THE SECRETS WE KEEP.

- MATCH POINT (PART 1).

DIANNES POV:
Car journeys. Love or hate them? This likability is dependable on the end destination for myself truly. In one retrospect, a prolonged roam around our world may be the rare slot for reflection on oneself; perhaps digging your nose into an interesting book absorbing these characters and their alternate universe lifestyle, or plugging in your headphones and blasting a random playlist into your ears this melodic sequence of words drowning out the torment occurring in your brain. Apart of the arguments other view was the consideration towards the extremely lacking manoeuvre space that this vehicle confines you to for hours straight; perhaps your body is squished into the corner, or that dying urge to urinate is forever increasing with every mile driven further.

Yet not a single domestic comfort item - either a satin blanket to envelop those unsettled emotions or an ornament stolen from my parents bedroom as an emotional anchor to soothe my worries - could possibly exist to improve this travel's quality or revamp the ultimate destination into something magical. This frothing seethe of simmering nerves, percolating their destructive magic in the pit of my stomach, enriched by the window-view surroundings turning more familiar with each mile further, to the point where my bouncing knee had to be contained by Joe's hand placing down onto it to steady the movements. Throughout, the outlines of our bodies converged into the other's separate space, none of the liability onto ourselves, marginally to the car's slim frame that destined the interior a close-knit proximity; nevertheless, this cramped seating was not viable to complaints, for our upthrusted knees contructed a wall of concealment to secrete our delicate hand interlock, typically romantisiced behaviour that is capable to be passed off as a comfort to my unsettled heart to those inevitable inquisitive on-lookers. Even if there was too much internal pride in my prospering strength to admit, frequently augmented by each solitary drive, I was secretly thankful that Joe chaperoned my visit for moral support. Unforeseen, these subdued emotions brewing within my body ensued to the public in a poignant expression, a tear droplet leaked from the crevice of my eyelid and trickled the lengthy journey along my cheek, the acute angling of my jawline forming a cliff edge for it to drop downwards to sink itself into the skin of his hand that was clasped around my knee to halt the nervous jitters. Almost instantly, my knee was released from underneath the constraint of his palm, however the restrictive tensity seemingly extracted each singular particle of anxious until my leg bided in a still motion. On its release, his hand found itself reuniting into the acquainted plush environment of my own, conveying his fondment in a gentle squeeze and a kiss onto the back of the hand, partnered with a faint whisper of, "you'll be fine, I'm right with you." This simple operation of hand holding with the gentle accompaniment of a thumb caressing the back of a hand, earning a soft endearing sigh through my clasped lips, really characterised the utter admiration we had over one another, for through each life event, we would remain by the other's side to hold their hand.

As the car's wheels steered onto the curb, establishing a slight angled tilt to the right, in unison our bodies were detached from the restrictive safety belts for us to slither out of our nearest exits, bidding farewell and vocalising our gratitude for the driver who no doubt would happily evict from his vehicle. On his disembark into his reunitement into the gridlock traffic typical of London, despite the regular work hours for the mundane individuals unfolding and the childhood schoolday commencing like usual, abandoning us in their disembarkment dust to reconnect on our accord, my option horizons consumed by their dreaded building. It's stature could not be considered tall, neither the height of a bungalow type building, yet it was alternatively the symmetrical viewing of a family house. It's beige walls were crumbling with age, small chunks missing from the structure and black lines drippling their darkened markings from the begrimed gutters against the light paint to inaugurate the aura of a haunted house. The door, hunching over at its top into an oval shaping, shaded a navy colour that surprisingly matched the walls, was situated upon a stepway ledge direct in the middle. Just above it, supported by the door frame, was a resting sign labelling that intimidating phrasing, so compelling it could percolate anxious nerves in the pit of my stomach: GREENWICH DENTISTRY. "Dianne.." Joe's faint calling was the extended hand to grasp me from this deflection daydream into the shuddering reality, my body curled into his with an arm clasping my frame and providing it with gently squeezes of encouragement. "I'll be there the entire time, it's going to be fine.. I promise you," he enounced words of reassurance, initating that cowering trek up the steps ledge.