(Originally posted on Discovering Diamonds)
Read the Story
Guess the Song
here's a clue...
”I
thought I’d find you here.”
Mandy
closed her eyes. That voice. His voice. The one voice she should not be
yearning for on the eve of her wedding, and still, just the sound of it had her
heart skipping a beat or two.
Two
years since she’d given him an ultimatum. Two years since she’d stood in the
early dawn and watched him leave, her heart in splinters at her feet, his eyes
filled with so much pain it made her gut twist. But she’d been right: she
needed more. Stuff that Johnny couldn’t give her, but that Simon would deliver
on. A home, a steady income, stability—the list was long. And yet….
“Hi
Johnny,” she said, without turning around. Before her, the setting sun painted
the still lake in every shade of orange imaginable. She heard him jump down to
land on the flat rock beside her. The rustle of his jeans, and he was sitting
beside her, close enough that she could feel the warmth emanating from his
body.
“I’ve
missed you, Mandy-girl,” he said, handing her a bottle of beer. Cold,
condensation making the glass slippery.
Not
like I’ve missed you, she thought. It would be impossible for him to do so, and
she’d seen the pictures of the up-and-coming singer and his various lady
companions. He smiled at other girls, he had an arm round other women’s
shoulders, and she hated him for forgetting her so quickly—and herself for
having pushed him away.
“You
seem to have been coping just fine,” she therefore said, still not daring to
look at him. She chugged some beer, keeping her gaze on the water, on the
clouds that drifted over the sky.
“As
have you,” he replied. “It took what? Six months and then you were dating the
man of your dreams.”
Bitterness
dripped from every word. She peeked at him, and he was staring straight ahead,
the mouth set in a far grimmer line than she’d ever recalled seeing before.
“I
said goodbye to the man of my dreams two years ago,” she said. He turned to
meet her gaze. “Life has to be built on something more solid than dreams,” she
continued. “Dreams are like gossamer, so frail, so easily shredded.” Her hand
crept up to stroke his cheek. Her voice broke. “But the dream still remains a
dream, a constant “what if” whispering through your head.”
“Yeah.”
He covered her hand with his own and just like that their fingers braided, him
tugging slightly until their joined hands rested on his thigh.
“Mum
says I’m making a mistake,” she said. “She keeps on telling me I should never
deny my heart.”
“Well,
Ellie was always a full-blooded romantic,” he replied. He swigged some beer.
“But sometimes love isn’t enough.”
“No.”
They
sat in silence for a while. It felt so right, to sit here on their flat rock,
her hand in his, her body leaning ever so slightly against his. He smelled the
same, the shirt he was wearing was one she’d given him years ago, the faded
denim worn smooth and soft.
“What’s
he like?” he asked.
She
shrugged. He’s not you. “He’s nice. He makes me feel cared for, loved. He is
proud of me, he wants babies and a mortgage—”
“No
one wants a mortgage,” he protested, and she laughed.
“No,
that’s true. But he wants for us to buy a house and make a home—together.”
He
nodded. “So he’s just what you want.”
What
she wanted was sitting right beside her. But what she needed…. “Yes.”
He
disengaged his hand, and for an instant she feared he would go. She clung, he
smiled at her. “Swim?”
She
grinned. “Swim.”
He
had taught her to swim here. Two children growing up in the middle of nowhere
and what did it matter that he was four years her senior when there was no one
else to play with? And Johnny had spent a lot of time in their home, because
his father was mostly on the road and his mother drank too much and so Mum
stepped in, ensuring Johnny was fed and clean, that he had a safe place to
sleep. Like having an older brother, she’d told Mandy, and it had been. For a
while. Until the summer she turned fourteen.
He
undressed quickly. She followed suit and moments later they were in the water.
They raced, he won—he always won. They returned to their rock and it was still
warm, still bathed in sun. No words, just his gaze boring into hers.
“Hold
me,” she whispered. “Please, Johnny, hold me.” One last time, she thought.
He
enveloped her in his arms, and it felt so right. This was where she belonged,
in these arms, with his chest hair tickling her nose, his hands travelling
slowly—reverently—up and down her back, her bottom. She hid her face against
him, tears choking her throat.
“No.”
He lifted her face. “No crying, Mandy-girl. Not tonight. Tonight, we make
memories, you and I. Memories to carry us through whatever comes after.”
“Memories,”
she repeated, and then his mouth came down on hers and she cried anyway. So did
he, and it was through tears that they kissed, that they touched and stroked.
He lay her down on the warm surface. She held out her arms to him. Tonight, he
was his, she was hers. Tonight was theirs. Naked need, naked bodies, and he
entered her and it felt as right as it always did, as it never did with Simon.
Oh God, what was she doing?
They
lay close together afterwards. He pulled their discarded clothes over them and
tucked her closer to him, sticking his nose in her hair to inhale her scent. He
wished he had the words to tell her what she meant to him, how the news that
she was getting married had flayed him. Well, maybe he had the words, but he
wasn’t sure he had the courage—or the right—to tell her. She wanted stability,
he was a restless sort, happy to tour the land and give concerts, desperate for
weeks of isolation when he would write new songs. Not a life for his Mandy, he
knew that. But still… He tightened his hold on her.
“I
love you,” he said.
“I
know. And I love you.” She nuzzled his chest.
But
sometimes love is not enough, he reminded himself bitterly.
She
sat up. “Maybe…” He could see the flare of hope in her eyes.
“No.
You made the right choice.” It killed him to say that. He cleared his throat. “He
can give you what I can’t. I hope you will be happy with him. You deserve to
be.”
He,
on the other hand, would never be happy. Not without her. But hey, everyone
knew an artist thrived on suffering and heartbreak.
“Don’t
go,” she whispered. “Please, Johnny. Stay with me. Don’t leave me again,
don’t…” She began weeping in earnest. He held her close, rocking her from side
to side until she quieted. At long last, she straightened out of his embrace,
wiping at her eyes. “It hurts,” she said. “It hurt like hell two years ago, it
has hurt since then, it hurts even more now.”
“I
know.” And tomorrow, she’d speak vows tying her forever to another. God, what a
fool he was to come here and relive yet again the agony of leaving her behind.
But they had tonight. For some hours more she was his, and he drew her close
and kissed her until there were no words left in his head.
He
had intended to leave at dawn, but for some strange reason he hadn’t. You’re
as bloody masochist, he berated himself, stepping further into the shadow
of the large willow that stood along the flagged path leading to the church
door. She was eye-catchingly beautiful, his Mandy. His Mandy—for about
twenty more minutes. Her veil lifted in the breeze and his eyes blurred. What
was he doing, letting her walk out of his life? But it was too late now—had
been too late for two years. She deserves better, he reminded himself. She
deserves stability and constancy, she is no rolling stone—not like me.
She
was almost abreast the tree. Look at me, he thought. No, don’t look
at me, keep your eye on your future path instead. But she did look. Her
eyes widened slightly, she faltered for an instant. But then she took another
step and another. Towards her future. Towards a life without him. Johnny
couldn’t hold back a low “Mandy-girl” and then he fled.
She’d
seen him the moment she set a foot on the path. A shadow under the tree, a
familiar outline she tried so desperately not to look at—but did anyway. She heard
him say her name and turned his way. He was already halfway to the dry-stone
wall that encircled the ancient graveyard, moving so swiftly he stumbled. For
an instant or two, he steadied himself against a tree before squaring his
shoulders and walking away. She couldn’t bear it.
“I
can’t do this,” she said out loud. Off came her veil and she handed the bouquet
to one of her surprised bridesmaids. “I have to…” She hurried after him.
“Johnny!” she called. If anything, he increased his pace. “Johnny!” she
screamed, kicking off her shoes. And then she was running after him, yelling
his name. After all, some dreams are just too precious to give up on—no matter
how fragile and ephemeral they may be.
© Anna Belfrage
Had Anna been allowed to choose, she’d have become a time-traveller. As this was impossible, she became a financial professional with three absorbing interests: history and writing. Anna has authored the acclaimed time travelling series The Graham Saga, set in 17th century Scotland and Maryland, as well as the equally acclaimed medieval series The King’s Greatest Enemy which is set in 14th century England.
Did you guess the song title?
Hold Me Now by Johnny Logan
(Official You Tube Video)
Inspired by Eurovision Song Winner Hold me Now, by Johnny Logan. Best song in the world to cry to in this humble
writer’s opinion…
Had Anna been allowed to choose, she’d have become a time-traveller. As this was impossible, she became a financial professional with three absorbing interests: history and writing. Anna has authored the acclaimed time travelling series The Graham Saga, set in 17th century Scotland and Maryland, as well as the equally acclaimed medieval series The King’s Greatest Enemy which is set in 14th century England.
website: www.annabelfrage.com
There will be another story inspired by a song tomorrow!
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Note: There is copyright legislation for song lyrics
but no copyright in names, titles or ideas
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So lovely to read this fabulous story again Anna!
ReplyDelete100% agree!
DeleteNothing like a delicious romance with my morning coffee! Thanks for a great start to the day Anna!
ReplyDeleteCourage or Foolishness - that's love which cannot be denied (but must be admired). A story tugging at the heart, Anna, no matter how old one may be.
ReplyDeleteSheesh. I made myself cry. . . Thing is, I see disappointment and heartbreak further down the road for them both. Or maybe not. Maybe, sometimes love IS enough. Yup. Sometimes it is!
ReplyDelete