Past and Present - A Modern Day Romance of North & South

CHAPTER SIXTEEN - THE BARRIERS BETWEEN US

Blighted by jealousy John stalked from the hotel, stepping out into the cool of the fading summer evening. There were still people about along the road, wending their way homeward from an evening out, spilling from the pubs that had now dimmed their lights and all but fastened their doors, and from the bounty of restaurants scattered along the street. A man, more than a little drunk, veered into John as he passed by, his mood distinctly mellow and sanguine compared to the unchanging and rather thunderous scowl painted across John’s own face. Across the road a gaggle of girls, their spirits high, nudged each other and giggled as they spied his lonely figure pounding the pavement. He glanced briefly over and threw them a passing acknowledgement and continued on his way, knowing not where he was heading, listening absently to the echo of his footsteps against the unrelenting hardness of the concrete slabs he trod.

He turned the corner at the bottom of the road, finding himself in the solitary isolation of the High Street. There was no one else around in this area where, during the day, hundreds of people would throng and mingle and now stood deserted but for him, a singular figure shrouded by the shadows, almost a shadow himself. Ahead of him he could see the neon sign of the local snooker club, still open, at the far end of the road, embellished like an ugly psychedelic gash against the black inky density of the skyline. Shop fronts stood undisturbed and hushed. He covered the ground quickly, making it across the length of the pedestrianised section within a few minutes.

And so again into his barren world there came the intermittent droning of car engines, the footsteps of other people, evidencing the fact that he was alive, that he breathed oxygen into his lungs just as those other people did, even though he felt utterly dead and desolate inside…

He peered down at his watch. Eleven thirty. It was late and she’d probably be in bed, but he needed to hear her voice in spite of the vortex of emotions spinning through his head. Blindly following the impetus of the moment, John pulled out his mobile and brought up her number, his footsteps slowing, becoming silent, as he came to a stop, waiting, praying, that she’d hear the ringing and pick up her phone rather than let it click over to the answer-phone.

“John? Is that you?” She sounded dazed, bleary.

He knew at once that he’d woken her up and almost – almost – regretted his impulsive action. He wanted to rail at her, to demand what she had thought she was doing with that other man – a complete stranger to him – earlier that afternoon, but there was no way he would ask her on the phone when the first action she would probably take was to hang up on him.

“I need to speak to you. Tonight. Now,” he said, unable to keep the curtness from his voice.

“Where are you?” she asked in confusion. “I can hear cars.”

“I’ve just left the High Street. I’m walking towards Winchester Way now. I’ll be five minutes.”

“It’s gone half eleven,” she said, her voice clearing as she threw off her sleepiness. “I’m in bed.”

He resolutely blotted out the thought of her lying there and the image of her silhouette outlined perfectly by the covers thrown across it, her hair settled like a fan against the pillow. “I know, but this won’t wait.”

“I’ll get dressed.”

He had to bite his tongue that wanted to tell her not to bother getting dressed just for his sake. If he told her that he’d be sunk the minute he saw her; the distraction would be too overwhelming – and her presence was already distraction enough most of the time. “I’ll be there in five minutes,” he told her.

“You’d better not ring the doorbell. Mum and dad are in bed. I’ll come downstairs and look out for you.”

“Five minutes,” he repeated and rang off.