Old flames

The photo is in a shoebox at the bottom of the wardrobe. In it, he’s laughing, tilting his head back, his eyes half closed but looking into the camera, at her taking the picture. It’s twenty years since she last looked at it, more than thirty since it was taken, on the seafront at Brighton, but rarely has a day gone by that she hasn’t thought about him.

Derek Southward. Dirty Del her schoolfriends had called him, rolling their eyes, pressing her for details. “What’s he like, Pam? What noises does he make? Is he, you know...?” They held their hands far apart and collapsed into helpless giggles.

Pam would just smile contentedly and shake her head; she wasn’t telling. Even if she had wanted to, she wouldn’t have known where to begin. What they had was beyond description, lifted her above the mundanity of homework and exams, transcended trivialities like age.

“You’re sixteen. Six. Teen,” her mother repeatedly told her as if she didn’t know. “He’s forty-one. For. Tee. One. More than twice, twice, your age.”

Yes, forty-one, twenty-five years older, twenty-five years wiser, twenty-five years more experienced. Pam closes her eyes and cast her mind back to the bed and breakfast, prints of woodland animals on the walls, the loud squeaks of the bed, her own ecstatic screams of pleasure and Derek panting, “Oh Lord, oh Pam, oh Lord, oh Pam, Pam, Pam.” The landlady banging on the ceiling below and the two of them laughing till they cried, entwined under the covers.

Her memory of that time was pure, untarnished by Derek eventually going back to his wife, by Pam’s own disappointing love life since. She gazed into her past and realised nothing had ever matched up to that time.

And now, after all these years, a message through Facebook, of all things. The girls at work had encouraged her, shown her how to upload a photo, put in her school and workplace, romantic status: single. She’d forgotten about it until the email arrived, making her heart beat faster. ‘Derek Southward has sent you a message on Facebook’.

It had taken a few minutes to calm down enough to open the email. He apologised for contacting her like this, hoped she remembered him, asked how she had been, what she was doing these days. Her reply was cheerful but cautious, telling him the basic details of her life. Work in a solicitor’s office, married twice, divorced twice, no kids. Then excitement got the better of her and she rapidly typed, “I’m no good at this emailing thing. It might sound crazy, but would you like to meet up? Yours, Pam.” She paused a moment, clicked ‘Send’ and sat back staring at the screen. Fifteen agonising minutes later he replied. Yes, he would like to meet up. Perhaps she would like to come to his house for tea. He gave his address and suggested next Saturday at three, and like a fool, she agreed.

“How do I look, Terence?” She twisted and turned in the mirror. “Is this lipstick too much? Maybe I should tone it down? What should I do with these?” she inspected her cleavage. “Don’t want to be mutton dressed as lamb, do we?” Terence yawned, licked his paw and blinked at her.

“Oh god, I’ll have to do. Here I go. Wish me luck.”

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Pam steeled herself, reached out her hand and rang the bell. A pause, footsteps, then the door opened. “Pam? Come in, come in.”

He hasn’t changed a bit. It’s amazing, as if only a couple of years have passed. The film star good looks have remained intact, the few small wrinkles round the eyes accentuating rather than detracting from his handsome features. His welcoming smile still melts her heart.

He leads her into the living room. “Wait here,” he tells her, “I’ll be back in a minute.” He disappears through another door. Pam smooths down her dress and looks round the room.

“Here we are, Dad. It’s Pam.” The old man shuffles in and peers at her, his eyes magnified through bulky glasses.

He lives with his dad, Pam wonders to herself, looking from the younger man to the older. Then realisation dawns.

“Well, I’ll get you some tea and you two can catch up on old times, eh? Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce myself, did I? I’m David, Derek’s son. Let’s get you settled, Dad.“

Pam waits while David helps his father into an armchair and then she sits down. She listens to his gentle gripes about arthritis and the hip replacement he has to wait eight months for. She answers his polite questions about her life, patiently raising her voice to repeat them for him. She tries not to stare at the white hair sprouting from his nose and ears, at the sagging jowls, the bulbous purple bags beneath his eyes.

He tells her she looks lovely, compliments her on her dress, apologises for dragging her over to waste her time with a silly old man. She protests, he’s not silly; he’s very sweet. A sweet old man. He smiles, pleased. He explains that it had been David’s idea to contact her, trying to cheer his old Dad up, stop him moping around the house, missing Elizabeth, his wife. It was cancer, two years ago. Tears well up in his eyes and he is lost in the past. Pam says it’s time she was going. He doesn’t seem to hear.

David sees her to the door and thanks her for coming. “I know Dad really enjoyed seeing you again.”

“It was nice to see him again too. You’re very good to look out for him like that. He’s lucky to have you.”

David laughs and shakes his head.

“And your wife is lucky to have you too.” Pam curses her own clumsiness.

David smiles, an amused twinkle in his eye. “I don’t have a wife.”

“Oh?”

“No, I have a boyfriend.”

“Oh.”