Birth, Marriage and Death

Cold Hands, Warm Hearts

Poppy

I got to our arranged meeting place early; I mean very early. I knew Ricky would arrive before the time we'd agreed on because he was early for everything, so I had to be even earlier. I don't know why; I just knew I had to be there first. I didn't want to be the one who had to walk up to him, I didn't want him to sit and watch me arrive.

So at just after 1pm – almost an hour before we were due to meet – I was sitting on the bench on the towpath of the Regents canal that we'd identified as being a good place to meet. It was my suggestion, I wanted it to be somewhere quiet, where we were unlikely to be watched, and I knew that at this time of year and in this weather the canal towpath wouldn't be busy. Coffee shops or bars or the like had their appeal for their warmth, but there was likely to be far more people around in those sort of places and I didn't want that.

It was a freezing cold day, so cold that even by early afternoon the frost hadn't melted and there were fragments of ice on the surface of the canals water. I was bundled up in a black coat that completely disguised my body shape and was clutching a takeout coffee cup. No coffee for me though; I hadn't drunk a cup since I'd found out I was pregnant and had somehow cut normal tea down to one or two cups a day. I was currently slowly making my way down a cup of chamomile tea in an effort to help me relax and while it was pleasant enough didn't have the same soothing effect as a nice, strong mug of my favourite Yorkshire tea. I couldn't believe quite how nervous I was and as my stomach fluttered I couldn't tell whether it was from apprehension, excitement or the butterfly movements of the baby that I'd started to feel in the last week or so. I laid my hand over my stomach and rubbed gently, imagining the little being inside me flip flopping around. I still had no idea how I was going to break the news to Ricky and even less idea how he'd take it. Six months ago he'd have been over the moon, but now that circumstances were so different I couldn't guarantee that would still be the case.

Because it was so cold there was hardly anyone else on the canal towpath, except a single runner that had come puffing past in a cloud of foggy breath just after I'd sat down, just as I'd hoped. It was hardly the weather for dog walkers and casual runners to be out, you'd have to be really dedicated – or really stupid – to brave it today. I obviously fell into the latter category, being that I wasn't even doing anything to keep myself warm.

I finished my tea and walked the few metres to the nearest bin to dispose of the cup and then returned to my bench, wrapping my arms around myself in an effort to warm up a little. I began to think that this had been a stupid place to meet, even stupider to arrive so early and without my gloves.

It was around quarter to two when I saw a solitary figure coming towards me, hat on head, hands stuffed into the pockets of a dark blue coat and shoulders hunched against the cold. I'd been sitting there for about forty minutes by that time. Even with his head down and his hair obscured by what I realised was the cap I'd bought him back in the summer, the day before I'd left, I realised immediately it was Ricky. The blue skinny jeans and tan Grenson boots were a dead giveaway.

I didn't know what to do then, should I get up and go to meet him, should I sit and wait until he arrived at my side? My legs felt so wobbly from a mixture of nerves and anticipation at the prospect of seeing him, having to talk to him for the first time in almost four months that I opted to stay seated and wait for him.

At that moment he looked up and smiled when he saw me and picked up his pace. As he got closer I could see he looked as nervous as I felt. He looked tired as well, there were shadows under his eyes that looked almost like fading bruises. And although it was difficult to tell for certain under the layers of clothing he was wearing, it appeared as though he'd lost weight. His face seemed thinner under the scruffy beard he was sporting. A pang of guilt shot through me at the pain I must have caused him to leave him looking like that.