"No! How did that go?" Jonathan leans back in his chair, pure joy spreading across his features.

"Well, I heard he never got the smell out." I smile. The response feels good, even if it's at the sake of my own heartbreak. It's been a year, but the wound is still ragged.

I glance over at the golden-haired girl at the next table, before my eyes flick to the snuffling baby in the pram by Jonathan's side. A very different scene to him bursting through the door, sweat and panic in his eyes, baby and toddler wailing in a tragic cacophony.

I had been moments from closing up, but he looked desperate, even before he'd pleaded for help because the baby had to have milk right now. I couldn't leave anyone in that state, much as I needed to get home; for the cat and an evening of not thinking too hard about my life.

The girl – Laurie – calmed the minute she had a juice and muffin in front of her, and is colouring laboriously now, the tip of her tongue protruding with her focus. The baby had only taken scant minutes more, after I'd warmed milk for him. And Jonathan? Well, he's livened my entire afternoon, with his contagious smile and wicked sense of humour. There's something so safe about him, my usual worry about people I don't know barely even a thought.

"Well, I'm sure that was the least of his worries," he says quietly, conspiratorially, and I lean in with a chuckle, relief flooding that the story made him laugh. I breathe deeply, contentment still so rare to me. I didn't realise my eyes were closed until they flick open, and he's there, so close, watching me, his face holding something almost tender. My eyes move involuntarily to his lips – such a pretty curve, so tempting.

The chair skids back with a moment-breaking screech. I can't trust the wave of warmth and happiness that he carries. I'm simply blinded by a handsome man who offers me glances to read too much into.

It's fair that I'm rusty with flirting. Gary certainly didn't. Not with me, anyway. And since I found the courage to walk away, I haven't exactly been putting myself in situations where it's needed.

The moment I made awkward is saved when an attractive blonde tries the door handle.

"Oh, wait, that's-," Jonathan turns in his seat, waving cheerfully as I go to let her in.

"Hello darling," she sweeps in, kissing Jonathan's cheek as he stands to greet her, and I cringe again at what I'd misread, seeing him beam down at her. "Were they good?"

"Perfect angels the whole time," he lies, and we share a conspiratorial grin.

"Well thank you, I feel like a new woman with this hairdo." She hooks an arm around his middle as Laurie approaches to show off her picture.

I look at the child instead of him. I've known him for – I check my watch and give a start – three hours and I'm imagining some kind of connection even as I can barely look him in the eye without going pink. And he looks so good with her; black and gold, two sets of stunning eyes and perfect white teeth all round.

"The truth?" he says to the woman with a self-deprecating chuckle. "I was saved."

"Well, thanks for looking after him... oh!"

"Kai," I tell her, before crouching to agree with Laurie that she can certainly take the picture home, so I can pretend not to hear their momentary hissed whispers.

When I stand, she's at the door with the pram, looking back with narrowed eyes and an uncertain smile. Once again, I'm pink, because I'm no good at this. Too needy. Too lonely. Too obvious.

Jonathan stands facing me, Laurie's small hand clutched in his. He laughs, a little too long at nothing, before he looks into my eyes, jarringly serious all of a sudden.

"You really don't remember me, do you, Kai?"

"I- what?"

He doesn't answer, just hums something. It takes me a few moments to recognise it as Yellow, by Coldplay. I stare straight back into his grey eyes as he quietly starts to sing.

"No," I whisper when I finally find my voice. "Jay?"

"Well, at least I know I'm not completely forgettable."

How do I tell him he was never forgettable? Sure, I didn't recognise his face, even though I can realise now it has barely changed. The slightest crows' feet by his eyes that do nothing but make his tanned face look joyous and full of life. But it's his soul I never forgot. It was the way he made me feel.

"I-,"

"Can I see you again?" he asks, hope nakedly displayed across his face, and it builds something warm in my gut. The smallest fire, that could be extinguished with ease, but could grow, if it were tended and fed. But Gary spent eighteen years pouring ice cold water on my fires. I have no idea if I can risk it again.

"Please," my mouth answers for me instead.

* * * * *

I greet Vida, my arrogant Persian cat, who purrs reproachfully the entire time it takes me to open her food and then gives me a single, rough lick when I place it down for her.

My tiny flat is tidy, which gives me plenty of time to panic about agreeing he could come over. I go through waves of being proud to have this to show him, this space of my own I carved when I finally rebelled from a situation that hadn't made me happy for a decade, to being horrified that this is all it is.

But I won't let the negativity bring me down now when I'm at a juncture of something I never stopped wanting and never thought I'd have. I was so buoyed with optimism at the moment I'd escaped my unhappiness last year, but even then, I'd barely dared dream of something worthwhile in my future. Gary took more than simply eighteen years of my life. He took most of my courage, and the act of leaving drained any reserves I had.

I don't want to think about him, though. Because I'd told Jay – Jonathan, even – that he could come and see me when he'd picked up Tabby's husband from the airport. I knew her too, it transpired – Jay's best friend – although she had changed; no longer the tiny whippet of a girl, her white-blonde hair haphazardly patched with neon dye, and black fingernail polish. She looks more like what she is now, resolutely upper-middle-class and perfectly put together. I wonder if Jay has changed so completely too. I would have found it hard to believe, back then.

* * * * *

"Come on, Kai," he laughed, pulling me by the wrist, eyes shining with excitement. "You don't want to miss it."

I didn't. I was here for Coldplay, who were an up-and-coming band playing on the Other stage, but we'd stayed at the Pyramid stage too long, listening to The Bluetones, who Jay had informed me, when we met on Friday, were his favourite band of all time. His t-shirt proved it, but he'd still left just before the end of the set, dragging me through swathes of swaying partiers to get to the other stage in time for Coldplay to start.

Even so, we couldn't get anywhere near the front, though he offered to fight through the crowd if I wanted him to. The way he'd looked down at me with those ethereally light eyes, so sincere, his smile encouraging... it's a wonder I could stay standing with how weak he made my knees.

"Can we stay here? I just want to listen and not be crushed."

He smiled again, positioning himself behind me and pulling me against his chest. I let my head fall back, fitting perfectly into the curve of his collarbone, his arms around me so I could feel the sun-warmth of his skin through my own thin t-shirt as the music washed over me.

We'd met on the Friday. My best friend, Nav, and I were late because his rickety, fifteen-year-old VW had given up the ghost halfway down the M1 and we'd had to wait for his mum to, very reluctantly, pick us up and drive us the rest of the way. She'd insisted on staying in a hotel on Thursday night and not arriving in the dark. She was right, because on Friday morning we could see how manic it was, and it took us over an hour to find a patch of grass big enough for our tiny two-man tent even in the bright morning light.

We'd been beside a circle of tents full of university students. Older than us, worldly wise to our innocent minds. They shared their beer with us and adopted us, more than happy to show off by guiding us around when we told them it was out first time at Glastonbury. Jay had been different though.

I remember seeing him for the first time, stretching as he rose from where he'd clambered sleepily though the doorflap of his tent, his Elastica t-shirt riding up as he extended his arms over his head, revealing a toned stomach, already summer tanned even though summer had barely had chance to arrive yet, and an intriguing strip of hair leading down into his loose trackpants. He talked to the purple haired girl who'd greeted him through a mouthful of toothbrush, nodding animatedly and throwing his head back in a toothpaste spattering laugh. He was the most beautiful boy I'd ever seen.

He was joined at the hip with Tabby that first day as Nav and I followed the group around the fields full of entertainers and artists and salespeople. I assumed she was his girlfriend because they were constantly touching each other but it didn't stop me from watching him. There was just something so alive about him, in his sweeping gestures and straight white smile. When we found a place on the hill to sit and watch the Pyramid stage I made sure I was positioned so I could still glance at him occasionally, drawn impossibly strongly.

I thought it had backfired horribly when he turned, catching me, but not moving his eyes away. I couldn't either, even as embarrassment rose on my pale cheeks, and when he whispered something to Tabby before approaching I thought I was going to dissolve into the patchy grass. I was sure I was about to get called out, told to not creep, but he lowered himself to my side instead, leaning in with a brush against my shoulder that sent electricity through my bones.

"Do you stare at everyone, or am I special?" He'd raised a single hand in greeting earlier that morning, but those were the first words he ever said to me. I didn't reply to them though, too ashamed.

"Like that, is it?" He chuckled, a throaty deep sound that hit me in the lungs, leaving me breathless. "Kai, right?"

"Yeah."

"I'm Jay."

And that was it. Simple. I didn't know enough then to realise it was hardly ever that easy. Tabby joined us sometimes, and Nav was rarely far away, shy around new people as he was, but after that it was my hip Jay was attached to.

His face might have blurred, over the years, in my memories, but there are things that even to this day stand starkly clear and pure in my mind. The first time he kissed me was the first time I'd ever been kissed. Afterwards I had plenty of moments to worry that I'd done it wrong, but the first time... it was incredible. His mouth soft against mine, the light spikes of his stubble just emphasising the lush plane of his lips, a gentle beginning of exploration finishing with sweet tickling pecks along my jaw and down my neck that left me giggling and euphoric. It had been the first time he called me beautiful too, gazing down at me with something close to wonder in his eyes.

I spent almost every minute of each day with him. Felt as though I really knew him by the last day of music, in the way only a teenager can, as the summer sunset vanished over the treeline, leaving broad orange and pink brush strokes in its wake.

I glanced curiously at the rickety structure that housed rudimentary showers. "Why are we here?"

"Well, we're both pretty ripe," he shrugged, pulling me inside, stripping without any concern.

"You want to-?"

"Shh," he whispered, glancing nervously at the other men scrubbing themselves down as he passed me his shower gel to use.

It wasn't until we had hiked to the far end of the Green Fields and he'd laid down one of the blankets he carried that he even spoke again.

"Listen, I know you haven't, you know, done anything before. So don't worry. We don't have to do anything. I just thought it would be nice to get some privacy from the others before we go home tomorrow."

He pulled me down and covered us with the other blanket and we listened to guitar music carrying across the night, with Jay occasionally kissing the back of my neck or nuzzling in and breathing for a moment.

"You smell good clean," he chuckled.

"I want to," was my random response. He gently suggested I deserved more, but I explained the connection I felt and how I wanted it to be him – unafraid of my feelings. Outdoors wasn't ideal, mainly because of how quiet we had to be, even snuggled tightly under the blanket, but he'd brought lube, and at the time I was too nervously happy to even wonder why. Another thing I crushed myself about later. Just like with the kisses, he was gentle. Careful. He made it good, and I clung to that for a long time after.

He came to the station the next day – he and Tabby going east, Nav and I north. We hid round a corner and kissed sad little goodbyes until my train was called, and he waved with his blocky Nokia mobile in his hand – with my home number in it – until I couldn't see him anymore.

* * * * *

"Why didn't I hear from you?"

I can't help it. It's not the most polite greeting but it's all I've been thinking for the last few hours, as I tease out the memories. I wonder if I blocked them as too painful before, because they're flowing now. He doesn't look surprised though.

"At least it's proof you truly remember me. It's simple and stupid. The station was busy when we got back. I had my phone in my hand, ready to call you from the taxi and someone knocked into me."

I stare in disbelief; he actually has tears in his eyes.

"It went flying into the road just as a truck drove by. It was crushed." His voice has gone wobbly and, dammit, now I have tears welling.

"You're going to laugh," he whispers, stepping closer.

"I won't." There's something so charged that my skin feels too tight. When tells me he travelled; looked for me in my hometown I don't know whether to laugh or cry.

"It was real, Kai. I-, no."

He stops himself. I wonder if he was about to say something that would hurt. Because pain is the main thing I remember from the months after him. (Dare I say years without it sounding entirely pathetic?)

Maybe I should let him take his silence. But he's here, in front of me, where I never thought he would be again. Plus, I spent years avoiding difficult conversations with Gary. Years fearing hot and cold. Anger and aggression. I need to know whether I have to walk away before I go through that again. I made it that time, I don't think I'd make it another time.

"Say it."

"I- you'll think I'm ridiculous."

I shrug, refusing to make a promise I might not keep, but I keep my eyes on him, expectant.

"Fine," he sighs, "but don't say I didn't warn you. "I've never managed to have a relationship longer than six months."

I wonder if he's suggesting he's broken, except the way his cheeks flush don't match that.

"Every last one... even the guy I dated last year – every one got compared to you, and didn't measure up. I knew you for less than a week, and I was in love with you after a day. I thought I was hallucinating when I walked into that café today."

My throat feels tight, and I can't reply. He looks worried, but I have to take what I need, even if it's only mine for a brief moment, and I step forward, into arms that open for me as if they were waiting. It feels different because he's much broader, more muscular than the lanky twenty-year-old he was, but it's the same, too. The safety I feel. The electricity when he runs his hand up my spine.

"You don't think it's dumb?" he asks eventually.

I still can't reply, just shake my head, looking at his chest. He gently lifts my chin until I can't avoid his intense grey eyes.

"If you don't think it's dumb... you'll let me try again? Please tell me you will."

I might. I want to more than anything. I want to spit at my fear, to refuse to accept my fate. To take this thing that I want and have always wanted. I may crumble if it can't fulfil the dream, but I still can't say no, I refuse to. So, I nod, and he presses his lips to mine in a kiss that brings me home.