The One

"I drifted around, worked as hard as I could, still trying to get my stuff published. Worked freelance for a couple of ad agencies in Glasgow, then London. Did some checking copy work for magazine and book publishers for a while and then came home, got married, had a bunch of kids and here I am."

"Wow!" she said, "that was a quick round up of your life!"

Nothing much to say, on my part. I was still looking up at the banks of lift doors, waiting for my wife and her significant other. So Lesley started up talking again to fill the silence.

"So, I've already told you that I went out dating after about six weeks, but that was only to try and track you down, not try other men, you know? And I know you fended off the black-haired, green-eyed top-heavy beauty that was Justine," she said, coyly, "How long was it before you went out dating again?"

Damn! What was she trying to do to me? Is she trying to crush me every time she sees me? I sighed audibly, my shoulders sank. I suddenly realised I had been trying to maintain a pose of shoulders back, chest out, stomach in. Why? I wasn't interested in attracting Lesley; twice bitten and all that. She certainly wasn't interested in me. So why do we males adopt poses like that?

I haven't seen this woman in twenty years. Once the girl of my dreams, she virtually squeezed every breath of life out of me. Not content with that, she now seemed bent on heeling me under the earth, to erase my very existence, to snuff out my actual essence. What did I ever do to her other than worship the very ground she walked on?

"Thirty-nine months." I said very quietly.

"What?" Lesley leaned forward, conspiratorially.

I replied, "Three years, three months and about ten days or so."

That shut her up. At bloody last, fifteen-forty new balls please, I stopped the rot in my service game. Studying her face, she looked amazing, she was never 45 years old, she must bathe her skin in virgin ice crystals flown in daily from Mont Blanc; she was eleven out of ten, off the scale, simply beautiful. I could sense some cogs moving somewhere in her head, though.

"Before dating or before sex?"

"Both, same night," I said, "Well, after midnight actually, the second one of the two."

"Wow! I was going to boast how long I waited, but I don't think I will now."

"That's just acting like kids isn't it? Like I showed you mine, you should at least flash me yours." It didn't look like she was going to answer. Ice Queen, I was right about the Mont Blanc ice, only she sat on a block of it rather than splash it on her physog.

"OK, then," I asked, taking another tack, "When did you start seeing your husband?" Gotcha!

"Oh, do we have to do this?" she whined, "We are too old and there's been too much water under the bridge for all this. Can't we just kiss cheeks and make out that we are old friends again and part on good terms, probably never to see each other ever again?"

"Wriggle, wriggle, wriggle. You prevaricated in that restaurant, to my eternal embarrassment, twenty years ago, you are hedging your response in this coffee shop now. When we meet again, as two old pensioners, can we meet up in the launderette so I can at least sort out my week's washing while you prance round the mulberry bush one more time?"

"Alright, alright. I'll tell you." Lesley looked upwards, either for inspiration, or divine intervention. "Give me strength."

She looked at me directly, her eyes seemed softer, even prettier than they ever had.

"I thought you'd be back the next day," she said softly, "Then after the weekend maybe, almost certainly a week later. You never showed up. No-one was admitting they knew where you were. I realised that our friends were my friends, you didn't seem to have any of your own that I was aware of. It appeared as though your whole world was... me. I never realised how much I had hurt you, hurt us, killed our relationship."

She grabbed my right hand in both of hers and squeezed, as hard as Natalie had when David was born. A single tear formed in each eye and slowly rolled down her cheeks. I lifted my left hand and cupped her right cheek, which was soft as a child's and smooth as alabaster, wiping the tear away with my thumb. Then I wiped her left cheek with a gentle upward stroke of the back of my hand. She smiled sweetly and continued.

"So I gave it a month, that was long enough to pay me back for my treatment of you, wasn't it? But no show. Then four months later it was your birthday, I sent you a card and a long letter and some flowers to your Mum's address. Then I sent Christmas cards to you both. You didn't send me one, nor did your mother, nor would she answer the phone and slammed the door in my face when I went round at New Year. On Valentines Day I sent another card, then it was our sixth anniversary, ten months without seeing or hearing from you. Finally, it was a year since you walked out and I didn't have any hope left. I lost a lot of weight. It was summer and I lost the house, too. I couldn't keep up the payments on my own and I'd run out of savings. I sold the house and sent your mum a cheque for your half. God! Did you get it? I know it was cashed -"

"Yes, I got it. Mum did keep your cards and mail for me, I picked them up that summer passing through. I used the sixty-five thousand, along with my savings that year to put a deposit on my house. So, when did Mr Two-Carat come along?" I pointed to her lovely blue white diamond.

"About fourteen and a half months after you left, other than a new wardrobe to fit my new body, I had blown the rest of the house money on a flat share with a couple of friends. Alison, who you don't know, and my very best friend Lucy, who you probably do remember."

"I remember Luce," I smiled. "She made the wearing of blue jeans and knotted tee-shirts an art form. Whatever happened to her?"

"You don't want to know."

"No?"

"Don't go there."

"What if I wanted to? What if I was suddenly a free agent, for example?" I grinned mischievously, "Just supposing."

Lesley sighed. "Four children, four different fathers, none of whom have ever paid a penny in support and..." she paused, "... the only way she can get through doors is sideways like a crab."

She looked at me with her mouth set firm and tilted her head to one side as if to say 'I told you that you wouldn't want to know but you wouldn't take no for an answer, happy now?'

Well, Lesley didn't know how my own situation was about to go completelyntits-up, so I was keeping all my options open. Lucy, now, you never know, she might be just as desperate I was about to become.

"So you were sharing a flat with Luce and Alison, what then?"

"What then? Luce was temping as a receptionist and her office were having a summer picnic for staff and families. Luce dragged me along as a guest. I met Hubby there and we sort off... clicked."

"So, date followed and then sex?"

"No, sex first, date later." Lesley actually blushed. "In fact, we hardly dated at all, just met for sex, great sex and lots of it. We were both so busy with work that we mainly just met for sex. I know that sounds really bad but I hadn't had any sex in a long time. Fifteen months was fifteen cycles when I was at my most fertile, and I wasn't having what I was really missing. You were gone for good and my hormones were screaming at me. I was horny and he was devastatingly handsome, still is, actually, and dynamite in the bedroom, still... No, much too much information."

The damned Mont Blanc ice she was sitting on must have melted and run down the drain, her face was so red. Damn, why is it that women look even sexier when they are embarrassed and losing a little control over their emotions, than when they are playing ice cool and are holding everything together? Or is it just me that feels that way?

"Was he your only other lover?" I blurted out without thinking of the consequences.

Why do I torture myself even asking her that? No, impossible, every man in this room, everyone who has walked past us has almost walked into something because they were looking at Lesley. Health and Safety should make her carry around a fluorescent warning sign. She can't have restricted herself to just two lovers, especially after dumping me unceremoniously, just so she could play the field, surely.

She nodded.

Damn again. I know that women can't be trusted and this one in particular, ever, from bitter bloody experience... but I believed her. It really didn't make me feel any better, knowing she was married to Mister Bloody Perfect Lover.

"So," Lesley resumed, "What have you been doing with yourself lately?"

I smiled. So much to say and so much not to say. She didn't say "since", so I guessed I could limit myself to a quick sketch, leaving out all the important details. Or I could throw it all back at her, of course.

"Well, as I've got in the coffees, perhaps you could give me an update first."

She regarded me, trying to read what I was thinking, or hiding. Why I was playing with her? A slow enigmatic smile formed on her full red lips. She was made up to perfection, not heavily so, but enough to darken and perhaps lengthen her eyelashes from the light brown natural that I remembered, her lips were glossy red, her cheeks smooth and matt, no doubt from some subtle proprietary foundation preparation. Her dark red hair full and thick, brushed away from her open forehead and tied in a neat bun at the back of her head, a few stray hairs like delicate whispers softening her delicious outline. She looked stunning.

"I'm an investment broker, advising on life insurance, ISAs, income tax and investment portfolios. I cover this immediate area for the National Lottery. I've just met a lovely old couple here in their hotel suite this morning who have won the jackpot and I left some proposals for them to consider." Lesley paused, with a smile on her face recalling the recent meeting, no doubt.

"Go on," I encouraged.

"I live over by West Park," her voice lifting as if questioning whether I was aware of the exclusive executive-type homes in that area. I was, it was a long way from where I live. "We have one girl, Belinda, who is at college studying catering, she wants to be a pastry chef, perhaps own her own shop. Either that or do three-day eventing professionally." She smiled, at the recollection of her daughter.

I imagined what Belinda was like. She could have been our daughter in another life, as beautiful as Lesley is, I'm sure. As she must've been at least 18 to be in college, it seemed that Lesley didn't wait long to set about finding 'the one', it took me three years before I even started dating anyone, by then Lesley was the mother of a toddler.

Still bearing that sweet smile on her lovely face, Lesley softly asked "What about you?"

I think I snorted, unintentionally. That wasn't a good start. Why should I resent her perfect life, fulfilling well-paid job, great home, probably driving around in a top of the range BMW or Lexus, with a fit and beautiful ambitious daughter, lucky bloody lucky husband and looking sensational herself to boot. Life really wasn't fair, was it?

But nobody ever promised me fairness, Lesley never promised me anything, I clearly took her for granted, so whatever happened to end our relationship was my fault. She was perfect and I'm not just saying that, she was and I had always thought so. Perhaps too perfect for little old imperfect me. The fact that I was only a stopgap in her life wasn't really her fault. I did have five years and two months with her. They were among the best 62 months of my life and I should be grateful and thank her for them, they were much more than I deserved. Only the time spent with my... the... children of my marriage... came anywhere near that perfect period.

Accentuate the positive, I thought, this was a day for me to be assertive and the day I finally took my destiny into my own hands. So I forced my lips into the biggest smile I could muster and gave her the saccharine version of my life.

"Actually, I have a great life," I said, "And it is getting even better after today."

I paused for a moment as the smiling Rosamund approached with a tray containing our coffees. I helped her unload them and thanked her before she cheerfully returned to her bay. The back view of the departing waitress was just as good as the front and my gaze naturally lingered. Lesley regarded me with a quizzical look. I chuckled, I couldn't help it. I had suddenly become quite happy in that moment. A veil of misery had lifted and I felt surprising good. It was as if I had finally accepted by lot, that I had reached as low as I was ever going to get and it could get better from here on in.

OK, it looked like I was going to have to elaborate somewhat on the artificially sweetened tale I had been going to weave.

"Lesley, you find me at a point where my life in a state of flux. Everything changes today. This sad, pathetic, bald, slightly overweight nobody has been pushed around for over twenty-five years. Sorry, sweetheart," I said as I held and squeezed one of her hands, taking a deep breath, "I include you a little unfairly in my life of subservience. Today, my marriage of twelve years is finally over, although I now understand it never really got off the starting blocks in the first place. I was duped. Conned into a marriage that never really existed. I have no career, other than writing a few short romance stories for a woman's magazine for pocket change. I am a house husband caring for my three children."

I paused, gathering my thoughts, how much to say, what to leave out? After all, I'll never see Lesley again after today, would I?

"Go on," urged Lesley, "You used to write all the time all those years ago and couldn't get published, other than advertising copy for the ad agency. You are the most loving and sensitive man I have ever known, and I can see you as being a great father. Please continue, honey."

"My children, who I adore, are my life. David and Lisa, are at school, and little Nathaniel, Nat, was at play school this morning where I dropped him off but has been collected by my mother an hour or so ago. The older two kids are walking around to Granny's after school for tea and I will meet them there and tell them that their mummy isn't ever coming home."

Lesley sat stunned. I continued my tale of woe.

"All my wife's stuff is in black rubbish sacks in the garage and all the locks in my house were changed this morning." I took another deep breath. "About three weeks ago I found out that my children are not my children, the DNA clinic says that I have worse than a million-to-one chance of being the father."

"Oh, Alan, I'm so sorry. Is there a chance the clinic mixed up your sample with someone else? Isn't it worth doing again?"

"No chance," I said sadly, "With Mum's blessing I sent her samples along with mine and the kids. There were two samples for each so they keep one as a back up. The results confirmed that Mum and I are closely related but with next to no chance that her grandchildren are even remotely related to her. Never mind the results, they are still my kids, I just wanted to check the results to discover the extent of my wife's duplicity. I may not be their biological father but I'm 100% their Dad and always will be. There's no way their sperm donor will ever get his hands on them."

By now I felt myself getting a bit loud. Rosamund was giving me a funny look from her station at the counter. Even Lesley looked sad and concerned, now holding onto both my hands with both of hers.

Of course they were my kids, I reasoned as I calmed down. I had stayed at home with them, fed, changed and bathed them. I had nursed them through their illnesses, taken them for their shots, their first steps, first words, first day at nursery, school, secondary school, all of their plays, activities, homework. They had my speech patterns, my mannerisms, they had my family values. They did not have those morals of the gutter like their mother and biological father, who were fucking each other in their hotel room above us earlier this afternoon.

"The children almost certainly share the same father, which means that my wife has been regularly sleeping with the same lover for twelve years, at least as long as I have been married to her. Well, she's welcome to him. Today I wash my hands of both of them."

"I am so sorry, I wish I could stay but I've got to go, Alan, I have another appointment down town and I'm running late as I should have left a while ago. Come here, Alan, please honey."

Lesley stood up and pulled me towards her, we put our arms around each other like two old ex-lovers, one to comfort the other on the occasion of some great loss. I buried my face in her sweet-smelling red hair. I cried silent, selfish tears for what I had lost.

I heard the lift ding. We both did. At the same time we turned towards the sound.

The lift doors opened and several people walked out. An elderly smiling couple emerged first, holding hands, wreathed in smiles, looking around to get their bearings. They saw Lesley and I as we embraced and they waved at us cheerily. Lesley waved back automatically.

Then a couple of businessmen came out behind them, wearing name badges for some conference, carrying a few pamphlets, deep in conversation, almost running into the back of the elderly couple who had stopped to look at Lesley and I.

Then the lift ejected the last two occupants, a man and a woman, holding hands and carrying small overnight bags. They made a beautiful couple, he was tall and tanned, blond-haired, freshly shaved, devastatingly handsome and wearing what was obviously an expensive hand-made suit. He looked old money, established classy wealth. She was a little shorter, slim built, brunette, similarly power-dressed, but haughty, driven, ambitious, controlling, certainly beautiful, glowing even, the bitch.

They had eyes only for each other and, as they stepped out of the lift, they kissed passionately and moved away in opposite directions, holding onto outstretched hands as long as possible, still maintaining smiling eye contact, no doubt each thinking 'until we meet again soon, sweetheart'.

I released Lesley, stepped around the thick buttoned leather chair and strode powerfully towards the lift. I called over my shoulder, "Look after my laptop, please Lesley, I'll be back in a jiff."

I nodded and smiled at the nice old couple as I passed them, although my smile may have been a little on the grim side. The businessmen saw my determined approach and nervously separated to let me barge through between them. And there they were, the couple, oblivious to everything but themselves, fingertips still touching in parting.

"Natalie!" I said sharply, like addressing a naughty child. She looked around, somewhat shocked to see me.

"Alan? What-"

I looked away from her startled eyes and focussed my attention on him.

"Old Man, this isn't what it looks-" started her lover but I stopped him with my right fist on the point of his nose.

Those punchbag sessions down the school gym paid off as he went down like a sack of spuds, blood spouting from his imploding nose, splashing both Natalie and me. Natalie screamed, piercing, short and sharp.

"Honey?!" came a strangled cry from behind me.

I turned and faced Lesley, her handbag over one shoulder, her briefcase in one hand and my laptop clutched in the other. Her face was grim-set, disapproving. Perhaps she hated violence, she wouldn't hurt a fly, I remembered; Lesley only ever hurt me by rejecting me.

A groan from behind alerted me to the fact that Natalie's lover-boy was getting up. I turned, bringing my fists up into the defensive position that my boxing coach down the gym had taught me so recently. He had assured me that I would never be a contender, but he taught me both how to punch and how to take a good licking. 'Just get a good one or two punches in,' he had said sagely, 'and remember them while you recover from the beating you are going to get. Alan, you are a writer not a fighter.'