February 9th, 1990

February 9th, 1990

At home

Went to see “Black Rain,” with Sarah (oooh, Andy Garcia and an amazing soundtrack) then to the pub, where we met a few of our old cronies from school. It was really nice seeing everyone, hearing what everyone is up to. While we were laughing about some of our youthful antics, Sarah shot me a look.

“What?” I mouthed.

“Don’t look round.”

I spun around, expecting to see Ben, before I remembered he’s still in Tunisia.


“Ward!” I exclaimed, getting up.

“Hello darling, long time no see,” he said, kissing my cheek. “I heard you’ve been flying all over the place.”

“You heard correctly,” I smiled.

We made small chat then Ward excused himself and I tried to keep a straight face as Sarah uttered, “Cor, he’s still a bit of alright, ain’t he?”

A few minutes later, Ward passed me a glass of wine. “Looked like you needed a top-up.”

“That’s lovely, thanks,” I said, searching for a spot on the crowded table.

“You lot have been busy,” he laughed, moving some empty glasses around.

“Ere you go mate,” said the burly barman. “Pass ‘em over ‘ere.”

“Cheers mate,” Ward chirped, plying him with the empties.


“So what’s the latest, then?” he asked.

“On what?”

“Have you got a boyfriend?”

From the other side of the table, Sarah quipped, “Several. She’s got several.”


“Just kidding,” she slurred.

“Well? Do you?” he asked.

“Let’s talk about something else,” I said, feeling my cheeks blush.

“You haven’t changed a bit,” he smiled.

“Don’t say that, I don’t want to still look like a spotty teenager.”

“I don’t remember you like that,” he said, running his fingers through his floppy fair hair.

“Then you have a short memory.”

“What I do remember, is that I was your first proper boyfriend.”

I smiled. “You were, actually.”

“That was a brilliant Summer, wasn’t it?”

I nodded my head. “It really was. Good ole nineteen eighty-three.”

“God, we were young and innocent,” he laughed.

“You can say that again.”

“We should go out for a drink sometime, you know, for old times sake.”

“We are out for a drink,” I said, tapping my wine glass.

“Yeah, but you know what I mean.” He paused. “You about next week?”

I took a sip of wine. “No, I leave on Monday.”

“Where you off to?”

“Hong Kong.”

“Bloody hell.”


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