24April
Im staying at a little healthspa on the Sussex coast, and this evening I finally gave in to the idea of joining the ballroom night theyd advertised. I hadnt set out any romantic expectations I just wanted a break from the endless emails, a chance to hear live music and move my feet a little.
The dance hall was buzzing with chatter, the brass of a saxophone cutting through the chatter, and I, in a light summer dress, felt almost like a teenager at her first school disco. Suddenly I sensed a hand on my shoulder.
May I have this dance? a voice asked. I turned with a smile, ready to whirl with a stranger, but the face that turned towards me was one I hadnt seen in forty years. Time seemed to freeze.
It was Peter Whitfield my very first boyfriend from school, the lad who used to scribble verses in the margins of my notebooks and walk me home after lessons.
A soft warmth spread through my limbs. Peter? I whispered. He gave me that familiar, slightly mischievous grin I remembered from the days we shared a bench at Willowbrook Primary.
Hello, Cressida, he said, as if wed just met yesterday. Will you dance with me?
We stepped onto the polished floor as the orchestra launched into a classic swing number. In the dance we were as if wed never been apart. He still knew how I liked a partner to lead firmly yet gently, without sudden jerks. For a moment I felt like an eighteenyearold again, convinced that life was only just beginning.
A chance meeting after four decades feels less like coincidence and more like a doorway that could reshape my view of past and future.
When the music paused we slipped to a small table in the corner. A faint perfume mingled with the scent of warm candles. I never thought Id see you again, Peter confessed. After the Alevels everything spun away university, jobs, moving towns and now forty years have slipped by.
I told him about my marriage, which had ended a few years ago, and about my two grown children, each carving their own paths. He spoke of losing his wife three years earlier and the hard adjustment to solitary life. Listening, I sensed that despite the years, we still spoke the same halfspoken jokes, shared the same wry glances, and understood each others nuances.
When the band started up again, Peter extended his hand. Another dance? he asked. The evening drifted on, dance after dance, conversation after conversation. Both of us sensed that this was no ordinary encounter at a seaside resort; it felt deeper, almost inevitable.
Towards the end we walked out onto the terrace. A gentle mist rolled over the sea, and the lighthouse beamed a soft golden glow. You remember the promise I made, that wed dance together at sixty? Peter said suddenly. I froze, recalling a teasing vow wed swapped decades ago, then seemed so farfetched.
And here we are, he smiled, I kept my word.
A lump lodged in my throat. All my life Id believed first loves were beautiful precisely because they ended, that their fleeting nature preserved the magic. Yet now, standing before Peter his hair dusted with grey, laugh lines deepening around his eyes I saw that same boy I once knew.
Returning to my room, my heart beat as if I were still eighteen. I realised this wasnt a random twist of fate; sometimes destiny offers a second chance, not to replay the past but to experience it anew, correctly.
The meeting was tender, steeped in memory. It taught me the weight of whats gone and what remains, and hinted at the possibility of starting something fresh, no matter the years.
So when the next morning Peter suggested a stroll along the beach, I didnt hesitate. The sun was just cresting the horizon, painting the water in shades of gold and pink. The beach was almost empty, gulls wheeling overhead, an elderly couple in the distance gathering shells.
We walked barefoot, letting the cool waves kiss our feet. Peter shared stories of his life after school the odd jobs, the trips that promised happiness but never matched the simple joy of his old grin. I listened, feeling each anecdote smooth away the decades of silence between us.
He paused, lifted a small piece of amber from the sand and handed it to me. When we were kids I used to think amber was a chunk of sunshine thatd fallen into the sea, he said with a smile. Let this be your talisman.
I pressed the warm stone in my palm, surprised it still retained heat despite the sea air. Looking at Peter, I saw not just the man hed become but the schoolyard lad who once tried to make the world brighter.
Our walk lasted hours, though it felt like minutes. As we turned back, the wind teased my hair and he gently brushed a stray lock from my face the same tender gesture I remembered from youth. In that moment I realised I didnt want to treat this as a fleeting sentimental fancy. I wanted to give myself a genuine chance a real, conscious, fearless one.
The lesson is clear: life occasionally hands us opportunities that let us reexamine the past and open doors to honest new feelings, regardless of the years that separate us.
That evening, sitting on the verandah of the spa, we watched the sunset together. There were no grand declarations, only a comfortable silence that wrapped us in warmth and security. Peter placed his hand over mine and whispered, Perhaps life does smile at us a second time. For the first time in a long while I believed it.
