My Legendary Girlfriend by Mike Gayle Page A

time and space, our eyes saying more than words can communicate. I’m overcome by a sick and dizzy sensation that doesn’t last very long as it is soon overwhelmed by euphoria. I wrap her in my arms and squeeze. Her warm tears trickle down the back of my neck. I pull my head back, still pressing her close to me, and look deeply into those big, bad, beautiful, deep-green eyes I’ve missed so much.
    ‘William . . . William!’ she sobs. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’
    Saying nothing, I increase the pressure of my grip so tightly that she almost feels faint, but she doesn’t resist, in fact she wants me to hold her tighter, because my embrace is declaring aloud the one thing she most wants to hear – ‘I forgive you.’
    I relax my grip around her slender waist as she takes my hand and looks down, ever deeper, into my soul.
    ‘I thought I could live my life without you,’ she says, trying desperately to hold back her tears. ‘I can’t. I’ve tried and I can’t do it, Will. I’ve been so unhappy for so long. I thought you’d never forgive me. These last three years without you have been awful. I’ve been to hell and back.’
    No. Definitely too melodramatic. More Barbara Cartland than Brontë. Okay, take it from, ‘these last three years without you have been awful. . .’
    ‘As soon as I’d ended our relationship I knew that I’d made the biggest mistake of my life.’ She stops, her eyes well up with tears and her bottom lip trembles. The pause is not for dramatic effect – it’s for mercy. ‘I wouldn’t blame you if you hated me right now. Really, I have no right to be here. I gave up that right the moment I extinguished our love. But do you think that we could . . .? Do you think that we’ll ever . . .?’
    She notices how little I’ve said. The tears flow rapidly. ‘Aren’t you going to say anything?’ she screams. ‘You hate me, don’t you? Don’t you?’
    I throw her a look I’d seen Nicolas Cage use on Laura Dern in Wild At Heart: intense, deep and unambiguous as if to say, ‘Baby, you’re mine – I’m yours – forever!’
    She tells me she’s grateful I’ve invited her around for dinner. She says that she didn’t think I’d agree to see her. And I say something like, ‘Why ever not?’ And she looks down at her lap and then at her skirt, as if realising for the first time just how much she’s let herself go. Though I hate to agree, she doesn’t look like her old self. She knows it. I know it. And she knows I know it. It’s almost as if she’d gone to her wardrobe and plucked out her best glad rags to realise that she was only half right. While reassuring her that she looks wonderful, I pull out a tissue from a box of Kleenex man-sized on the coffee table and gently dab the tears away. At one point, she smiles at me gently as my hand accidentally brushes against her cheek.
    We move into the lounge. I offer her a seat on the sofa next to me. I get the feeling that she wants to move closer and very slowly she edges her body nearer to mine. Just at the moment she’s close enough for me to feel the warmth of her breath against my skin, the radiation from her body and the smell of her perfume – Chanel No 5 – I evade her intimacy, announcing that I’ve got to look after the food.
    Right, let’s skip the boring bits and get to the point where we’re just about to eat. On the plates (from Habitat) are a wild mushroom and yellow pepper lasagne, and a selection of vegetables. Not your plain and simple peas and carrots affair, no, these are the kind of exotic veggies Sainsbury’s have in little white containers covered with cling film. She tells me that I shouldn’t have gone to all this effort because she’s not a vegetarian any more, and I tell her that the effort was all for me, as I’ve not eaten meat in roughly three years.
    I pour her a glass of red wine and tell her how this particular blend of grapes will complement the food wonderfully. I’m tempted