The Trees Smell Like Lemons

44. Lovers and thinkers

Two weeks later

"Bye darling! Let me know when you get home," Connie called from the front door of. She stood arm in arm with a tall, handsome ginger-haired man in his late forties. Shortly after celebrating the new year Connie had tentatively asked Bea how she'd feel about meeting Sean. Bea had agreed, even though it was bound to be awkward. It would make her mother happy though. It had gone surprisingly well. Sean had two children from a previous marriage, both boys and a few years younger than Bea. He was polite, funny and didn't try to push Bea too hard. In a lot of ways, Sean reminded Bea of her father. Connie and Sean were taking things slow, not for their sake but for their children. Sean had only been divorced a year and his sons were still adjusting to the idea of a new mother figure in their lives. She was having dinner with Sean's family and her parents next week. Steve and Sean had met several times and had hit it off. Bea couldn't tell if her mother was pleased about that or not.

As Bea walked down the street towards the bus stop she took out the piece of paper she'd hastily written down an address on this morning, before meeting her mother. Bea and her parents had spent the New Year with Connie's parents in the North of England. When she returned home, Bea had found the letters from A.H still hidden under her mattress. It was the one thing she hadn't told her parents about. She'd searched the pile and true to Adam's word, Bea found a letter written by Sara. It was folded in half with a name written on one side. Adrian.

It took Bea a while to track down an address. This morning she'd finally heard back and was now on her way to Greenview Park Road. When she looked up the address, she was surprised to find the house was located just a short walk from Trinity Gardens. She wondered if that's how Sara and A.H had met.

Nearly twenty minutes later Bea was standing in front of a two-storey semi-detached house at the end of a cul-de-sac. The street was quiet with the faint buzz of everyday life echoing from open windows. Bea braced herself and walked up to the front door. As she waited, she noticed the flowers on the windowsills. Pansies. Sara's favourite. The door opened. Bea looked up at the man standing in front of her. Slim, early-twenties, sandy blonde hair and a pair of reading glasses balanced at the end of his nose.

"Isabelle? What are you doing here?" The man asked, regarding her with curiosity.

"I know," Bea said.

The man regarded her with bewilderment. "I'm sorry Isabelle I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sara."

A look of pain flashed across the man's face so intense Bea could feel almost feel it. She had planned to come here to demand an explanation, but all of her anger evaporated upon seeing that look. He didn't speak for several moments. Eventually he stepped back and said, "I suppose you better come in then." 

***

Sara

Sara sat on the grass in the middle of Trinity Gardens. She balanced a sketch pad on her knees and three pencils in her hand. She had another one in her mouth and one more tucked behind her ear. Sara twisted her head back and forth, trying to get the right angle. Eventually she gave up and sighed, the pencil dropping onto the grass. She didn't know how Bea did it. All of her drawings looked like they belonged in an art gallery. Sara's drawings didn't even deserve a place on the kitchen fridge. She had wanted to give Bea something special for her birthday this year, so she'd come to the park in a futile attempt to draw their favourite spot next to the bandstand, with the river winding its way lazily through the trees. This place that held hundreds of wonderful memories for both of them.

"That's a nice picture," said a voice from above her, "Did your niece or nephew draw that for you?" Sara craned her head up. There was a man standing directly behind her. He was beautiful, Sara thought immediately. Her second thought was she's sure she's seen him somewhere before. His skin was shining, Sara didn't know if it was due to his tan or the sun. His sandy blonde hair fell into his eyes. Why on earth was he talking to her? Sara tried to twist round but got her sleeve caught on the sketchpad. As she scrambled to un-attach the sleeve, she stabbed her palm with one of the pencils, causing her to swear. The man's mouth quirked in amusement. Sara eventually freed herself and stood up.

"Actually, it's my drawing."

"Oh! Well, all I meant was that it's clearly been drawn so skilfully-" the man tried to back-track but Sara laughed him off.

"It's okay," she said. "I know I suck at drawing. My sister is the real artist. I was trying to make something for her."

"Perhaps a cake instead?" The man joked.

"I'm a rubbish baker so that won't work either."

"How about jewellery? My friend runs his own shop, he makes all the pieces himself. I could give him your number. You could design something unique for your sister."

"That is a great idea," Sara said excitedly. "Wait this isn't some convoluted way of trying to get my number is it?" She frowned suspiciously.

The man held his hands up innocently. "I'm just trying to be a good citizen. Scouts honour."

Sara looked at him through her eyelashes. He really was familiar to her, "This might sound strange, but do I know you? I feel like we've met before."

"I moved here recently from Brighton, to start a new job. I'm a secondary school teacher," he replied.

"Yikes, that sounds fun. You don't remind me of any of my teachers from secondary school," Sara joked.

He laughed, "It has its ups and downs. This is actually my first job since finishing my degree. I just hope I don't get eaten alive." He held out his hand, "Adrian. Adrian Hemingway."

"Like the author," Sara smiled, taking his hand. "I'm Sara Elliott."

"It's nice to meet you Sara," he looked into her eyes and from that moment, Sara knew her life was about to change in the best way possible.