**Exhale**
Yesterday, Katie turned 47. Two years ago, her life had been shattered. It’s ironic how such a tired phrase could capture everything that had happened to her so perfectly.
She found the dress just days before her birthday. She called her mum and said she’d bought a blue one. Her mum demanded to see it immediately. When Katie put it on, her mum was thrilled. *”You look absolutely darling in it. But blue? That’s teal, love.”* What a generation. Probably because they used to visit seamstresses, discuss cuts, pick fabrics—each dress was an event back then.
Anyway, the teal dress, now fully aware it wasn’t just *”any old blue,”* waited for its debut.
This birthday, Katie invited all her few relatives and friends. The restaurant set a table in the far corner of a cosy little room.
Natasha, her cousin, gave a toast that lasted ten minutes. She told the story of how they’d got drunk at sixteen, trying to hail a cab. They couldn’t remember how to decline the word *”cathedral.”* *”What don’t you understand?! We live by the cathedral! The cathedral! Hedgehog Village! Drive to the centre—we’ll show you!”* she repeated five times to the cabbie. Then she suggested everyone get plastered so they wouldn’t remember their addresses. The romantic notion was ruined when someone pointed out they were all staying at the same hotel as the restaurant. *”No bloody romance left,”* Natasha laughed. Her husband chimed in, *”We stopped climbing through our lovers’ windows! Only because they’ve got mosquito nets now. Otherwise, we’d still be at it. Especially me.”* *”Right. Because you’ve got a bungalow,”* Katie smirked. Everyone roared.
Next up was Alex, husband to her other cousin, Irene. Alex recalled their trip to Blackpool a hundred years ago. At first, everyone kept winning. Then they lost every last penny. As they left the casino, Katie announced, *”What would you lot do without me? I stashed a quid for drinks and a bite.”* So they got hammered on that quid, then strolled along the pier singing *”Jet Plane.”* *”Here’s to the brilliant woman who saved us from sober starvation!”* Mum’s husband, Geoffrey, lamented the lack of scales in the restaurant—no way to seal the toast properly. Then everyone started singing *”Jet Plane,”* fading into whispers like in that famous pub scene.
The evening was perfect. Her husband didn’t give a toast, but he never could. He always joked he was an IT bloke, not an orator.
The next morning, they planned breakfast together and a walk in Hyde Park. By evening, everyone had left, and Katie and her husband were alone in the flat.
Staring at the corner where his computer desk sat, he said they needed to talk. Suddenly, Katie felt uneasy. Actually, she’d felt off all day. She hadn’t drunk that much, but her insides were trembling. He told her he’d met another woman, fallen in love, and was leaving—right then. He just hadn’t wanted to ruin the party.
The following year was the year of the letter *C.* Change, chaos, crying, confusion, cocktails…
On her 46th birthday, Katie decided to switch letters. She woke up and walked along the beach. Even on the darkest days, she made sure to walk every morning. It was chilly. January. The shore was empty. The crisp solitude—or maybe the sea’s energy—lifted her from within, and she suddenly knew she’d healed. She’d never believed in all that energy nonsense, but right then, she physically felt the darkness and rot evaporate.
Still, she couldn’t manage a full exhale.
Katie decided the next year would be *N.* New faces, a new *her.* But no surrender!
That same day, she made a dating profile. Out of all the men who wrote, she liked one. They met. That was a year ago.
Hard to believe how drastically her life had changed again. Wonder if her palm lines showed it. Maybe her life line broke and started anew? Right then. Katie took a deep breath of morning air but still couldn’t exhale fully.
She called her mum to say goodbye.
*”I told Helen you’re off on your trip, and she insists you stay the night,”* Mum said.
*”Lovely, I adore them. I thought of driving straight to the Lake District, but stopping with them in London works. It’s just a short hop from there—I’ll be at the Nolans’ by lunch.”*
The *Nolans* were what friends called Oliver and Olivia Nolan because of all the *O’s* in their names. They’d stayed *her* friends.
By the second evening, Katie reached London. Helen and Felix had laid out food and warned her not to fill up on snacks—they had a surprise. Twenty minutes later, the *surprise* walked in.
*”Katie, meet Victor. Our neighbour. Sadly, he’s moving to York soon, but tonight he’s treating us to sea bass—secret recipe.”*
*”Pleasure,”* Victor said.
*”Likewise,”* Katie replied. She liked him so much she almost felt guilty about Ian, the man she was driving to Scotland to meet. Victor was around 50. Not a looker or particularly fit, but his smile was warm and clever.
*”Right, youngsters, who are we waiting for?”* Felix raised his glass.
Victor poured drinks. *”Shall we drop the formalities? We *are* the youngsters.”*
*”Gladly,”* Katie smiled. Victor declared, *”The youth are ready! Cheers!”*
Everyone laughed and drank.
*”This feels like New Year’s! Victor, I’m no fish lover, but that bass is divine. Felix, your potato salad’s legendary—blizzard of the century or not!”*
*”What blizzard?”* Victor asked.
Felix yelled, *”Pour up! Time for the family legend!”*
Between bites, Felix began: *”Our first winter here. Nearly 30 years back. They warned of a historic snowstorm—news every five minutes. Schools and offices closed. We prepped seriously. Stocked up on whisky, I chopped a trough of salad. By six, we were at our place with Katie’s parents, drinking. Even let teen Katie sip some. Snow started—big, glorious flakes. But no storm. We drank more. Finished the salad. Still no storm. Polished off the whisky, walked Katie’s family home, breathed in the night. A few inches of snow. Next morning—turned out *that* was the storm.”*
They laughed, ate, drank. Katie wished the night wouldn’t end. But an hour later, Felix dozed off. Katie, exhausted from driving, felt ready to crash. Victor noticed.
*”Right, I’m off! Katie! Lovely meeting you. If you’re ever in York—my door’s open. Felix, Helen—see you soon!”*
The moment he left, Helen clapped. *”Katie! He fancies you! Don’t be daft—invite yourself to York!”*
*”Helen! Did Mum *not* tell you? I met a man online. He visited me in Brighton. Nothing happened, but he invited me to Scotland. We’ve written for a year—know everything about each other. We’ve booked a mountain lodge. You want me to bin all that and chase the neighbour?!”*
*”Fair enough. Stick to the plan. Sleep now. Fancy a stroll in Hyde Park tomorrow?”*
*”No. Promised the Nolans I’d be in the Lake District by lunch. Early start—aiming for 9.”*
By one, Katie pulled into the Nolans’ drive.
Oliver greeted her. *”Brilliant you’re here! Leave your bag—let me pamper the brunette while the blonde fries spuds.”* They laughed. *”Hurry—poor Jack’s frantic.”*
Before they opened the door, a massive yellow Labrador barrelled into Katie. She sat right down, letting him lick her face. Kissing his cold nose, she cooed, *”My good boy. You remember me. Guess what I brought you?”* She handed him a long-lasting chew, and Jack bolted off.
*”Katie! Kitchen! Can’t leave the stove. Save the mush for later.”* They hugged. *”Wash up, unpack. We’ve made up Danny’s room. Food’s ready in ten.”*
Upstairs, Katie unpacked, texted Mum she’d arrived. Then Ian—*”the Scot”*—messaged: *”Was in Guildford for work. Heading home. See you at Glencoe tomorrow as planned.”*
Downstairs, she announced, *”My maybe-boyfriend’s nearby. Reckon he could stay? We’ll leave early.”*
*”Course! Plenty of space,”* Olivia said.
Katie called Ian. *”Hey. Stopped at friends’ en route. Fancy staying here? We’They laughed over breakfast the next morning, Jack sprawled at their feet, and for the first time in years, Katie finally exhaled completely.
