I tried not to think about what had happened. My wife, Helen, never brought it up either You know I know you know, shed say, a thin smile on her lips. She caught my bewildered look, and that was enough for her; a man weighed down by guilt is easier to steer.
Helen was a shrewd one, that Helen. Her eyes were a deep, endless green, the kind you never see twice. One glance and youre lost, falling into that abyss.
I fell for Poppy Farnham the moment our paths crossed irrevocably, with no chance of turning back. She walked into the lecture hall late, just as the professor was beginning, and it turned out we were in the same tutorial group.
Nothing like this had ever happened before. The world seemed to fall away, everything else pushed to the background, while Poppy paid me no mind at all. If only shed thrown a fleeting, curious glance my way a question, a joke, anything. But no. Poppy Farnham simply wasnt interested in Nick Stevenson, however decent looking and fitting the modern male ideal I might be.
It was my first real disappointment. At school Id been the top lad in the village, never short of girls. Yet this feeling was different, startlingly fresh and powerful perhaps thats what real love feels like.
A small consolation was that she wasnt flirting with any of the other lads in our cohort. If this ever happened, I often thought, Ive no idea what Id do with it.
Poppy drifted into her third year, and my feelings didnt change I still loved her. Then, as if spring had finally melted the ice, she started laughing at a mates jokes, and my heart leapt.
We rode the Tube home together, and in my head I built a whole life for us. I asked her out, and she surprisingly said yes. Poppy realised she was beginning to like this cheeky Nick, his spiky haircut reminiscent of some cartoon character.
I took her for a cup of strong coffee the song of the moment was on every radio. We had a wonderful time and then kissed; my dream was finally taking shape.
By the end of the third year we were a couple. At the start of the next academic year Poppy turned out to be pregnant.
It happens. She found out she was expecting on her birthday: I arrived at her flat on 9 June while her parents were away at the country house. In the heat of the moment we didnt use contraception, assuming it would pass.
But it didnt. Soon Poppy realised shed received a truly royal gift.
We spent the holidays with our respective families; not everyone owned a mobile then, so the young dad only learned the news after his father came back from the south in late August. Poppy was nervous two and a half, almost three months along, and we had decisions to make.
I was equally confused. I didnt know what to do either. Lying in bed it all seemed romantic, but reality bit hard: the trouble lay in those green eyes
Marriage felt too early I was still a lad, and my parents wouldnt be thrilled. An abortion? Poppy wouldnt agree to raise a child alone, and it was too soon for her too. Abortions cost money, and they required the girls consent.
She seemed ready for any option, like a character in a film: Do something, Nick! she pleaded. I promised to act, and I did but what shocked everyone, including me, was that I didnt turn up for classes on the first day of term.
Why? Id simply been cowardly fled. If anyone had told me that could happen, I would never have believed it.
It turned out Id taken my papers and vanished to another university, somewhere farther afield. Poppy was left alone with her dilemma.
Our peers were baffled: Nick was gone, didnt call anyone; his parents said hed moved into a flat without a phone. In short, Poppy was written out of my life; the fear of losing freedom outweighed any lofty love.
Years later I was happily married, my son Jack now twentytwo. I never learned what became of my former love; shed died, and I never asked. But my conscience kept gnawing at me perhaps Id been too ruthless? I had loved Poppy, after all, and would have loved the child she carried.
My wife Helen was different a steady, warm love, not the fireworks and snowfilled jumps of my youth. We married the year after I split from Poppy. Helens sister, also a former classmate, studied at the same university Id retreated to.
I never told Helen about that shameful episode. Can a man admit he fled the battlefield? Yet Helen knew mutual friends had spilled the truth. There are always kind folk ready to expose secrets.
Helen, a wise woman, never said, I know everything, you scoundrel! She understood that a man needs his own shadows, especially when they involve something so unsavory one prefers to forget. She hinted she was aware, but kept quiet, for the sake of the respectable husband image shed built with me over the years. It would have only undermined our marriage.
On a Saturday, Simon announced hed introduced his daughter to us: Were getting married! Though it was early for his son to wed, both parents didnt object the lad was independent, living in a flat his grandmother had gifted him, financially selfsufficient.
When I opened the door for my sons girlfriend, I froze: there stood Poppy, looking as if no years had passed, a perfect double. More precisely, not Poppy herself but her spittingimage a clone, as theyd say today.
Shed been left there that August evening, a reminder that boomerangs always return. I realised she couldnt be just my exgirlfriends daughter; perhaps she was also mine Simons daughter by a different father. And marrying a sister? It was a nightmare even worse than the pregnancy.
My throat dried, heart hammered over a hundred beats a minute, cold sweat ran down my face divine retribution, the very scourge of the Almighty!
I should have acted naturally: smile, keep the conversation going. I avoided looking at her, fearing the silent accusation in those eyes, as if shed come to sow discord in our happy family. Perhaps shed heard from her mother about the man whod left her dad and came for revenge.
Shed fallen for our boy, and now claimed to be his sister? Oh, the drama!
Helen, seeing my distress, asked, Want to lie down? Let me check your blood pressure. I agreed, using it as an excuse to slip away from the table.
Dad, didnt you like Sophie? my son asked after the wedding ceremony. I saw you barely glance at her. Is it the pressure? My blood pressure was indeed through the roof; I had to take a pill.
Youll never marry her! my father roared.
Why not? Simon blurted. Explain, at least!
What can I say? Shes your sister? I left her mother pregnant twentysomething years ago! I could barely speak. The truth was beyond my strength to confess.
Im still marrying her! Simon declared and walked off.
Helen, ever sharp, teased, Whats got you in a knot? Shes a good girl, you can see that! She loves Simon! What pushed you over the edge, old man?
My heads a mess, I muttered. What now?
Two days of excruciating misery followed; I even called in sick at work, citing a hypertensive crisis.
Calm down, its not her, Helen said over dinner. Not her? I asked, bewildered. You mean its not Poppys daughter? Its just a lookalike, same type!
Helen knew the whole story the same kind people had shown a photo the husband had taken during his passionate fling with Poppy
Can that happen? I asked.
Of course not, she replied. Thats why they have lookalike contests! Her mothers name is Lena, same as mine. Were going to their place on Saturday. So, will you let your son marry?
Lena? I thought. So Sophie isnt his daughter? I breathed a sigh of relief. Now Ill let him marry! How did Helen find out?
A single face, identical. But on closer look, the hair colour was different, the eyes not quite the same. The world does strange things.
I tried not to think about what had happened. Helen never pressed: You know I know you know. She saw my bewildered expression and that was enough; a man burdened with guilt is easy to steer.
She was very wise my Helen.
Ive changed since then less swagger, a bit more humility. It turned out I wasnt a husband at all, but something else entirely Yet we never spoke of it; life went on, and our marriage stayed solid.
