It had been many years since I’d visited my birthplace near the town of Mansfield but the chance came to house-sit for some friends, just as I had some leave booked. It seemed like a plan had fallen into my lap and I’d get a chance to visit family and look up some old friends. The day before I left home, my brother, John, rang, “Do you remember June?”
“How could I forget?” I replied brusquely.
He was referring to my childhood sweetheart. 20 years ago she unceremoniously dumped me on my 21st birthday and promptly married some bloke she’d been having an affair with for several months. I remembered her as a clever, analytical woman, a bit shy, who had hurt me badly.
“What about her, anyway?”
“Well, I bumped into her in ASDA the other day. In chatting, I said you were coming up and she asked me to give you her number and would you give her a ring?”
“I didn’t know you were on talking terms, where does she want the ring? Through her nose?”
“Don’t be like that, I’ll text you the number.”