I told myself that I could never love him as a boyfriend for fear of ruining our friendship. But as days went on, I knew I was falling for him. What a perfect boyfriend I knew he’d be. He would never hurt me and we could talk honestly to each other. Not to mention he was unbelievably cute. From his shaggy blonde surfer hair to his tan muscular build. I often fantasized about us being together. I knew he felt the same way, but he always tried to hide it. I could tell the way he looked at me when I asked him if a certain pair of pants made my butt look big, or when me and him wrestled in the pool. I was 15 when I finally decided to tell him how I felt. I remember calling him up on his cell. The first words out of his mouth were that he and Morgan, a girl we went to school with, were now dating. Needless to say, I told him nothing that day. But as I lay in bed that night, I told myself that he would be over her in a few days, maybe even a week or two. I was wrong. After about a year. Elaine and Louis sat beside me in the garrison church.The family funeral had been a week ago. Elaine and Louis had wanted to be there but couldn’t be. Elaine had gone into labour during the night.Today, the First of April, is the first day that the National Trust open the stately home for the year. I had wanted to come, to walk alone down ‘our’ English lane, and say my private farewell to my John, my husband, my lover and my hero. Now I have. I have sat here, looked at the view, remembered John, and I have hummed ‘We’ll gather Lilacs’.I can hear someone coming, just as I used to listen out when John had his head buried under my skirt. I turn my head, reach for a handkerchief, wipe my tears away and stand up.It is Sarah, my granddaughter, waddling up the lane holding her pregnant belly. I know that she would have insisted on coming by herself. As she had said frequently ‘I’m pregnant, not an invalid’.I walk to meet her.“I’m a silly old fool, Sarah,” I say, “a silly, romantic, old.
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