Completely forgetting wasnt possible
Every evening, I commuted home from work in Londonfirst the Underground, then a bus, and finally, I was at my flat. Getting there and back would take me over an hour each way; my car mostly sat idle. Londons morning and evening traffic is hopeless, so the Tube suits me finemuch faster, really.
About two years ago, my marriage came to an end. My wife and I separated; our daughter, seventeen at the time, stayed with her mum. The split was quiet and without fuss, mainly because Im not one for drama. Id noticed my wife had grown distanta little sharp, anxious for no reason, and often out late, claiming she was with friends.
Once Id asked her:
Why are you out so late? Normal wives are at home by this hour.
Its none of your business, she snapped back. Those “normal wives” are like hens. Im not like them; Im clever and sociable, and I hate being cooped up. Im not some country bumpkin like you. You never lost it, even after leaving your rural village.
Why marry a country lad then?
Of two evils I chose the lesser, she parried, and didnt care to explain further.
Soon after, she filed for divorce and I found myself moving out. Renting a place became my routine, and Id got used to itno plans to remarry yet, but Im still looking.
Travelling on the Tube, I, like everyone else, didnt waste that interlude; Id bury myself in my phone, scrolling through news, jokes, short clips. But one evening, as I was scrolling, something tugged me to a halta post that made my heart skip. I went back, peered closer at the advert:
Traditional Healer Mary, Herbal Remedies.
Staring back from my phone was my first love. A love never returned, and honestly, rather hopeless, but unforgettable nonetheless. I remember her so wellshe was in my year at school, a bit odd but remarkably lovely.
I nearly missed my stopI dashed off the train, walked briskly home, skipping the bus, wanting to clear my head. At home, I threw off my jacket and slumped onto the low stool in my hallway, in the half-light, just staring at the screen. Then, almost on impulse, I scribbled down the phone number listed beneath the advert before my phone cried out for a charge.
As it charged, I tried to get some supper, but appetite abandoned me. I toyed with the food, then slunk to the sofa, swamped by memories.
From the very first year, Mary stood out. She was a quiet, reserved girl, her hair always in a thick plait, her school dress longer than the others. In our small village near the woods, folk knew each other well, but no one seemed to know much about Mary. She lived with her granny and granddad, in a house set aparta beautiful, curious cottage with ornate window frames, almost like something out of a fairy tale.
From the moment I laid eyes on her, I was smitten, in that innocent, childish way but, to my mind, genuinely. Everything about her was out of the ordinary. She always wore a delicate scarf on her head and carried a neat little rucksack with dazzling embroideryonly later did I learn that it was handmade.
Instead of the usual Hi, shed greet us by saying Good health to you, as if shed stepped straight out of an old tale. She was never boisterous at break times, just courteous and composed.
One day, Mary didnt come to class. A bunch of us decided to check on her after lessons, see if she was alright; I was among them. We wandered out past the village, along the lane, and just beyond the bend, there it wasthe fairy-tale cottage.
Looks like theres a crowd outside, piped up Sarah, the quickest among us.
We drew near and saw a funeral underway. Marys granny had died. Mary stood there, dabbing her eyes beneath her scarf; her granddad just stared, in grim, silent contemplation. The procession moved to the churchyard, and we went too. Afterwards, we were even invited into the house to pay our respects.
Ive never forgotten, as it was my first funeral. Mary returned to school the day after. Time passed, and we all grew up; the girls became elegant, wore makeup, and competed over who had the trendiest clothes. But Mary remained steadfast, upright as a willow, never painted her face, yet always had a lovely flush to her cheeks.
Boys started courting; I too tried my luck with Mary. At first, she gave no sign. By the end of Year 11, I plucked up courage and said:
Can I walk you home from school?
Mary glanced at me, serious, whispering so only Id hear:
Im spoken for, Tom. Its our tradition.
I was crestfallen and didnt really understand. Only later did I discover her granny and granddad were old-order folk; her parents had died ages ago, and her grandparents brought her up.
Mary was always the top studentnobody was surprised. She wore no jewellery like the other girls, and though her classmates would gossip behind her back, she paid them no mind. She carried herself with dignity.
Year by year, she blossomed, and by sixth form, she was truly strikinglithe, graceful. The chaps admired her quietly; nobody dared tease or offend her.
After we finished school, the classmates scattered to all corners. I left for London and started university. I didnt know what became of Maryonly that shed married the man shed always been betrothed to and left for another district. I rarely returned home on holidays, always busy, often volunteered on building sites during summer.
Mary married her childhood fiancé and settled in a far-off village. She milked cows, gathered hay, managed her household, and had a son. Nobody from our year saw her again.
So Marys become a herbalist, I mused on my sofa, scrolling through her photo. Shes even lovelier now.
I barely slept that night; morning came with the alarm, and I hurried to work. Thoughts of Mary wouldnt release me.
First love always stirs the heart. Truly, its never forgotten, I kept thinking.
First love lingers, stirs the heart.
Days passed in a daze, then I couldnt resist and messaged her.
Hello, Mary.
Good health to you, came her reply, unchanged in her ways. What brings you hereis there a question or a worry?
Mary, its Tom, your classmatewe even shared a desk at school. I spotted you online and wanted to reach out.
Of course I remember you Tomyou were the smartest of the boys.
Mary, your phone numbers herewould it be alright to call you? I asked gently.
Yes, do ring, Ill answer.
That evening after work, I did. We talked, catching up on where wed ended up.
Im living and working in London, I said simply. Tell me about yourself, Maryyour family, your home? Is your husband well?
I live in my own cottage, you knowthe one from school days. I came back after my husband died. A bear in the woods… Granddad passed long ago.
Sorry, Mary, I had no idea…
No needyou didnt know, and its all in the past. Lifes unpredictable for us all. Anyway, did you call just out of the blue, Tom, or do you need a herbalists advice? I sometimes help…
Just fancied a chatI dont need herbs. It was seeing your picture, brought back a flood of memories. Havent been to our village in ages; lost Mum years back.
We reminisced about old friends and said our goodbyes. Silence followed. Home, workand by the weekend, longing gnawed at me, so I dialled Mary again.
Hello, Mary.
Good health to you, Tompining or unwell?
Missing you, Marydont be cross, but could I visit? I whispered, my heart thumping.
Do come, she said, unexpectedly. Come whenever you can.
Ive got a week off soon, I replied, thrilled.
Perfectdrop by, you know the address, I could tell she smiled.
All week, I prepared, choosing presents for Marynervous, uncertain how much shed changed. Soon I was driving out from London, heading back to my old stomping ground, six hours at the wheel but I enjoyed long drives.
The village loomed unexpectedly when I turned off the main road. Driving through, I realised how much had changednew houses, the factory still thriving, high street with supermarkets and cafés. I stopped outside a Tesco and stepped out.
I thought our village had fallen into ruin, like so many others, I muttered, surveying the scene.
Were a proper town now, said an elderly chap nearby, overhearing me. Got our own town council years agohavent seen you round here for an age, huh?
Ages, matebeen a long time, I replied.
Our towns in good handsmayors a gem, really cares, thats how the place prospered.
Mary awaited me in her gardenId rung ahead. She caught sight of my car turning the corner, and her heart hammered wildlyshed held a secret love for me since school, an unspoken truth she wouldve carried to her grave had I not returned.
Our reunion was full of joy. We talked for hours in her old garden arbourthe fairy-tale cottage had aged, but remained as warm and welcoming as ever.
Mary, Im here on business, I said, and she gazed at me, half fearful.
Go on, what business? she asked, tense.
Ive loved you my whole lifewont you answer my feelings now? I said, my voice firm.
Mary leapt toward me, hugging me round the neck.
Tom, TomIve loved you too, since we were children.
I spent my holiday with Mary, and when I left, I promised:
Ill settle things at work, switch to remote, and come back. Im never leaving again. Born here, and here Im meant to be, I laughed.
