Tess
April
It was a while until Tess saw Oliver again, and when she did it was at the train station, not Clearview. It was early one Wednesday morning. She was coming, he was going.
It was always bizarre, in somewhere like Waterloo Station, teeming with thousands of people, to bump into someone you knew. Stranger still to see someone in such an unfamiliar context. Sometimes you’d spot a face and spend a few moments processing whose it was, where you knew them from. Not now. Not with him.
Tess had just gone through the ticket barrier. Oliver was standing about twenty-five yards in front of her, arms folded, looking up at the information screen, wearing a deep-blue suit, a brown leather messenger bag across his body and holding a Pret à Manger coffee cup. Tall and good-looking.
Tess realized she’d stopped walking when she heard the tut of a commuter to her left. That was the trick, really, in the city, wasn’t it? Keep moving at the same pace as everyone else. Don’t get in anyone’s way. But she had.
Hoping he’d notice her.
Sad.
And he did. His eyes left the board, scanned the surroundings and then alighted on her. His face was neutral at first – then showed recognition. His eyebrows went up and he smiled broadly.
She smiled back, and then took two, three steps towards him. He did the same. Then they were in front of each other.
‘Tess. Hi.’
‘Morning. Where are you off to?’
‘Andover. Got a meeting. You?’
‘Work. Holborn.’
He nodded.
It was the same sensation she’d had with him before. Hard to describe. She wanted to talk. Wanted to stay in his radius. Maybe that was what people meant when they talked about other people having magnetic personalities. She’d never really known. But maybe it was this. She was disproportionately pleased to have bumped into him. She hardly knew him at all. But she wanted to stay like this.
‘What time’s your train?’ Why was she asking that? What was she going to suggest? Breakfast at the café on the concourse, for God’s sake?
Oliver looked at his watch. ‘About seven minutes.’ She heard regret in his voice, and felt it. Not long enough for breakfast. Not even long enough for coffee.
Neither of them moved. They looked at each other. Dozens of people milled about them, but it felt to her like they were very still, in the eye of the storm.
‘How’s your granddad?’
‘Good, I think. The same. Your grandmother? She’s … better?’
Tess nodded. ‘I think so.’
‘Good.’ It was the smallest of small talk, but it felt big. She wouldn’t have been able to explain it. Even to Holly. Who’d probably make Brief Encounter references anyway.
He spoke first this time. ‘I wish I had a bit more time. I’d love to grab a coffee …’
She looked pointedly at his cup, smiling.
‘Another coffee.’ He grinned. ‘Maybe even a croissant.’
It was flirting. She remembered flirting, though it had certainly been a very long time since she’d done any herself. But maybe Oliver was one of those people who flirted with everybody.
‘It’s good to see you anyway, Tess.’
‘You too.’
He looked up at the board. Bit his lip. ‘Gotta go.’
Tess nodded. ‘Have a good day. I hear Andover’s lovely, at this time of year.’ Was that flirting back? God, who’d know? She was more than rusty …
Oliver took a step back. Then a step forward. He put one arm very briefly, very lightly, around her shoulder and kissed her cheek. She smelt his aftershave and the faint tang of coffee, felt his cheek, slightly stubbly against hers.
And then he was gone, walking backwards for two or three steps, smiling at her, then turning, his arm raised in a wave.
But the sensation of him lingered.