After 25 Years (The Almost Genuine Texts Trilogy Book 1)

This extraordinary novel is based on the genuine texts of a man and woman who meet for dinner 25 years after breaking up – and realise they are still in love. It'll make a voyeur of you.

Friday 24 June 2011

Charlotte: It was wet and blustery so I wore my hat; a tangled bird’s nest coiffure wasn’t the look I was aiming for. Checking my reflection, again, I walked in. It was 23 years since Tom had left me, 15 since we last met ‘officially’ at his engagement to Samantha and ten since we enjoyed a couple of surreptitious, flirtatious liaisons. Despite viewing his LinkedIn portrait - taken when? - I wasn’t sure what he would look like, but was preternaturally confident that the chemistry, like his outrageously thick hair, would be undiminished.

I saw him standing at the bar and, at that second, he looked up. Shock of hair, now salted and peppered and quite Clooney: tick. Sideways glance that had always got me: tick and a gold star. Dress sense: heaven forfend, was that his anorak on the stool beside him? Nevertheless, the connection was instant. I could hardly breathe. “Look at you,” he said. He stroked my cheek. “You look about 25. Exactly the same.” Suddenly I was in his arms and we kissed softly, sweetly, mouth on mouth, for a second. I think my heart stopped. “To drink?” A glass of Sauvignon Blanc, please. “Large or small?” “It’d better be large, I think. I’m shaking!”

Without reflection or sense we had linked hands; I suspect I was holding on to him for balance. And we started to talk. And talk. About our children, careers and homes. About why we’d broken up. About how strange and yet not strange it was. About everything and nothing. And then, after half an hour, about how late we were for our restaurant reservation. We went through.

I remember saying ‘I love you’ within ten minutes of being seated. And, as I knew he would, he said it back. We exchanged another of our gentle, chaste kisses and, engrossed in catching up, holding hands across the table, failed to consult our menus for at least another hour. The waiter, thankfully, seemed amused by our apologies and the pace was as relaxed as his banter with Tom, who asked for a bottle of decent Rioja without consulting the wine list and prices. Ah, he still earns a good salary. I don’t!

The food, when it came, was perfect. We shared dishes, cutlery and kisses as appropriate, which was often. And when he asked me about Phil I answered honestly. “It wouldn't work on paper - we’re polar opposites - but it’s been fifteen years and we’re incredibly happy. We married two years ago.” He paused. “Cha, I have to tell you something. I’m getting divorced.” I gazed at him, stunned. The implications were significant and the stakes simultaneously higher. “I’m so sorry, Tom.” And I was.

At midnight he rightly refused to let me drive and called a taxi. Our mouths met as beautifully and sensually as is possible with unparted lips, for ten minutes. Oh, the pretence! The delusion! He was dangerous, and I told him so. But the night felt young, we were happy and I was in possession of a dubious moral high ground thanks to an unexploited tongue, if unsound judgement. I called Phil to say I’d like to bring Tom home for coffee. Two espressos on, all was well.

An hour later, I walked my ex-lover to his taxi. We were laughing, embracing, drunk in every sense. Suddenly I looked up at him, needing affirmation. Gratification. “Kiss me once, properly. Please.” He wouldn’t. “Please, Tom. Just once.” But the cab was waiting, and he left....


Please note: AFTER 25 YEARS is sexually explicit and unsuitable for under 18s