pushing my personal boundaries.

      His last question was the summation of many of our conversations throughout our relationship. He knows I put others before myself and always castigated me about it, particularly if I chose paths he could see ending badly for me. He always made me ponder the question of ‘what if’? What if, just once, I didn’t try to control or orchestrate myself and others, didn’t play it safe? What if it was a good thing to not know what was going to happen next or how someone was going to feel about it? Could it still be worth the risk?

      My immediate concerns

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