Impossible to Forget

by Imogen Clark

‘Oh, Angie,’ she said as she stepped into the room and immediately dropped down to Angie’s level. ‘What on earth is the matter?’ Angie just shook her head and tore another strip of toilet paper from the roll at her side. She blew her nose noisily. ‘It’s nothing,’ she said. Why did women always say that when it was patently untrue?

Being dependent on another person had never worked out that well for her. The last time it had happened she had been ten and the person had been her mother, but she had quickly discovered that she was much better off fending for herself. If she didn’t rely on anyone else then no one could let her down. And no one could hurt her, either. She’d been hurt enough. She wasn’t open for any more heartache.

There was something about old friends, she thought, a special depth of understanding that you never quite managed to reach with friends made later in life. The people who knew you when you were learning to know yourself had a more honest picture. They’d seen you when you were not yet entirely formed, when your outer shell hadn’t quite sealed around you. As a result, there was less pretending.

She had become resigned to the invisibility cloak that middle age wrapped around her, but she couldn’t help but feel a little bit old and ugly, despite telling herself that these things were all relative.

He rested his cheek on the top of her head, and she could feel his arms encircling her. For the first time in forever, she felt safe and cherished. She hadn’t realised that the feeling had been missing from her life until this moment, and the thought brought tears springing to her eyes.

Angie laughed at him. That was Tiger all over – emotionally intelligent enough to ask the question, but never prepared to hear the answer.

She wanted to ask him how she looked but it felt a little disingenuous, asking Leon if he thought she looked nice when she had dressed with an entirely different man in mind.

He had always worn his heart on his sleeve, but over the years, that side of him had become more deeply buried. It was just part of getting older, she assumed. You became more adept at keeping the softer parts of yourself hidden from view and, in time, sometimes maybe you even forgot they were there.