Song: 'Stay' – Rihanna feat Mikky Ekko

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There is not a spare seat to be had on the upper deck of bus route 214.  The windows are steamed up from the end of the day chatter that overlaps in my ears.  From which film to see at the cinema, to present ideas for a husband, to what to wear to the office party, to a mother's woe at not being able to secure pantomime tickets to fulfil her Christmas family tradition, it seems everyone has something they need to get off their chest.

One passenger is so ensconced on his phone that he nearly misses his stop.  Realising the mistake, he frantically pushes the stop button then rushes down the aisle towards the stairs.  At the commotion, the impeccably dressed mature lady looks up from her copy of Tatler, jazzy tie guy continues to read the Metro and wise old gentlemen with the briefcase, shiny shoes and raincoat remains bolt upright with his eyes closed.  I can never work out if he is having forty winks or meditating to get through the chaos that is the journey home.

The farther out of Central London we get, the more the rush hour queues ease.  The bus gradually empties of these passengers whose names I do not know but who I see on a daily basis.

I wipe away with my woollen glove the condensation on the window and peer out into the dark December evening.  The elegant houses in this part of London glow with their festive decorations.  Pretty wreaths hang from the brass doorknockers of traditional Georgian style front doors and sweeping bay windows display huge Christmas trees with twinkly lights and shiny baubles.  I catch sight of the gaunt reflection of the girl in the glass.  It is my face but I do not recognise it of late.

As the bus approaches the part of the road that narrows it has to wait to allow oncoming traffic through.  Harry is never far from my mind but my daily journey to and from work is usually the time I think about him most, that and when I switch out the light at night. Today my thoughts are different.

It is finally our turn to move and the bus winds round the road towards Highgate.  I leave my seat, press the stop button and carefully descend the stairs.  The driver pulls to a halt and as the double doors spring open, a rush of fresh air hits me.  I stand for a moment under the light of the bus shelter and watch the vehicle drive away.  As it disappears into the night, I turn and head towards The Flask.

I pause at the walled entrance to admire the grand old pub with its sash windows.  It derives its name from the fact that in the 18th Century it sold flasks to collect mineral water from the springs around Hampstead Heath.  Like every pub around here, it is steeped in history and has many a story to tell.  Byron, Shelley and Keats were said to be regular drinkers but by far the saddest story is that of the Spanish barmaid who hanged herself over unrequited love and now haunts the place.

Raucous laughter interrupts my musing.  A group of smokers huddle around one of the patio heaters; their coats wrapped tightly around them to keep out the winter chill.  Music, voices and light flood from inside onto the patio.  I scan the tables.  Nearly all are empty apart from one.  I glance at my watch.  It is exactly 7.30pm and, as agreed, Harry is here. 

Sucking a shaky breath in, I walk tentatively towards him.  I have repeated all I need to say over and over.  A quick drink, say it, then leave. 

He looks up as I approach then stands.  One hand lays flat against the front of his long wool coat, the other reaches out to me.  He leans forward as though he is going to greet me with a kiss but I do not move closer. 

"Hi, thanks for coming." I avoid looking at him but offer a weak smile towards the floor.  

"Hello Natasha.  It's wonderful to see you."  The soothing caramel greeting of his voice immediately lulls my insides but a clench of my fists at my sides stops my brewing emotions in their tracks.  Say what you have to say then leave, I remind myself.

I glimpse sideways through the pub window.  "It looks busy tonight."  My voice is almost a whisper. 

"Yes, I think there's a quiz night on," he remarks.   

"I didn't realise.  Would you prefer to go somewhere quieter?"

"No, as long as you are happy to sit outside.  What can I get you to drink?"  His voice seems jittery. 

"It's okay, I'll get them as you may be spotted.  What would you like?"

"Thanks.  Shall we share a bottle of white?" He asks hesitantly, reaching for a £20 note from his wallet and handing it to me.

I focus on his outstretched hand.  I have taken enough from him, I am not about to take anything more plus this is not a sit over a bottle kind of meet up.  "Thanks but I've got it.  Perhaps a glass of white each?" 

"Yes, yes of course, happy to have whatever you're having."  He agrees, nervously. 

I venture inside to the warmth of the dark wood panelling, dusty floorboards and roaring open fires.  It takes a while to get served but from my place at the bar I can see Harry through the window.  I gaze at his profile.  He is breathtakingly handsome.  He does not take his eyes away from the door I have just walked through.  Perhaps he thinks I will change my mind and leave.  Who can blame his hesitancy based on my past track record.

Once served and back outside, I settle opposite him.  We both find fascination with the stems of our wine glasses.  The awkward silence kick-starts my anxiety and I move my hands under the table to my lap to scratch at my wrists.  It takes a moment before being able to say any words.

"How are you?"  It seems the most ridiculous question to ask and I mentally scold myself.

"I'm pleased you called to meet," he replies. "More importantly, how are you feeling?

"I'm okay.  Work keeps me busy.  Congratulations on the success of Four, I'm really happy for you," I compliment, sincerely.

"I didn't mean work stuff.  I mean how are you, you know after everything," he stresses.

I can feel the tension between us. "I'm fine, really," I dismiss.

"I've been worried about you."

"You don't need to be."

"Don't need to be?"  He pauses, twisting one of his rings around on his finger.  "We lost our baby Natasha and you nearly died that night and then you left."

"I've behaved appallingly. I had to see you to say I'm so sorry."  It sounds such a weak excuse but when I attempt to say more, Harry continues.   

"I understand why you were hurting, I just wish you hadn't pushed me away.  We should have faced it together.  I wanted to be there with you," his voice cracks but then he composes himself.  "We cannot change what's been but we are here to talk now so let's talk."

"You were hurting too and I was selfish to leave the letter.  I am so sorry, please forgive me," I mumble with guilt.     

The day I scarpered from Eskdale flashes through my mind.  Sitting down to write the cowardly letter seemed right at the time but now, sitting here facing Harry, I cannot fathom how I could have disregarded him so flippantly.  Tears threaten but I will not let them fall.  I will not let him see me cry.  He has suffered enough and does not need me putting further burden onto him. 

"Natasha, look at me."

I pull my sleeves over each wrist and place my elbows on the table.  My fingers manically twist the stem of my wine glass but my stare remains downward.  

"Natasha, what are you so afraid of?"  His pleading is weighted with confusion. 

I place my palm on my forehead and Harry lets out a tiny grasp.  My coat sleeve has ridden down my arm and my wrist is visible.  Quickly, I pull my sleeves back over my truth.  I dig my fingers into the cuffs to prevent another slip but where I have bitten my nails raw, they push into the wool and I wince in pain.   

I have hardly touched my wine but Harry's glass is half empty.  I notice that each time he takes a sip, he places his glass nearer to mine. Our glasses now sit practically touching. Suddenly, he lifts his little finger up and hovers it in mid-air then he stretches it towards my hand, brushing its tip across my skin.  I falter for a split second. His slightest touch fires the feelings I have for him that will never diminish.

I snatch my hand away, sliding my glass with it.  "Nothing.  I'm afraid of nothing,"  I say defiant, before taking a huge swig of the wine.   

"You said you had to see me but you cannot even look at me can you?"  The strain in his voice is agonising. 

"Don't do this, please don't do this." I shake my head in denial.   

He ignores me.  "I'm intrigued.  Why ask me here?"

"Because I owe you an explanation and to apologise for the way I've treated you."

"But you haven't explained anything and if you simply wanted to say sorry you could have called or text me."

"Stop, this is not how it was supposed to be."

"Oh, how was it supposed to be?"  He sits back, placing both his palms face down on the table.  "So, you thought we would meet, you would say sorry, I would dutifully sit and listen and then we would go on our merry way." 

"Yes, no, I don't know."   

"Well I do, I know you remember.  You rehearsed your speech in your head but you didn't count on the fact that I have things I need you to hear." 

I shiver and wrap my arms around my body as he continues.

"Your silence is telling, Natasha." 

His harsh words drag my shocked expression to meet his. "Why are you being like this?"   

He leans forward, pulling his lips into his mouth and entwining his fingers together.  "Because every single day you still feel it, just like I feel it.  It doesn't matter how much you fight it, how much you try to push it away, the love between us is always there.  We are meant to be and I refuse to let you destroy your life and mine.  I want you to live and to love and I want to be the person that lives and loves beside you."

I have underestimated him.  It seems he also thought about his something to say and his words have left me stumbling.  With an overwhelming urge to run again, I attempt to stand but he leans over the table, encasing my hands in his. My heart pounds in my ribs, throbbing through my ears.  I must not fold.  I must be strong.   

I try wriggling my hands free but he grips them tight.  I nibble at my lip to stop the flow of my emotions. With a deep breath, I stare at him and all my strength immediately zaps out of me. His face is weary and his eyes are empty; their sparkle no longer alive.  He looks lost and I am at fault for him losing his way.

"I shouldn't have come.  You were right, I should have spoken to you on the phone instead," my voice breaks, unable to stand what torment I have put him through.

"You must listen to me.  I have spent the last few weeks thinking of nothing else but you.  I don't need to forgive you; there is nothing to forgive.  I've thought about my life with you and my life without you and I always arrive at the same place.  You.  I cannot live without you.  I don't want to do it without you.  I love you.    

"Harry, just stop.  That's all very well now but what about in five years time when your friends are having families, how will you feel then?  Cheated, that's how you'll feel and we'll argue and resent each other and probably end up destroying each other.  I couldn't bear that so please, it's best for us to leave this where it is and move on, separately." 

"No!"  The word emanates from him with such force it takes me completely by surprise.  "This is NOT what I want.  I do not understand the fertility issues but I want to and us to face them together.  I want you and me, kids or no kids.  There are so many opportunities for us to explore when the time is right.  We can think about adopting and if we decide it's not for us, we will move forward together without children. Please, just let me in and let me love you." 

"No." I shake my head in defiance.  "You have to tell me that you understand why I couldn't ask you to make that choice.  It would have been unfair of me to ask you to do that.  That is why I made the choice for the both of us. "   

He snatches his hands away pulling my stare back to him.  His jaw is rigid in frustration.  "God damn it Natasha, go on then leave."  He flicks his wrist out and points towards the exit.  "Walk away from me and my love for you.  Throw away everything that is great, for what? So you can be alone and let grief drive you into the ground.  You're so bloody stubborn, why am I not enough for you?"

"What?"  I puff the word in disbelief.

You heard me.  "Why?"

"Is that what you think?  My God, you are wrong.  Harry, you are everything to me. I just couldn't ask you to make a choice."

"But it isn't your choice to make, it's my choice. Why can't you accept that?  It feels like an excuse." The stress of the last few weeks pours out of him.  His shoulders slump as silent contemplation stretches between us.

"I'm sorry Harry, I've got to go."  I rise with the intention of actually leaving this time. I bend down to pick up my bag but when I return to standing my head starts spinning and I grab hold of the side of the table to steady myself.

Immediately, Harry is on his feet.  His arm wraps around my waist but I try to push away from him.  I keep repeating over and over, "I need to go, Harry, please let me go."

"You're not going anywhere, not without me anyway."

With determined strides he guides us both towards the exit.  Once on the street, he raises his hand to hail a passing black cab.

We sit side by side on the seat but the gap between our legs is glaring.  My hands rest in my lap; Harry's are on his knees.  He looks straight ahead; I stare down at his hands.  We pull to a stop outside my house and the driver slides the glass divider across as Harry leans forward.

"Please can you give us a minute, this is the first stop," he asks politely to the cabbie.

"Sure mate, no problem," the driver replies, turning back round to face the front.

I have no idea what else there is left to say so I open the door and get out.  I walk across the pavement to the front gate but hesitate before I click the cold metal latch to open.  The other cab door slams behind me and I realise that Harry has also got out.  He is not intending on coming in after what he said to the driver. 

I sense him hovering beside the cab, hesitant like me.  He has been so honest with me tonight and I owe him a response to that honesty.  His beseeching words, "please just let me in, and let me love you," wrap guilt around my heart.  I miss him so much. I turn and take three swift steps, coming to stop directly in front of him.

"Thank you for seeing me home." 

I sense him glancing down at me. Being this close, I relish his familiarity and safety. He hesitates before his arms anchor around me.  Stood in our awkward embrace on the pavement, he sways our bodies together.  He caresses his cheek over my hairline as I dissolve into to him.  The whites of our breaths tangle together before disappearing into the cold of the night. 

"You've got a hospital appointment tomorrow.  Please will you let me be there with you, I would like to accompany you," he asks, gently.

How does he know that?  Of course, our diaries are still linked.  I will not deny his request and perhaps coming with me and talking to my doctor will give him the closure he needs.

"Yes, of course," I mumble into his grey tee shirt.

He places a kiss on my hairline, lingering his lips and letting out a sigh.  "Thank you.  I will pick you up from work at 3.30pm."

I relish the warmth that radiates from him but I know I have to go. I turn back towards the gate, my hand the last part of me to leave him.  I walk to the front door and am through it without so much as a backwards glance. I know Harry stands watching me until I disappear inside.  As soon as I close the front door, I hear the cab door slam and it pulls away.