door to door

It was just coming up to nine thirty as she buttoned her dress up and slipped into her lucky yellow heels. The outfit was one of her favourites: a teal button-up vintage 1960s cut that fell just below the knee, with a matching belt snaking around her waist – coy, yet inviting and elegantly sexy. She had pinned her hair into a French twist, just the way he liked it, with the odd strand randomly coiling down to her shoulders like loose corkscrews. Her lids were thinly contoured with a bright shade of turquoise eyeliner that completed her seamless, colour-coordinated look.

Everything was lined up and ready to go, she checked and rechecked the overnight bag she had so carefully packed but a few hours ago, and as she shrugged into her long coat, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. A treasured memory floated into her head of her flicking through old photo albums in her grandparents’ front room whilst her nan told her stories of how she and her grandad had met and all the splendid adventures they got themselves into as young’uns. She always admired her nan, a woman who was so perfectly put-together without the slightest wrinkle of effort, and upon staring at her reflection, she realised that she had become the spitting image of her, just as she’d always dreamed when she was younger.

Now for the finishing touches: a dab of blush and a spritz of perfume. She picked up her bag and a big white box that harboured a classic Victoria sponge she had spent all afternoon engrossed in perfecting – another one of his favourites – and she was out the door.

Her plan had been meticulously devised, however the excitement was something she still struggled to contain; perhaps it was her pride as well, for she’d never done such a “romantic” thing before. So far everything had gone to plan, apart from one stray hair that had yet to be tamed: a few nights prior they had wangled themselves into a raucous row, each expressing their concerns about the relationship and where it was going. It always came back to the fact that they never saw each other enough. So, at the time, she sat there in silence, trying not to unveil her grand plan, and listened scrupulously to him as he persistently dwelled on the one thing she was aiming to berid them of with her surprise trip. That’s the thing about surprises, though; the person most likely to ruin them is the surpriser themself.

The air was always brisk on such a crisp autumn night, making it hard to distinguish smoke from breath as she puffed her way to the station. She made the train in ample time with surprisingly small sweat patches, and was already well into her second sudoku when the announcement barged through the speakers. She mouthed along, a peculiar habit she once picked up that amused her so, she always found herself doing it on public transport or at the self-checkout in the shops…

*Mind the gap* *Insert cash or select payment type*

As the other passengers boarded the carriage, she imagined why they were on the train and what they would be getting up to. People-watching, as it were. It occurred to her that it was perhaps quite strange to take the train at such a late hour mid-week, but then again there were a thousand reasons that could justify it. Maybe they were commuting from a long day at work; perhaps they had been to visit family down south; they might just be having a secret, lustful affair. Before she could come up with anything too strange, the train rattled into motion and her mind veered off into the darkness on the other side of the glass.

Maintaining their relationship was a lot harder than she ever let on, and at times it seemed as though the distance was driving an ever-growing wedge between them. Even still, it was a small price to pay for the acute intimacy they cherished when they were together. It was the kind that only exists between two bodies so ardently dedicated to one another; a love that only the affected understand, so forceful and deep it feels as though it isn’t gravity that holds you to the earth anymore. An inexplicably zestful and delicate kind of love.

It was like the opening scene of a movie when the train pulled into Victoria. The doors hissed open and she elegantly descended the steps in her yellow heels. Though she didn’t wear them often, she’d had more than enough practice when she was a child in the bright pink stilettos from the dressing-up-box. She imagined the camera close at her heels, tailing her as she confidently click-clacked her way through the chaos that was the station. Children crying, dogs yapping, the sound of suitcase wheels unevenly dragging along the marble floor and the faint announcing of platform information in the background. Once she reached the underground, the camera would zoom out just as the central line train arrived, gusting the loose strands of her up-do in every direction. And then, the contrast of a slow, rocky late-night ride to the end of the line.

Their meet-ups had always been somewhat fortuitous, and when they were still living further apart than they did now, they’d meet up for long weekend getaways somewhere in Europe. It was all very hit-and-miss – in Munich they had fought about a Chinese that apparently wasn’t a Chinese because they didn’t have beef and black bean fucking sauce and then slept in single beds; in Madrid they discovered their tendency towards Hispanic alcoholism that started before la siesta; in Zurich they learnt to trust each other with money (or did they?); in Manchester they were wrapped in each other’s arms from dawn to dusk and back again. This was ultimately the way they functioned: dysfunctionally.

She ran up the steps of the tube station, eager to arrive at his work before he finished shift. Having never been there before and in the spirit of spontaneity, she relied on the kindness of strangers to steer her in the right direction. It was just coming up to twelve when she turned the corner, and in the distance she could make out his silhouette leaning against the door outside. Having a cheeky fag as always, she giggled to herself. She was getting ready to attempt a chic Hollywood try-not-to-trip-over-the-cobbles-in-your-heels, sprint and jump into his arms, when she realised upon closer inspection that it was, in fact, his manager. They were just starting to close, so after a polite greeting she cut to the chase and asked whether or not she could come in to surprise her man. The manager was all for it and snuck her through the back door via the kitchen. Just as her man was making his way down the stairs, the manager caught his eye and said: “Excuse me, Sir, do you know this lady?”. Seeing her emerge from behind the stairs, his face lit up so brightly it dimmed the moon. He was gobsmacked. Speechless.

Her gaze fell into his, and their lips stumbled into what felt familiarly like their first kiss:

bliss.