Everything would be different now. She promised…
The workday was winding down. Only twenty minutes remained until the electronics shop closed. Customers rarely wandered in this late—not like a grocery store, where you could grab what you needed in five minutes. Gadgets required thought. They cost serious money.
Rosemary scanned the spacious showroom. Empty. Even the staff had slipped into the back room. Only the security guard lingered by the entrance, staring at his laptop screen. Something told her he was either playing solitaire or scrolling through the news.
She turned toward the stockroom to call her husband—ask him to peel the potatoes so dinner wouldn’t take so long. Using personal phones on the shop floor was forbidden. Management reviewed the CCTV feeds and wouldn’t hesitate to write her up.
Just then, a man walked in and made straight for the tablet displays. No consultants in sight. The guard stepped out of his cubby but stayed near the entrance, watching. He wasn’t allowed to leave his post. Rosemary sighed and approached the customer.
“How can I help you?” she asked, forcing a polite tone.
The man turned quickly.
“I need a tablet. This one.” He jabbed a finger at the display model.
Rosemary forgot to breathe. It was like seeing a ghost—because it *was* one. Him. The love she’d lost. She couldn’t be wrong. But how? Why now?
When she didn’t answer, he turned fully, eyes locking onto hers.
“Rosemary? *Rosemary?* Bloody hell, is that you?” His face lit up with surprise.
“It’s me. What are you doing here? We close in—” she checked her wristwatch, “—fifteen minutes.”
“Too late to buy?” He glanced around the deserted shop. “Damn.”
“We stay open until the last customer leaves. I can recommend this model—slightly pricier, but better quality.” She slipped into consultant mode, voice steady.
“Fine. I’ll trust your expertise,” Damien said.
Rosemary bent to retrieve a sealed box from under the display. “Come with me, I’ll ring you up.”
At the counter, her fingers trembled. She hit the wrong keys, fumbled the transaction. Knowing he could see her rattled made it worse.
“Head to the till. I’ll fetch the cashier.” She hurried to the back room, desperate to escape his gaze.
A group of younger staff huddled around a table, chatting.
“Someone cover the till. I’ve processed a sale,” she said.
They scattered, one lad rushing out. Rosemary checked the clock—her shift was over. She hadn’t called her husband. Hadn’t even *thought* of him. Her hands still shook. Why? Why did they have to meet again? She’d hoped never to see Damien after all these years.
She changed quickly and slipped out the back exit, where deliveries came in.
Wet pavement glistened under amber streetlamps. A light drizzle lingered, but she walked. Only three stops away—enough time to gather her thoughts, to steady herself.
***
She’d fallen for Damien the moment she saw him. Knew he was in his final year at uni, that girls swooned over him, that his name was Damien Whitmore. None of that mattered. Her heart raced whenever she spotted him in the corridors.
Once, in the canteen, she’d ended up beside him. Too nervous to think straight, she barely registered what she’d grabbed for lunch.
“Got any cash? Hey—you listening?”
“What?” She blinked, realizing he was talking to *her.*
“Cash. Till’s down. Cover me, I’ll pay you back.”
She nodded, fumbling for her purse.
After paying, she turned to leave when he called her over. The canteen was packed—nowhere else to sit. Legs stiff, she carried her tray to his table and sat opposite him. He devoured his bangers and mash; she stared at her untouched food.
“Not hungry?” He smirked. “First year?”
“Yeah.” She dared to meet his eyes, dizzy from the absurdity of it—sitting with *him,* talking to *him.*
“Odd little thing. What’s your name?”
“Rosemary.”
“Odd name, too. *Rosemary,*” he repeated.
“My grandmother’s.”
He finished his meal, gulped his juice. She hadn’t taken a bite.
“Don’t fret, I’ll pay you back.” Damien studied her. “Meet me here tomorrow, same time. We’ll eat together. Bon appétit.” He grinned and left.
She exhaled. Had that just happened? Had he really invited her?
Next day, she barely sat through lectures, clock-watching until lunch. No sign of him in the canteen. What had she expected? That he’d wait? She nearly left but forced herself to grab a salad and a roll. At the till, Damien appeared, paying before she could.
“Ta,” she mumbled. He took her tray to his usual table.
“Not eating?” she ventured.
“Already did. Lecture ended early.”
He watched her openly.
“Listen, few of us are heading to Lucas’s tonight. His parents are away. Fancy coming? Bit of dancing, few drinks. Where d’you live?”
“Westminster.”
“Right nearby. Which block?” She told him. “I’ll meet you at seven.”
At seven, he was there. The flat was crammed—people she didn’t know, music too loud. No one noticed her. Even Damien vanished between dances with other girls. Bored, she headed for the coats.
“Leaving? I’ll walk you.”
Outside, the wine steadied her nerves. She even managed to talk. He asked questions, told stories—she barely listened, too busy memorizing his voice. When he kissed her, she nearly fainted.
They started dating. Love-struck, she ignored her mates’ warnings about Damien’s reputation, her mum’s scolding. What did it matter? Damien Whitmore—the bloke every girl wanted—chose *her.* She nearly failed summer exams, scraped by with two Cs, lost her scholarship.
“Mum, I love him. He’s perfect. We’ll get married,” she insisted when her mum finally confronted her.
“Bit young, aren’t you? Already flunking—next you’ll drop out.”
Then Damien vanished. No calls, no visits. She got his address from the registry office. His mother answered.
“He’s not here. Gone to his dad’s.”
“*Gone?* He didn’t say—when’s he back?”
“Doubt he will. His father’s got business in Manchester. Better opportunities there.”
“Can I have his number?”
“Love, if he didn’t give it to you, he didn’t *want* you calling. Take the hint.” The door shut.
She walked home in a daze. How could he do this? No goodbye, no warning. Why say he loved her if he was leaving?
Three days she spent crying, barely leaving her room. Her mum called a doctor. Pills were prescribed; she flushed them. Didn’t want to live. But on the fourth day, she got up. Went through the motions like a machine.
It took ages to recover. Then she met Anthony in a department store, hunting for a New Year’s dress. He asked her to help pick one for his sister, then invited her to the birthday party. They saw in the New Year together.
“Anthony’s decent. Give him a chance,” her mum urged, relieved Rosemary seemed over her heartbreak.
Rosemary didn’t care either way. When Anthony proposed in fourth year, she said yes.
He knew she didn’t love him. Hoped his love would be enough for both, that hers would grow. When their son was born, she poured everything into the baby. Anthony might as well have been furniture. Naturally, he strayed—thought jealousy might spark something. No such luck.
When he confessed to the affair, she didn’t even blink. Told him to go. He stayed. They carried on. Their son finished school.
***
She’d thought Damien long forgotten—until today. The shock of seeing him reignited everything. Logic warred with longing, but sense won. She wouldn’t let him wreck her life again. Odds were, they’d never cross paths after this.
At home, Anthony was frying potatoes.
“There you are. Hungry? Nearly done. Wash up.”
When she returned, the table was set—even a bottle of white wine.
“What’s the occasion?” she asked, sitting.
“No reason. Fancied treating you.” He poured the wine.
After dinner, they settled before the telly.
“Why didn’t you leave me back then?” she blurted.
He knew exactly what she meant.
“Because I love you. I know you never loved me. Never said a kind word. Maybe I was daft to stay. Have you ever felt *anything* for me?”
Yesterday, she’d have had an answer. Today—
“I’m tired. Early shift tomorrow.”
Next day, Damien returnedShe turned the key in the lock that night, finally certain of the love she’d overlooked for so long, and whispered the words Anthony had waited a lifetime to hear.
