I listened to his heart, beating evenly through his jumper, and marveled at his steadiness. I wondered if he could hear the excitement careening around in my chest. Then this. A badger! He traced a finger along my hairline. I like you and me. In fact, I like you and me very much. I smiled. Right into those kind, sincere eyes. At those laughter lines, at the heavy angle of his chin.
I took his hand and kissed his fingertips, rough and mottled with splinters after two decades of woodworking.
For a lifetime. It felt like someone had matched us, maybe at birth, and nudged and aligned and planned and schemed until we finally met, six days ago. I laughed, and he kissed my nose, and I wondered how it was that you could spend weeks, months— years, even—just chugging on, nothing really changing, and then, in the space of a few hours, the script of your life could be completely rewritten. Had I gone out later that day I would have got straight on the bus and never met him, and this new feeling of certainty would be no more than an unheard whisper of missed opportunities and bad timing.
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He could take it, probably. There was an armor on this man, a quiet strength that made me think of an old seawall, an oak tree, maybe. He was running a hand along the curve between my hip and rib cage. We can make a fire, cook sausages, tell stories. Assuming you have a tent, that is?
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The last fat candles of blossom glowed dully on the horse chestnut at the edge of the woods. A buttercup swayed in the darkness near our faces. I felt something rise in my chest. Brings back so many memories. He kissed me on the mouth and for a while the rest of the world was muted, as if someone had simply pressed a button or turned a dial. He bandaged his arms more tightly around me and I felt the cheerful warmth of his chest and belly, the soft tickle of his cropped hair under my hands. Closeness like this had become a distant memory, I thought, inhaling the clean, sandy smell of his skin.
By the time Reuben and I had called it a day, we were sleeping like bookends on either side of our bed, the stretch of untouched sheets between us an homage to our failure. Eddie pulled away so I could see his face. Look, I did wonder if we should cancel our respective plans. My holiday and your London trip. So we can roll around in the fields for another week. I propped myself up on an elbow.
I want that more than you will ever know , I thought. I was married for seventeen years and in all that time I never felt the way I do with you. He seemed to consider this for a moment. This visit of yours is too short. He tugged at the dark grass. Before you have to go back to the States?
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I nodded. The only dark cloud over our week together had been this, the inevitability of parting. Do something. Decide something. I think we should try to make this work. One of the many things I like very much about you. But even though it came naturally now—even though I spoke at medical conferences around the world, gave interviews to news crews, managed a team—I felt unsettled when people remarked on it. Unsettled or perhaps exposed, like a person on a hill in a thunderstorm. Then Eddie kissed me again and I felt it all dissolve. The sadness of the past, the uncertainty of the future.
This was what was meant to happen next. Have you ever ghosted someone, or been ghosted yourself? How did you handle it? What happened? Was she right to keep searching for him, or should she have left it alone? Do you think they were a good fit for each other when they met, or was their match doomed to fail no matter what?
Did they behave well toward each other? What advice would you have given them? There are a number of relationships in the book, and all are written with nuance and complexity. However, when he is mistaken for someone actually significant, due to a mix-up by the Post Office, then his life becomes complicated.
By complicated we're talking murder, sex, violence, car chases, beautiful women, and an annoyed A comic thriller about three people having three different days, on the same match day in Cardiff. Cathy is a woman disappointed in life when her dream turns into a nightmare, and mires her with debt which she doesn't have a hope of paying off. Suddenly she is offered a chance of a Neil is bored.
His two best friends are a broken hearted workaholic and a man who would rather Hoover than have a night on the town. Neil has a wife, two kids and a never decreasing mortgage but what he really wants is a holiday. A chance to get right away from it all, to bring Steve out of his depression When you pre-order a book that has not yet been released we guarantee that you will receive a signed copy.
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- The Children’s War: Britain, 1914-1918, by Rosie Kennedy.
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The war may not have irrevocably altered UK childhood, but, for a generation of children, their imaginative play, the books they read and their ideals echoed the war that shaped their lives. This study, which began life as a PhD thesis and is based on extensive research, is an important contribution to our knowledge of British society during the Great War.
It is also eminently readable. Get a month's unlimited access to THE content online. Just register and complete your career summary. Registration is free and only takes a moment.