This wasn't how I wanted it to be.
This time, things were going to be perfect.
No more hiding, no more cloak-and-dagger, no more sneaking back to where we were supposed to be, before anyone found out.
No more stress from the bitterness of your divorce.
Just you, and me, together and enjoying ourselves, no more distance between us.
You're free now, and I'm clear.
So this time, things were going to be perfect.
Of course, I couldn't have anticipated today.
First the bomb scare at Paddington, having to transfer from the train to the bus at Oxford, and come into Victoria instead. Re-planning my route round London and inevitably missing the train.
Then you being in a meeting when I called, and that idiot man failing to pass on my message. Why didn't he just let it ring to voicemail for goodness sake?
My cellphone cutting out while you were still shouting at me, angry because I wasn't there. Accusing me of hurting you deliberately as some kind of revenge. (Shush --I know you're sorry, I know you didn't mean it, you're forgiven, of course).
I certainly didn't didn't mean to meet you with my eyes red and swollen from crying, four hours late, and having sunk too much Bacardi
Things were going to be perfect
But I'm here now -- a little bit tired, a little bit drunk, and all yours -- if you want me.