Eleanor Bennett carefully spreads the old photographs across the kitchen table, picks one up, and freezes. On the yellowed picture she is young, in a light summer dress, and beside her stands a tall man with a warm smileMichael Clarke.
How many years have passed? Forty? More? She runs a finger over his face as if she could erase time, but the image stays fixed, as still as a memory.
Grandma, whos that? her tenyearold granddaughter, Mabel, leans over her shoulder, curious fingers already reaching for the photo.
That was an old acquaintance, Eleanor gently pulls Mabels hand away. Lets look at these instead.
Mabel doesnt give up.
Why is he with you in the picture? Were you friends?
Eleanor sighs.
Yes, we were. A long time ago.
Where is he now?
I dont know, she answers honestly.
She truly doesnt. The last time they meet was in HydePark, the very place where the photograph was taken. He told her then that he had to leave briefly for work. And then a whole series of events unfolded, the sort that still wakes Eleanor up at night as if from a sudden jolt.
Did you like him? Mabel settles beside her, legs tucked under her.
I liked him, the grandmother admits.
Did he love you?
Eleanor pauses.
I think so. But
But what?
But life sometimes turns in such a way that even love can feel insufficient.
Mabel frowns, clearly puzzled, and Eleanor doesnt try to explain. How do you tell a child that some letters arrive too late? That some trains you simply cant catch, no matter how fast you run?
Would you like to see him again? Mabel persists.
Eleanor smiles.
No, love. Some things are better left behind.
She slides the photograph back into the box, but Mabel suddenly springs up.
Grandma, lets find him!
What?
Here! the girl points at Eleanors phone, a device Eleanor cant stand. We can search social media! Whats his name?
Mabel, stop
Michael, right? And his surname?
Mabel, enough!
Its already too late. The girl is scrolling, and Eleanor feels a cold dread rising in her chest. She knows, deep down, she wants this.
She whispers the surname.
Does she want to see his silvered temples? Hear his voice again? Find out if he remembers that park?
Look! Mabel exclaims, eyes wide.
Eleanor closes her eyes, then opens them.
On the screen is a man, his hair greying, laugh lines around his eyes, but that same smile.
Is that him? Mabel asks.
Eleanor says nothing, just watches, her heart beating as if she were twentyfive again.
Grandma?
Yes, she whispers. Its him.
Mabel beams triumphantly.
Shall we write to him?
Eleanor shakes her head slowly.
No.
But why?
Mabel refuses to quit.
Grandma! she pleads, grabbing Eleanors sleeve. Weve found him! Lets just send a message: Hello, are you the Michael who
No, Eleanor says firmly, though her voice trembles.
Why? You said you liked him!
That was ages ago.
What if hes looking for you too?
Eleanors heart skips. What if?
But noso many years have passed. So much has changed. She is no longer the girl in that picture.
Lets at least look at his profile! Mabel scrolls through his pictures. Oh, look, he has a dog! And oh, he seems to have a family.
Eleanor turns away sharply.
See? He has his own life. I have mine, she says quietly.
Mabel falls silent for a heartbeat, then suddenly shouts:
Grandma, look! Hes saying hell be in our town next week! Hes a musiciantheres a concert!
Eleanor freezes.
Hes here. Very soon.
We could go! Mabel practically jumps with excitement. You love music, dont you?
No, Eleanor snaps, standing up. Enough.
Later, when Mabel is asleep, Eleanor opens his page again.
She reads the post: Touring my hometown after all these years. A strange feelingtime seems frozen. Below is a photo of the same HydePark.
The concert is on Saturday.
Eleanor changes her mind three times, but Mabel begs:
Well just listen to the music! Even if you dont want to go near him, its fine!
The venue is almost full. When he steps onto the stagegrey, in a black jacket, a cello in his handsEleanors fingers clench so hard her knuckles turn white.
He begins to play.
And the melody is familiar.
Their melody.
The one he wrote for her that summer, long ago.
Mabel looks at her grandmother and gasps:
Grandma, are you crying?
Eleanor says nothing. Tears roll down her cheeks while the music flows like the time she can never retrieve.
After the concert, Mabel tries to pull her toward the backstage area.
No! Eleanor jerks her hand away. I cant.
But he
Im not the person he remembers.
She rushes outside, gulping the chilly night air.
Suddenly she hears behind her:
Eleanor?
She turns.
He stands just a few steps away, eyes wide as if he has seen a ghost.
Is that really you?
Eleanor cant speak.
I saw you in the hall, he says, stepping closer. I thought it was my imagination, but then
He falls silent.
Then you wept, he finishes softly. And I understood.
Mabel steps back, giving them space.
You played that piece, Eleanor whispers.
I play it at every concert.
They stare at each othertwo greyhaired strangers whose eyes still flash with the glow of their youth.
Sorry I didnt wait back then, she says.
Sorry I didnt return in time, he replies.
At that moment Eleanor finally smiles.
Come on, she says. Ill introduce you to my granddaughter.
Mabel, hidden around the corner, squeals with delight.
At last.
