She looked nothing like her picture. Not that I was expecting her to turn up in black and white, but it must have been at least 10 years out of date. The only remaining feature was her unusually dark lipstick. Straight jet black hair sat just above her eyes and tucked behind her ears. Her ear-lobes drooped slightly from the weight of her dangly pearl earrings. She smelt like cheap perfume and cigarettes. I’d given up smoking several years ago, after the diagnosis of my wife’s cancer, but even the faintest taste of tobacco in the air made me weaken at the knees. My insides clenched at the thought of my wife sat in our garden smiling with a cigarette held so naturally in her hand it was almost like another finger. I could have cried myself dry there and then, but over these past two years I’ve trained myself to swallow any emotion. I just sat there, chewing on my feelings.
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We had arranged to meet in a public place. Open and filled with witnesses, in case I tried to ‘tie her up and throw her in my boot’ as she had oddly joked the night before. Her nervous humour comforted me in a way a blanket comforts a child. She was one of the first people to contact me after leaving my post on the internet. I’d never signed up for any sort of dating website before. I wasn’t one of those creepy old men you often find in films scanning the internet for young women. I was simply looking for company. And apparently you can’t just talk to new people on the streets or at the supermarket anymore it’s all ‘online.’
The first woman to contact me wasn’t quite the right company I was looking for. After several partially naked photos were sent to my inbox I stopped replying. The second woman wasn’t as forward but still had an air of ‘handcuff me to the bed and gag me’ about her. But the third was different. She was a good twenty years younger than me and wasn’t reluctant to open up her feelings to a stranger. I knew her entire life story within a few hours. I felt connected to somebody again, connected in a way that grounded me back into normality. Yet, she never told me her name. I could list you the names of her pets from the last thirty years but she never let slip her own. I didn’t mind though. Everyone has secrets.
‘I can’t wait to start our adventure,’ was the last message I read off her before retiring to bed. At sixty seven the word ‘adventure’ was enough to strike a heart attack. It was a word my wife often used. I could picture her curled up on the sofa with a cup of earl grey and a cigarette in her hand. She’d look over at me wide eyed and throw back her blanket demanding we go on an adventure. Her energy was limitless. A light that never went out. If only I had healed enough to laugh at the irony in that now. Her wide eyes flashed in my head as I tried to slip off to sleep, like the screensaver of my mind. Her delicate hushed voice sounding “Keith, let’s go on an adventure.”
I woke to the shrill sound of twiddles barking at the bottom of my bed. As I began my struggle to sit upright he slowly stopped barking and began jumping up at my legs. Muriel hated twiddles. She said he was a rat that barked. But without him now I’d have no reason to get out of bed in the mornings. Twiddles needed me and this gave me a purpose in life.
I was sat on a bench with twiddles sprawled across my lap at the park we’d arranged to meet at. I was a good half an hour early but I had nothing better to do with my day so decided to just sit and wait. It was nearing winter so the air was cold and leaves spread across the park in a kaleidoscope of golden browns. I thought of bringing some rope and duct tape as a joke to break the ice but decided against it last minute in case she got the wrong idea and ran away. As I took in the harsh air my throat burned and I exhaled my warm breath like fire. Twiddles ears pricked up as a woman approached the bench. It was her.
A blend of heavy musk and smoke intruded my personal space. My body froze momentarily taking in the oddly familiar scent. I could feel my face contort slightly under the intoxicating fumes. I must have looked disgusted but I wasn’t. I was overwhelmed by such a beautiful stench. The sweet smell that eventually killed my wife and the same sweet smell that reminds me of her sweet smile. I hadn’t felt like this since my wife was alive. I’ve never looked or thought of another woman for as long as I can remember. But this was a yearning that I could not control.
I took her in my arms and stroked her neck. It was not love. But a feeling deep inside filled with passion and longing. For once I felt connected with somebody. For once I wasn’t alone and longing for someone’s touch. She was real. She was fantasy. She was an all encompassing manifestation of everything I hoped and dreamed she would be. I wanted her there and then. ‘Let’s go on an adventure...’