**The Heartbeat**
“Jeremy, there’s really no need for you to go all the way to the branch office yourself,” the director said with a frown. “Let Evelyn handle the documents.”
“I’d rather go myself, sir,” Jeremy replied. “It’s my hometown. Been a while since I’ve been back.”
“Parents still there?” the director asked, softening slightly.
“No. I moved Mum here, but…”
“Ah, I see,” the director cut in. “Home’s home, isn’t it? All right, go ahead. But remember—big meeting tomorrow. Will you make it back?”
“Without a doubt,” Jeremy promised. “Thank you.” The director waved him off, signalling the conversation was over.
Jeremy returned to his office, tidied his desk, shut down his computer, and picked up the folder of documents. He locked the door behind him, leaving the keys with the security guard downstairs.
No time to stop at home. From the car, he rang his mother, asked how she was feeling, and told her he wouldn’t be by that evening—important meeting. He didn’t say it was in their old town. She’d fret, and with her heart condition, best not to worry her.
“Gotta go, Mum. Call me if you need anything.” He pocketed his phone and started the engine.
Just outside the city, he pulled into a petrol station, filled the tank, grabbed a coffee and a couple of pastries—no more stops. Needed to deliver the papers before the workday ended. Could always ring the partners, tell them to wait at the office.
No plans to visit old friends. They’d all moved away. He just wanted to see the place where he grew up. Turning on the radio, the latest pop hit filled the car. He took a sip of scalding coffee.
***
After his father’s death, his mother’s health declined. Tests revealed heart trouble. Jeremy begged her to move closer—better healthcare in the city. But she refused. “You’re a grown man, need your own life. I’ll only be in the way.” But she worsened.
Eventually, he persuaded her to sell the house, topped up the money, and bought her a small flat near his. After that, he never went back—though he often remembered.
Could anyone forget their first love? Probably long gone, but the town remained—same street, same house where he’d stood beneath her window, pining. Even now, thinking of Emily made his heart race. Never felt that way about anyone since. As if he’d left his heart behind in that town.
Skinny, unremarkable Emily—he hadn’t noticed her until sixth form. After summer break, she returned transformed, radiant. And for the first time, Jeremy felt his heart, pounding violently in his chest.
From then on, she was all he thought about. He counted down to the Christmas dance—finally, he’d ask her, confess his love. On the last day of term, the school hall glittered with a towering tree. Younger kids had their party earlier; now, the upper sixth gathered under twinkling lights. After performances, dancing began. Jeremy hesitated through the first slow song.
Evening waned, the DJ spinning upbeat foreign tracks. His chances slipped away. Leaning against the wall, he gnawed his lip. Finally, a slow melody—the floor cleared.
*Now or never.* He lunged toward the window where Emily stood with her friends, desperate to beat any competition.
His heart hammered so hard his vision darkened. Nearly fainting, breath ragged, he held out a trembling hand.
She exchanged glances with her friends—then smiled. In the centre of the room, under everyone’s eyes, he fumbled at her waist. She rested her hands on his shoulders, and they swayed awkwardly.
His legs were stiff, his whole body trembling. Other couples might’ve danced nearby—he saw nothing, barely heard the music. The scent of her strawberry lip balm lingered. Years later, that smell still brought it all back.
The music cut out. Emily stepped back sharply, rejoining her friends. She whispered something; their laughter followed him as he fled, face burning.
In April, the night before her birthday, Jeremy waited for his parents to sleep. Once his father snored, he slipped out, armed with a can of paint and a brush from under the sink. Beneath Emily’s window, he scrawled on the pavement: *Happy Birthday!* Below, his initials—*J.R.* Jeremy Reeves. But in his mind, they stood for something else: *Just Remember.*
At school, he waited for a sign she’d seen it. None came. At break, she invited classmates to her party—excluding him.
After school, he wandered to her street. His stomach dropped—the words were a blurry white smudge. Overnight rain, water-based paint. She’d never known.
That evening, music and laughter spilled from her open window. Someone stepped onto the balcony, lighter clicking. Jeremy walked home alone.
At prom, one last attempt. He asked her to dance.
“I don’t dance,” she said, turning away.
“I’m leaving for uni soon. Emily, I love you,” he rasped.
She spun around. “Well, I don’t love *you*.”
Heartbroken, he drank, felt ill, went home. He left for university, tried to forget. Once, during winter break, he saw her arm-in-arm with a stranger. He retreated to his dorm early.
Later, he heard she’d married. He dated others, but never felt the same.
***
Lost in memories, he arrived, handed over the documents.
“Staying at a hotel?” the partner asked.
“No, just a quick bite, then I’ll head back,” Jeremy said.
The man smirked. “I’ll take you somewhere decent.”
Jeremy agreed. He’d grown up here but never dined in a proper restaurant. Crystal chandeliers, blinding white tablecloths—it felt surreal.
Before they sat, a waitress approached. Tight white blouse, short black skirt—Emily, unmistakable, though changed.
He skipped wine, ordered steak and salad. When she returned with the food, his partner’s eyes tracked her every move.
*Why flaunt herself like this?* Irritation prickled. No racing heart this time.
Later, he ordered coffee. His partner checked his watch.
“Go ahead,” Jeremy said. “I’ll stay a bit longer.”
Alone, Emily returned.
“Hi. Didn’t recognise you at first. More coffee?”
“Had enough. Sit with me?”
“Can’t. Shift ends soon. Wait for me?” Hope flickered in her voice.
He nodded.
Outside, he craved a cigarette—first time in years. Bought a pack at a nearby shop. Part of him urged him to leave. But fleeing would mean he was still afraid.
Emily emerged. He drove her home.
“You staying at a hotel?” she asked.
“No, driving back. Need to be at work tomorrow.”
He studied her thick makeup, the smudge of eyeliner. His heart beat steadily.
“Why sit here? Fifteen minutes won’t change anything. Come up, see my place, have some tea.” Her eyes teased.
Climbing the stairs, he wondered: *Why?*
Her parents had retired to the countryside, left her the flat. She made tea, then pulled a half-finished bottle of vodka from the fridge.
“Don’t judge—just helps me unwind. The job… customers can be vile.”
“Ever thought of leaving?”
“Not much choice here. Tips help.”
Mid-conversation, she refilled her glass. Divorced her first husband after a year—he’d cheated with her friend. The second drank.
“Remember that dance?” she slurred, cheeks flushed.
How could he forget? If he’d been braver, maybe…
She stood, pulled him up. Hands on his shoulders, she rested her head against his chest. He had no choice but to hold her.
“Kiss me,” she whispered.
Her eyes glittered—vodka or tears? He obeyed. Her lips tasted bitter, nothing like strawberry. A kiss he’d have died for once—now, nothing.
Later, in bed, she murmured about life’s disappointments. Regrets. “We could’ve had a family…”
He ached for a smoke.
On the balcony, freezing, he stared at the empty streets. Inside, she slept—makeup smeared, hair tangled, looking older.
He dressed, left silently. At the spot where he’d once painted his message, he glanced up—hoping she hadn’t woken to watch him go.
At a roadside flower stall, he knocked. A sleepy girl peered out.
“You deliver?”
“From nine in the morning.”
The restaurant opened at noon—she’d be home by nine. He chose the largest bouquet, tucked in a note: *”Thank you for tonight.”* He still knew the address.
The motorway was clear. His thoughts circled back. *She could change—gym, new clothes, quit drinking.*
But with every mile, the idea seemed madder. Love had faded; nothing remained.
Reaching for his cigarettes, heJeremy drove on, the road stretching endlessly ahead, his heart lighter than it had been in years, finally free of the past.
