clung to that optimism for as long as she could, even when it was becoming pretty apparent that the evening was shaping up to be a total washout. She’d found a bar that, in her rosy memories of past years, had been a vibrant, exciting place, but now just seemed noisy and crowded and overpriced.
Suzy felt like lapsing into a tantrum, the kind of foot-stamping, shouting-and-sobbing display that her kids had grown out of years and years ago. “ It’s not fair!” she wanted to cry out plaintively. She was only 30 years old. Surely that wasn’t so ancient? Even if it had seemed so when she was younger, well, that was just the short-sightedness of kids, wasn’t it? Her best years couldn’t be behind her already.
Her glass of wine went down easily, at least, taking the edge off the worst of her self-pity. She thought about ordering another but decided against it. If it was her fate to be old before her time, she might as well give making responsible choices a shot to go along with it.
Dejected, Suzy left the bar and began her walk back through the maze of streets to the train station. She could remember navigating this same route when she was a teenager, staying out until the dawn with cheap shoes on her feet and a cheaper fake ID in her pocket, Drew at her side and their whole lives ahead of them. Now she was alone and weary and her shoes were pinching her feet more and more with every step.
Finally, halfway on her journey, it abruptly all felt like far more than Suzy could handle. She sat down on the bench of a bus stop. She was too tired to even cry properly, just a few hot, unhappy tears squeezing out over her lashes when she blinked, probably getting her mascara everywhere and making her an even more pathetic sight than she already was.
Hoping to fight off any potential make-up disasters, Suzy unwound the long silk scarf from around her neck, to wipe her face clean.
Before she’d completed the action, one of the handful of other pedestrians out and about at this hour (it wasn’t even that late and she was already done for the night; what a hopeless wreck she’d turned out to be) broke his stride and came over to her, offering out a small folded white rectangle in his extended hand.
‘Are you all right? Do you need help?’ he asked. Suzy took the offered tissue, surprised by the weight and texture of it. Not a tissue after all – a handkerchief, white cotton, with navy initials embroidered in one corner. D.A.
The surprise of it – who even carried a handkerchief any more? – made Suzy look up and properly notice her unexpected saviour.
He had warm, mid-brown skin, the kind of shade that came from having Egyptian somewhere in the family history, or maybe Arabic. His eyes were grey, light enough that they were almost silvery, picking up tones of sea foam green and cerulean blue from the world around. His expression was concerned, kind, a gentle smile on his wide mouth.
He was dressed in a white dress shirt with a slim, 50s-style black tie and black trousers. He looked like he belonged in a Tom Ford photoshoot.
‘Seemed a shame to let you ruin such a lovely scarf,’ he went on as Suzy dried her tears and did the best she could to salvage her make-up.
‘I must look a fright, sorry,’ she apologised, handing back the kerchief when she knew she’d done all that could be managed.
‘No, no, you look lovely,’ he answered her, and somehow he made those old, stale platitudes that get handed out to messy, crying women sound genuinely sincere. ‘But are you all right?’
Snuffling a laugh, Suzy wiped at a final stray tear underneath one eye and shook her head. ‘Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. It’s the stupidest reason, honestly. I just … realised I’m a grown-up and that I don’t want to be, but there’s no going back.’
‘I hear you on that one.’ He laughed kindly and sat down on the bench, keeping a respectful amount of distance between them, not intruding into her personal space without
Suzy felt like lapsing into a tantrum, the kind of foot-stamping, shouting-and-sobbing display that her kids had grown out of years and years ago. “ It’s not fair!” she wanted to cry out plaintively. She was only 30 years old. Surely that wasn’t so ancient? Even if it had seemed so when she was younger, well, that was just the short-sightedness of kids, wasn’t it? Her best years couldn’t be behind her already.
Her glass of wine went down easily, at least, taking the edge off the worst of her self-pity. She thought about ordering another but decided against it. If it was her fate to be old before her time, she might as well give making responsible choices a shot to go along with it.
Dejected, Suzy left the bar and began her walk back through the maze of streets to the train station. She could remember navigating this same route when she was a teenager, staying out until the dawn with cheap shoes on her feet and a cheaper fake ID in her pocket, Drew at her side and their whole lives ahead of them. Now she was alone and weary and her shoes were pinching her feet more and more with every step.
Finally, halfway on her journey, it abruptly all felt like far more than Suzy could handle. She sat down on the bench of a bus stop. She was too tired to even cry properly, just a few hot, unhappy tears squeezing out over her lashes when she blinked, probably getting her mascara everywhere and making her an even more pathetic sight than she already was.
Hoping to fight off any potential make-up disasters, Suzy unwound the long silk scarf from around her neck, to wipe her face clean.
Before she’d completed the action, one of the handful of other pedestrians out and about at this hour (it wasn’t even that late and she was already done for the night; what a hopeless wreck she’d turned out to be) broke his stride and came over to her, offering out a small folded white rectangle in his extended hand.
‘Are you all right? Do you need help?’ he asked. Suzy took the offered tissue, surprised by the weight and texture of it. Not a tissue after all – a handkerchief, white cotton, with navy initials embroidered in one corner. D.A.
The surprise of it – who even carried a handkerchief any more? – made Suzy look up and properly notice her unexpected saviour.
He had warm, mid-brown skin, the kind of shade that came from having Egyptian somewhere in the family history, or maybe Arabic. His eyes were grey, light enough that they were almost silvery, picking up tones of sea foam green and cerulean blue from the world around. His expression was concerned, kind, a gentle smile on his wide mouth.
He was dressed in a white dress shirt with a slim, 50s-style black tie and black trousers. He looked like he belonged in a Tom Ford photoshoot.
‘Seemed a shame to let you ruin such a lovely scarf,’ he went on as Suzy dried her tears and did the best she could to salvage her make-up.
‘I must look a fright, sorry,’ she apologised, handing back the kerchief when she knew she’d done all that could be managed.
‘No, no, you look lovely,’ he answered her, and somehow he made those old, stale platitudes that get handed out to messy, crying women sound genuinely sincere. ‘But are you all right?’
Snuffling a laugh, Suzy wiped at a final stray tear underneath one eye and shook her head. ‘Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. It’s the stupidest reason, honestly. I just … realised I’m a grown-up and that I don’t want to be, but there’s no going back.’
‘I hear you on that one.’ He laughed kindly and sat down on the bench, keeping a respectful amount of distance between them, not intruding into her personal space without
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