Page 48 of The Second Chance Supper Club

It was well over thirty years ago. Yet, here were the memories flooding in once more. Glimpses of sunny sandy days, that first flush of love, that first time, and it suddenly seemed like yesterday. Matty was Will. Will was Matty. Her brain was trying to catch up.

‘But then, meeting your sister, Susie, in the pub. Well, that had to be Susan … and Cath, you were “Cathy”.’

And yes, somewhere on a tree bark in the nearby village of Belford, there’d still be an etching, perhaps faded over time, carved into a beech wood trunk: Matty 4 Cathy .

Way back then, everyone used to call her Cathy at home, at school … it was at uni where it had shifted to Cath. She preferred it shortened at that time; feeling that it made her sound more grown up.

‘Oh, my God, yes,’ she whispered, feeling her stomach swirl. The reality of the situation was sinking in. Here was Matty, right in front of her, all these years on. Will was Matty.

She felt herself flush. That gorgeous young man who’d made her heart sing …

her very first love. In those few magical days, they’d gone from holiday friends to tentative first-time lovers.

And yet, despite their early letters filled with promise, she’d never seen him or spoken to him face to face again, never told him why.

It was so long ago … but oh, it must have hurt him back then, been so damned confusing.

‘Yeah, it was me …’ He raised a small smile, suddenly looking at her differently, tenderly, like he couldn’t help himself.

Glancing up, she checked those eyes, held his gaze for a few steady seconds … yes, those eyes. The same deep, dark pools as Matty’s. There had been something there from the start. When they’d met again. She’d felt it, but hadn’t recognised it.

Cath felt a lump form in her throat. She wanted so much to lift her hand, to brush her fingertips down over his cheek, to feel how the skin there had changed, but she daren’t.

The gesture was far too intimate. Trying to take all this in was mind-boggling.

She really didn’t know at all where they might stand now.

Those memories still piling in, of lazy summer days and longing.

‘It was such a wonderful week. I remember it all,’ Cath confessed, with a small smile curling on her lips.

‘Me too, even after all these years.’ Will paused, gazing at her once more. ‘But Cath, after that first letter, why did I never hear from you again?’ He looked troubled. ‘You said you’d write back …’

His words felt like a small punch, reminding herself of her youthful inaction. She knew all too well after her first letter which reflected the happy giddiness of his, filled with the first flush of love, she had never again responded.

She remembered how this tangle of new and beautiful emotions had suddenly mixed with bewilderment, with fear and panic.

How could she have told him in a letter?

Or in a phone call from her family home to his …

no way. It was in the days before mobile phones were common, when the suburbs of Sheffield, her family home, seemed a million miles away from Northumberland.

And had it even been real? After that fateful, beautiful dizzy evening …

Then, back home, the angst-ridden wait, when she’d realised that she was over two weeks late with her period.

At first, she couldn’t write back, felt crippled waiting to see what might happen.

How could she tell him anything? And then …

when it wasn’t real anymore. The sudden heavy period, the clots and pain …

the negative test. How did you explain all that in a letter, a phone call, to a boy – no, a young man – who you’d really only known for a week?

It was easier to let it be. To leave his next letter unanswered.

Her parents would have been livid with her had she been pregnant.

Her dreams of going to uni, being a teacher, all in the balance.

It was a lesson, she’d told herself. She’d been too free, too easy …

even if she had really liked him. In fact, fallen head over heels.

But that experience had scared her so much, she thought it was best to let it be.

‘I’m sorry, it was complicated.’ The knot of emotions, both past and present, tightened in her throat.

‘Look, I know it was a long time ago, and hey, my life has moved on so much since then, but back then, it really did hurt me,’ Will explained.

‘It was probably daft, but I’d hoped we’d keep in touch, might even see each other again …

I kept writing … I got one letter back, and then nothing.

Not even a “Sorry, it’s too far, it’ll never work”, or a bit of news on how you were.

I even began to wonder if maybe you’d gotten ill, or had some terrible accident.

’ He paused, the hurt still there in his eyes.

‘Then I figured, maybe it hadn’t meant so much to you, after all.

It took me ages to trust someone again … ’

‘Oh …’ Cath felt dreadful. ‘I did think a lot of you … and I was sorry … am sorry … about the way things turned out.’ How did she begin to go over what had happened after all this time?

And what could it change telling him? She’d cut him off back then, and that was it.

It sounded cold and unfeeling now that she was older, with more experience of life, but then, yes, as a frightened sixteen-year-old she’d got scared and ducked out.

Will … Matty … was right to be annoyed with her.

But where did that leave their friendship now? In bloody tatters, most likely.

Cath sat across from Will, in the house he’d shared with his wife, his family, feeling terrible.

It was such a long time ago, they were really just kids, but yet she’d done it, she’d been that person.

It looked pretty heartless on the face of it.

‘I’m sorry …’ she repeated. She took a big swig of her water.

Then before she had time to think, she reached an apologetic hand across the tabletop to cover his, felt its warmth.

There was still something there, she was sure of it.

That moment in her garden under the stars seemed even more significant now.

A tentative new flame, rekindling an old lost love.

Will withdrew his hand sharply. ‘I think you’d better leave.’ His tone was curt.

‘Ah … yes, of course.’ He probably needed some space. Her brain was trying to process it all. She might be older and wiser, yes. But bloody hell, she was feeling utterly confused and a bit overwhelmed by this revelation.

Cath understood that he’d had enough hurt lately.

He’d had to face far more grief and pain with his wife’s illness and death.

She didn’t want to make some big song and dance about what had happened with her all those years ago …

and if he was feeling miffed with her, then so be it.

As she headed for the door, passing the family pictures, the images of togetherness, deep in her heart, she felt glad for Matty that he’d found love.

That he’d had a good relationship over many years, until tragedy had struck them, of course.

But right then, it was oh, so hard to put any of that into words.

As she approached the front door, she paused. She couldn’t just leave things this way. ‘I’m so sorry I hurt you back then, Ma … Will. It’s … well, things didn’t work out the way I’d hoped … and I got it wrong.’ It was the best she could do, after all this time. ‘Well, I’d better go.’

Will merely nodded; his face looked ashen. ‘I think that’s for the best.’

‘Take care,’ she said softly, as she stepped over the threshold. The summer light was far too bright in her eyes. A knot of emotion lodged tightly in her throat.

‘And you,’ he managed to reply. His words seemed to have an odd finality to them.

Sorrow and regret – laced with some beautiful youthful memories – weighed heavily within her, making her steps drag on her walk back to the cottage.

The brightness of the August sky was in stark contrast to the dull dark ache that had formed inside of her.

Her new life here in Tilldale, her cottage, her gorgeous new friends, and all its bright hopes suddenly seemed to be out of kilter.

Where on earth did this leave her friendship with Will, and those fledgling hopes that there might be something more between them? And dammit, where the hell did it leave the future of the Supper Club?