Greater Expectations (25 page)

Yet Douglas’ seemingly hopeless endeavour to strike up a simple conversation proved to be a pivotal moment that would change his life forever.

Sitting in the bar with a glass of wine and a book, the man appeared perfectly content. As such, it was not until he sought a refill that Douglas saw his opportunity.
“Have you had a good day?”
It is perhaps the most inoffensive of questions, but one that has been successfully tried and tested in practically every bar the world over. The snort of derision was enough of a clue to let him know that his subtle attempt at conversation was not appreciated. Changing tack, he asked the exact same question but, this time, he spoke in French. Visibly surprised, the salesman asked if Douglas spoke the language. “Oui” was enough of a response to successfully ensure the conversation that he so desperately craved.

They chatted until the early hours although, to them both, it seemed like merely minutes. In the following weeks the two developed a
“wonderful friendship”
as Douglas described it. It was during the course of their conversations over those weeks that he disclosed that he had served in France during the war. Naturally, the salesman was intrigued and asked if there was a sweetheart that he had left there.

It was then that Douglas told him about Pierre’s mother.

This was especially fascinating to the salesman as it transpired that his hobby was tracing family trees. As such, would Douglas mind if he found out what happened to her?

“How could I ever be offended by such a wonderful offer son? I had often thought of her over the years and wondered what she had done with her life.” He explained that she had haunted his thoughts with even more regularity after his own wife had died. There had been times when he had considered returning here to France to find her but, ironically, he had simply lacked the courage. He feared that she would never accept nor forgive him for letting her go and, worse, allowing her to believe him dead all these years. As Douglas said, “better to live with the beautiful memory of what we had, than die of the broken heart from what could have been.”

Sadly, I completely understood what he meant.

Yet now that the salesman presented him with a golden opportunity to surreptitiously find out what happened to her, he yearned to know. Or so he thought. “It never crossed my mind to tell him to be discreet. Foolishly, I presumed it was implied.”

I was perplexed, whatever did he mean?

Two weeks were to pass before the salesman excitedly approached Douglas in the bar and asked to speak in private. His words tumbled out, “I have managed to trace her. After the war, she too got married and had a family but I have also discovered that she is now a widow. Given these circumstances, I took the liberty of actually contacting her to tell her about you. My friend, she was shocked and delighted to hear that you are still alive and she has asked to meet you again.”

It was obvious that Douglas was reciting this conversation verbatim and I was left in no doubt that he deeply cherished every single beautiful word. Indeed, these words were of no lesser importance to me for I too, will never forget them. Not that I needed to be told of their significance for this man’s life story had me completely enthralled.

“So I nervously returned to France for our meeting. As I entered the bustling bistro I could see that she was already there, sat alone in a corner booth and facing the door. Our eyes locked and the years fell away. All I could see was the beautiful mademoiselle that I had left all those years ago. Old feelings that I thought forever gone came flooding back and suddenly it felt that we were in our twenties agai
n.”

As he spoke, I wondered if he was aware that he was now stood rigidly upright with his head held high and chest puffed out. Here was the man as the boy. Here was the soldier. Yet it was me that was fighting a losing battle against the tears that had welled and now seriously threatened to breach my eyelids.

“Thankfully she felt the same way and, over 40 years since we last met, we fell in love all over again. We wasted no more time and, soon thereafter, we were married. My return ticket to Scotland went unused and I have remained here from that day to this. So, in answer to your question, Pierre here is not my son but rather my stepson.”

It was only on the mention of his name that I came to realise that Pierre had finished unloading my trailer and was actually stood beside us. As I looked at him, it was only now that I could truly see the man, and he was absolutely resplendent. As tears of joy and shame idly meandered down my cheeks, Pierre placed a consoling arm around my shoulder. The smile on his face was one that breached our language barrier and it was then that I noticed that his other arm was protectively draped around Douglas. It felt like my heart would burst with pri
de as–irrationally and inexplicably, in that very moment–it seemed like I was now somehow a part of the story.

“Sadly, his mother has since died son but I shall see out my days here. This is where I belong, where I always belonged and, in truth, I should never have left.” The sorrow of what could have been hung heavy in his voice. His story had me emotionally exhausted and I could take no more, so I took the chance to change the subject. “I was wondering, why are there two war graves on the opposite side of town?” I could feel the tears drying on my cheeks but neither one of them seemed to notice.

“Oh, that’s simple. One is for the Allies and one for the Germans.” His respect for both was evident. Again, this only served to provoke more questions than answers for me. It was fast becoming an uncomfortable theme.

“Really? That is quite surprising as they are both immaculate.” Pierre handed me a clean tiss
ue and I quickly wiped my face.

“Why would that surprise you? They were only soldiers too son and they, like all those in the Allied graves, simply died following orders.” His pragmatism regarding such a horrendous event that he had actually seen and lived through, and sacrificed so much for, was admirable.

Here was a true hero in every sense of the word.

It will forever be a source of regret for me that I was enforced to refuse Douglas’ offer to stay the night and further reminisce. He offered me his hand as I went to leave but we were beyond that now. I bent down and gave this giant of a man a hug in the full knowledge that we would never see each other again. Not to be ignorant nor insensitive to his feelings, I hugged Pierre like the brother I felt he now was. To avoid any further prolonged or awkward goodbyes, I hastily removed my bloodshot eyes and tear stained face
back to the refuge of my truck.

In retracing my route back around the village, I once again passed both war graves and felt honoured as I said a silent prayer for every single one of those distinguished guests that would remain forever young. As I left their world and headed back to my own, I could not help but wonder if mine was a world worthy of their ultimate sacrifice. As the answer came to me, fresh tears of despair and disappointment followed the now familiar trail down my cheeks and caused me to say yet another prayer.

This one was just for myself.

33

Stupid Cupid

Saturday 4th April

The bright spring sunshine streamed in through the living room window and found me still on the sofa where last night had left me. It wrapped itself around me in a warm embrace that held a promise of hope and optimism on this crisp new morning. For a delicious few moments I lay with my eyes closed and simply savoured my though
ts, truly thankful to be alive.

The world could wait on me for a change.

I allowed myself to idly contemplate my dream that had been Douglas’ story, and so consider my understanding of love and its importance in my own life. The events of his life had reaffirmed the existence of the love that I imagine, the love that I want, and demonstrated that it cares nothing about time nor circumstance. Love simply does not conform to personal convenience. Indeed, in many instances, it is the exact opposite. Cupid strikes when you least expect it and, thankfully, shows no regard for age nor gender.

Love is wonderfully disrespectful and completely illogical.

Douglas also taught me that pure love cements a timeless beauty in your partner. It gives a different understanding to the old saying– “beauty is in the eye of the beholder”. When he spoke of his own true love, he saw her as he always had; ageless, graceful, and elegant. It was only through him that I was able to appreciate and comprehend all the wonderful qualities that love offers. These cannot be contrived nor bought. Love looks through the wrinkles, and recognises that these are merely laughter lines reflective of many happy years together, and only sees the true beauty of the person underneath.

Inevitably, with practically every one of my reco
llections of our conversation–and there had been many–there is always an accompanying feeling of profound sadness for the lost 40 plus years. It is all but impossible to not reflect upon what could have been save for a simple phone call or letter. The absence of such a simple attempt to reconnect that could have rekindled their romance that would have provided them a full and happy lifetime with each other. Yet, when I had expressed this somewhat obvious thought to Douglas, he readily dismissed it. He was simply thankful for what they did have without any consideration of what could have been, for such thoughts would have meant disrespecting their respective partners and all their children. He concluded by saying that
“everything happens for a reason”
, although it was said with a wistfulness that somehow betrayed the optimistic sentiment of his statement.

Once again I had been
blinded by my own ignorance.

Of course he was happy for the time that they did have, for that was all they had. Regrets for what could have been or should have been were both pointless and futile. It was an exceptionally important lesson for me to learn and yet, with Penny, I had somehow chosen to ignore it. I had tiptoed around the issue for fear of losing her as a friend rather than being bold and daring in the hope of sharing love. Maybe if I had been more confident and courageous then we could have, perhaps, been together now. As they say, “fortune favours the brave”. I should have just asked. Why had I not just asked? What was the worst that could have happene
d? She could only have said no.

Then
we would no longer be friends.

I’m glad I didn’t ask.

I would have asked if I had chosen to remember my dad’s advice. He once explained to me that it’s not what you say but rather
how
you say it. The example he gave was about two monks who were at morning prayers. The first noticed that his brother monk was smoking throughout the service. Afterwards, upset and agitated, he approached him and asked “Brother, forgive me, but I could not help but notice that you were smoking your pipe throughout morning prayers. As we both know, this is strictly forbidden, so why would you do such a thing?”

The second monk, completely relaxed and unfazed, simply stated that he had permission from the abbot.

This information only served to cause further upset to the first monk. “
You
had permission from the abbot? Why would
you
be subject to such special treatment? When I asked for permission, the abbot was inclined to have me do penance for my audacity.” He was taken aback when challenged by the second monk to repeat exactly what he had said when seeking permission. Confused, he replied “Father Abbot, may I have permission to smoke my pipe whilst I pray?”

“My dear Brother, therein lies your problem. It is not
what
you say but rather
how
you say it. When I sought permission, I asked the same question as you but mine was phrased rather differently. I merely asked the Father Abbot if it was permissible for me to pray whilst I was smoking?

How could he say no?”

It was a nice, if wholly unrealistic, thought that maybe Penny could have been so easily duped if only I had been clever enough to formulate the correct words into the proper order. Yet, even then, any possible success would always be destined for failure.

No amount of words, in any order, could bridge the gulf that is our social divide.

Returning to my own reality, it was now apparent that I may have been altogether too cynical and dismissive of online dating. This is, after all, a totally new concept required to satisfy the romantic demands of the new generation.
It actually makes perfect sense.
Indeed, I now know that the stigma and stereotypical thinking that it is only ugly people with no personality that sign up there is simply untrue. It is also an ideal medium for career-focussed individuals who would rather develop a relationship with the inbuilt safety and convenience that only the internet can provide. Allowing the computer to establish compatibility merely saves wasting time and effort. So, theoretically, by the time you arrange to meet it is only to determine if you share a physical attraction.

It’s actually old-fashioned dating in reverse.

Try as I might, there was no denying that I find the
“Usurper_Of_Fate”
intriguing and she has certainly succeeded in piquing my interest. The cunning minx. Much as it hurt and pained me to admit it, there were no real prospects with Penny anymore–was there ever? –and so it was time for me to take a chance on fate and hope that the hitherto unemployed Cupid would make an appearance.

The butterflies came alive in my stomach with genuine excitement as I sent my electronic reply out into the eth
er and straight into her inbox.