Autumn

I sighed long-sufferingly and went to go and get dressed.

.:.

I returned to London, and life settled back into its regular routine. Up at five for gym; in the office by seven, sales calls and admin calls and supplier calls and ego massaging and crisis management calls until the sun was setting in the murky south west. Then home, to my large but austere flat, where I'd write my emails, plan the next day or week and, very occasionally, call those few friends I had to chat with and plan my infrequent socialising.

It was a Wednesday evening, and I was nursing a glass of wine as I ran the numbers on a potential pitch. Fatigue was sidling up towards me, and my glasses were no longer working as well as they should.

I was hunched forward, squinting at my laptop screen and grumbling to myself, when my phone rang.

I ignored it at first, then sighed and reached for it without looking at it as I fumbled at the screen to unlock it and answer.

"Rachel Fielding," I said, distractedly.

"Hello, Rachel Fielding."

I paused, then leaned slowly back into my chair, bemused.

"Caleb? Caleb Richards? Is that you? It is, isn't it. I have a good memory for voices and I remember yours clearly."

"You guessed it in one. That's not fair."

"How on earth did you get my number?"

"A combination of charm, skulduggery, and when those failed, immense bribes and shameful levels of begging."

I laughed.

"What on earth are you doing, phoning random women up out of nowhere in the middle of the night?"

"Oh, well, you know. I was bored," he said. "And it's not the middle of the night, yet..."

"And I've been selected as entertainment, I suppose?"

I could almost see the grin.

"You could say that. See, I have a bit of an issue that's cropped up, and I thought that you might be precisely the person who could help me solve it."

"That sounds dire," I said.

"Yes. See, I seem to have somehow ended up with two tickets to a show in the West End. But there's only one of me..."

"And..."

"And, well, a certain little birdie told me that you're incapable of resisting a night out at the theatre."

"I'm going to wring Helen's neck," I said, after a moment.

He laughed, and soon enough so did I.

I leaned further back into my chair, twirled slightly from side to side.

"So what makes you think I'd want to go to some random West-end show with you?"

"I suspect you may have heard of this one. It's apparently right up your alley."

"Oh? What is it?"

"The Phantom of the Opera."

I paused, heart suddenly thumping.

"You're... serious."

"Deadly serious. Fate has smiled upon me and I've somehow managed to score two tickets and I need a wingman. Er... wingwoman. Er. You know what I mean."

"Where? At... at Her Majesty's theatre?"

"Of course."

"And... where are the seats?"

"Royal circle. Row A, on the aisle..."

"What! How! Those are two hundred pounds apiece!"

"I know!" he laughed.

"My God. And are you really, seriously proposing to waste one of those hen's teeth items on me? You're mad!"

"I'd hardly call it a waste," he said. "From your reaction you clearly precisely what they are. But... I mean, if you've already seen it and would rather pass I'd understand..."

"Phantom is my favourite musical. Literally my favourite. As I'm sure Helen told you. Royal circle seats... oh wow... I mean..."

"So it's a date?"

"Now... now hold on just a minute," I spluttered, flailing as I felt the net draw tight around me. "I haven't said yes yet, and I most certainly have not said yes to a date..."

"Thursday evening, seven thirty. We can do an early dinner or grab something after. I may know a place or two depending on your mood and desires..."

I paused, then laughed helplessly in surrender.

"I'm going to kill my daughter. Did she seriously tell you all my secrets?"

"Not all of them. Just the relevant ones. I was very... persuasive."

"I'm not going to get out of this, am I?"

"Nope. She's laid you out hook, line and sinker."

"Well... OK then. But on your head be it," I added. "I'm... terrible company."

"Now that, Rachel Fielding, is the sort of pants-on-fire sort of lie that even an accomplished politician would balk at - and you should be ashamed for uttering such falsehoods. See you on Thursday. Let me know if you want early or late."

"I will. Um. Thank you. Really, thank you. Wow. Um... have a lovely evening, Caleb."

"You too. Ciao!"

And then he hung up, and I stared at the phone for a moment, thoroughly unnerved by the practised way in which he'd snared me.

Phantom.

The first show I'd ever been able to afford to pay to see. It held such a monumentally important place in my heart...

Royal circle seats, for heaven's sake!

I'd sell my own limb for one of those. Even now, even with enough that I'd never go short again in my life, I'd never be able to bring myself to spend that amount of money on such expensive tickets to an indulgence like the West End...

I chewed on my lip as I saved his number to my contact list.

Then I took a hasty gulp of wine and speed-dialled my daughter so that I could call her all sorts of vile names.

"You have some nerve," I said by way of greeting when she eventually answered my call.

Helen laughed, loud and long. "I take it my plotting has been successful, then?"

"Helen, you cannot offer me up to all and sundry without my permission! Or without at least giving me a heads up beforehand!"

"It's Phantom, mum. I knew you'd go for it. I know how much you love it. And Caleb... Mr Richards... is hardly what I'd call all and sundry."

"Yes, well, granted... but how on earth did you hear about this anyway?"

Guilty silence oozed out of the handset.

"Helen," I said, crossly. "Get on with it. You know you're going to confess eventually."

"He asked me for your number," she admitted.

"Helen! No! When?"

"The morning after the reception..."

"And you gave it to him? Helen!"

"Of course not, mum! Not then, at least..."

"When, then?"

"He phoned Grant earlier this week to ask if he knew whether you liked the theatre. Grant passed the message on to James and James passed it on to me and so I said yes on your behalf."

"I'm going to wring your neck. Yours and all your accomplices. Yours most of all. I have nothing to wear, Helen!"

"Oh for God's sake, mum, of course you do. God, you could wear a tie-dye vest and a pair of torn jeans and still look better than ninety percent of the women there, and don't even try to deny it."

"That's... not at all true..." I stammered.

"Of course it is. Stop complaining. When are you meeting up with him?"

"Um... Thursday evening, apparently. Or so I've been told."

"Stop being so difficult and embrace it," my daughter scolded me. "Live a little, mum! He's lovely and funny; you'll enjoy yourself. It will do you good."

"Bah."

"Want some help picking out an wildly inappropriate outfit?" she added, slyly.

"I am quite capable of dressing myself," I growled. "Besides, it's just dinner and the theatre. So pack that sass away, miss."

She laughed again.

"Stop that," I scolded her as the hot, guilty flush crawled up my neck. "It's not funny. You've wrapped me up and tied a little bow on me and sold me down the river, and I won't forget it."

"Yes, I have, and I know that secretly you love it."

"Well..."

"He's a lovely man. Very charming. Very... piratical. I think you'll have an enormous amount of fun."

"I am not going on a date, Helen, no matter how much you try to twist and turn and massage this... this nonsense of yours... into one."

"Of course not, mum," she said, innocence dripping from her velvet voice like amber beads of honey. "But you can still make an effort... can't you?"

"I should have given you away to the orphanage," I muttered as I tiredly rubbed my eyes.

"I love you too, mum," she said, and I snorted, knowing that she knew she'd won and loving her for it.

.:.

As always, the Overture sent electric chills down my spine that never truly dissipated until the final note of the Finale.

I sat in my seat - prouder than Cleopatra and yet still as spellbound as a child, watching as Christine, Raoul and the Phantom danced their old familiar three-way dance and, as always, left me with tears on my cheeks and a dull ache in my chest. The Phantom had a rich, pure tenor; the best I'd ever heard, and I thanked my lucky stars that I'd got to experience this performance live.

Caleb sat silent beside me; an observant man, he was no doubt acutely aware of the effect the music was having on me (my silent sobs were anything but subtle with me pressed in so close beside him) - but he clearly knew he was powerless to help.

As the audience rose in standing ovation to the cast and orchestra, he quietly offered me yet another small wad of tissues. I blew my nose, horribly embarrassed but still so very grateful for his calming, steady presence beside me.

And I somehow, inevitably, found myself linking arms with him as we made our way slowly down the stairs and out through the foyer into the noise and bustle outside.

"Are you OK?" he asked, when he could speak over the raucous squawking of the crowd.

"Yes," I replied, leaning in to him. "I'm OK. Sorry. This always happens. I said it was my favourite, and I did warn you. I have a.. lot of memories tied to it. This was the first musical I ever saw. I scrimped saved and clung to every spare penny I had and... well... it was worth it. So it's... it's special to me. Important. A marker stone."

I looked away from the sympathy in his eyes.

He cleared his throat.

"Would you like to go and eat somewhere, Rachel? We're here, it's still early, I've got nothing chasing me... and I'd enjoy spending more time with you if you can stand to spend another hour or two around me..."

"I'd like that," I said softly. "But... I usually book in advance, so I don't know what would have space for us. All the theatres are coming out now. We'll be queueing for ages..."

"There's a small Vietnamese place one street down; I know the owner. They'll have space for us."

"That sounds... nice. I'd... like that, I think."

"This way, then."

He set off slowly, adjusting his long stride so that I could comfortably totter along beside him in my encumbering heels.

I did not release his arm.

"Thank you for tonight," I said, as the noise around us diminished. "This really was a wonderful moment that you've given me."

"Thank you for coming and sharing it with me," he said. "It's a lovely change from going solo."

"Do you do that often?"

"Oh God, yes, I love the West End. I love watching the people, the pageantry. And, of course, the music. My dad was a stagehand for years so it's in my blood."

"You certainly have the self-confidence of a performer," I said, smiling up at him, and he hung his head and laughed sheepishly.

"I pushed my luck with you, and I do apologise," he added, contrite.

"It's fine. I'll forgive you this once. You've more than made up for it."

And I flushed as he pulled me a little closer.

As we sat in the dim, living noise of the restaurant, I found myself watching him far more than I'd thought I would ever willingly watch a man again.

.:.

"I had a lovely time tonight," he said. "Would you like to do it again, sometime?"

I stared up at him for a long moment.

"That would be... nice..." I admitted, after a brief but intense internal struggle.

He peered behind us and waved. "Oh, there's a black cab... where do you need to get to?"

"Waterloo."

"Waterloo Station, please?" he asked the cabby, and the man nodded and unlocked the doors for us.

My escort opened the door and held it for me. I slid into the dim interior and then paused, watching him.

"Aren't you coming?"

"Nope, I'm in Marylebone. It's a lovely evening, so I'll walk it."

"Oh," I said, disappointed. "Not even if I ask nicely?"

"Well..." he temporised.

I did something I swore I'd never be caught dead doing - I fluttered my eyelashes and pouted up at him.

Not much, in my defence... but enough.

He blinked, laughed loudly, and, still chuckling, clambered in beside me. I settled back into the seat, far more pleased than I really had any right to be with my pre-teen manipulation tactics.

"Waterloo, then York street in Marylebone," he told the cabby, who nodded and pulled out into the road.

"Thank you," I said softly, grateful. "It's... it's just nice not being alone... for once. And... I've so enjoyed talking to you."

"I know what you mean."

He shifted beside me and rearranged his long legs to give himself some space. "So how far do you have to go? From Waterloo?"

"Just out to Hampton Court."

"Oh, lovely. That's a lovely part of the world."

"It's OK," I said. "It's a bit remote at times, but it's green, and the gardens are beautiful all year round."

"Honestly, it's years since I was last out there. I usually just go roam around Regent's Park or surrounds. Last time I was in the deep, dark south I got lost in Kew Gardens."

I laughed. "Oh, that's common. The gardens are another favourite. Mm. You..."

"Yes?"

"You should come out that way again... some time soon," I said. And I flushed at the way he smiled at me.

Helen had been right. He really was a remarkably easy man to be around.

"Do you know what? I might just do that. If I could twist your arm into coming with."

"You could, perhaps... convince me," I confessed. "But you'll need to put some effort in."

He grinned. "How does a picnic sound? Perhaps in Bushy park? This weekend? The weather on Sunday should be nice enough for a prolonged lunch..."

"This isn't fair," I said. "You know my secrets. I have no defences against you."

"Now that is nonsense," he said. "Why would you need to defend yourself against things that you clearly want to do?"

"Touché."

He smirked, and I thumped him gently on the arm, then turned away to hide my own grin from him.

But I doubt he was fooled for even a moment.

I felt a very real disappointment when I wished him goodbye and climbed out of the taxi, and a matching flush of chagrin when he wouldn't let me pay my portion of the fare. "Treat me sometime!" he called as he closed the door.

I rolled my eyes but couldn't stop myself from waving goodbye.

.:.

Are you home yet? :)

Helen's message arrived as I closed my door behind me - she had always had an uncanny ability to catch me.

Yes, mum I responded.

My phone lit up with her portrait, and I answered her call.

"Ha ha, very funny," she greeted me. "So?"

"So... what?" I retorted as I kicked off my heels. I groaned. "God, I hate those shoes."

"Are you seriously going to make me come over there and nag it out of you? How was it! Come on, I've been dying to know all evening!"

"Sublime," I said softly. "The show was sublime."

"And? Come on, mum, you can't stop there! Give me the details, mum! Are you going to see him again?"

"Um... yes..."

She squealed, and I could hear James laughing in the background.

"Helen!" I protested, flushing hot.

"Tell. Me. Everything!" she demanded.

"No. Never. Lips are sealed."

"Oh my God, you like him. I knew it!"

"No."

"You like him!"

"No. I don't."

"You are such a terrible liar. You're mad about him."

"Helen!" I protested, laughing. "Stop it. Stop it right now!"

"You think he's goooooorgeous. You liiiiiike him..." she said, drawing the syllables out to ludicrous length.

"I'm hanging up," I announced. "I don't need to suffer this abuse from you."

"No... no... wait... I'm sorry..." she cackled.

I waited for her to catch her breath.

"Stop making fun of me," I said, softly. "This is... strange and unfamiliar ground for me, Helen."

"Oh, mum, don't make more of it than it needs to be. Just... be open. See where it goes. For what it's worth I think he's lovely. And... you're lonely, mum. You are. You try to hide it, but you are."

I sighed.

"What should I do?" I said plaintively, after a while. "I'm... this... I have no idea what to do, Helen. This is... ridiculous. I'm old. Too old for this."

"You are most definitely not old. You've never been too old for anything. You're forty four, not ninety four!"

I poured myself a glass of wine as I mulled that over.

"So what did you guys do?" she probed.

"The show. Then dinner at a Vietnamese place that he... clearly knows well. They greeted him like he was practically family."

"And? Long, meaningful looks? Lingering glances? Any of that sort of thing?"

"You're impossible," I sighed.

"Takes one to know one, mum. So that was a yes, then? When are you seeing him again?"

"This weekend... perhaps..."

"What are you going to do?" she asked, almost beside herself.

"A picnic in the park."

"That sounds nice," she teased me. "You. Him. Secluded glades. Dappled sunlight..."

"You're enjoying this, aren't you."

"So much. So, so much. I'm glad. I can tell you had fun."

"Yes, I did," I confessed. "He's..."

"A remarkably easy and funny man to be around?"

"Precisely."

"Now you know why James and I are so fond of Grant. They're cut from the same cloth."

"I can see that."

I sighed again.

"Don't dwell on it, mum," she said softly. "Have something for yourself for once. Accept that you also deserve someone. Please..."

"I'm... not sure I can, Helen."

"I believe in you," she said, twisting my own familiar words back on me.

I smiled a bittersweet smile.

"I love you, you know," I said softly.

"I know. I'll talk to you tomorrow, mum. Sleep well."

"You too, my angel."

She hung up, and I spent a long while staring out at the night, remembering.

.:.

I'd dithered and dallied on trying to choose an outfit. I'd even been reduced to phoning my daughter to ask her advice. Between the two of us we'd settled on a casual blue wool dress and leggings; I planned to layer up with a jumper and scarf if needed - it was sunny but the early Autumn days could still be uncomfortably chilly. I'd bound my hair up into a slapdash tail with one of Helen's old hairbands, and pulled on my ridiculous faded pink sneakers for luck.

He was waiting for me at the southern end of the Great fountain, with a large, battered backpack at his feet. I studied him as I slowly closed the distance; watching the way he stared at the falling water as he leaned back into the corner of the bench he'd annexed for himself.

The grey that peppered his hair was more visible in the daylight. He was extremely handsome; a silver fox in the making. Delicious, tall, weathered but more attractive for it...

I felt self-conscious and silly and old and plain and...

He shifted, caught sight of me, and the wide and easy smile that he gave me as he rose to his feet chased all the thoughts out of my head and made me feel like a clumsy teenager.

I knew I was blushing, but there was nothing I could do about it as he took my hand and gently squeezed it in his.

"Hello, you," he greeted me in his rich, mellow voice.

"Hello," I squeaked. "You look... strangely... well, overdressed..."

He laughed, and tugged at the cotton collar of his shirt. "I thought I'd not play the tramp on the palace grounds. Not today, anyway. How are you?"

"Good. I'm... good," I said, staring up at him and fighting the urge to tug his collar skew or dishevel his neatly-set hair.

"So. Do you have a favourite spot?"

"No... I don't typically... that is, I usually just walk here. I don't tend to loiter..."

"Well, the Wilderness is apparently nice. Or we could just walk a bit further to Bushy Park and... find a spot?"

"There's the Woodland gardens. It's maybe half a mile. And it's very pretty..."

"Sounds perfect. Shall we?"

He picked up the backpack and swung it over his shoulders with a grunt.