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t was almost ridiculous where they met again. Ellen was shopping at the deli for a dinner she’d promised her friends. She already had everything at home and now was looking for two or three fine cheeses to round off the dinner. She heard a woman’s voice right then, the kind of self-assured voice wealthy women had, and Ellen looked up to observe this particular specimen. The woman was a tall blonde, with perfectly done hair. She was beyond forty by a few years, maybe more, but she’d kept herself wonderfully well. She was stunning even now. Her makeup was perfect, her clothes of the best quality. The jewellery flashing at her ears, around her neck and on her fingers was beautiful, and her handbag was that particular kind where you did not ask for the price. She was beautiful, rich and powerful, it came off her like expensive perfume, and Ellen saw how others glanced at her admiringly and the shop assistants behind the counter stood to attention, smiling brightly.
‘Honey, what do you say? A little Beluga or would Salmon be enough?’ The woman asked this with a confident turn of her head and Ellen at first didn’t see who she was talking to. He was tall and had the kind of dark hair you knew was expertly taken care of. He was in a suit and there was something in the way he moved that made Ellen look again. She expected the man to be older, his hair dyed but his face betraying his real age – she saw a young, strong neck that had to be at least fifteen years younger than the blonde’s, if not more. Then again, you could never tell with these people. She could have been fifty already, but she did look marvellous, her breasts round (possibly with the help of some surgery, Ellen thought a little viciously) and her figure slender and firm. Ellen was sure she went jogging daily or had a personal trainer or something like that. And what was so bad about that, really? She had the means to keep herself very well, so why not use them? And she really did look good. Was it all that surprising then that she was with someone far younger than herself? Men did it all the time, and now women were catching up too, so why not? Ellen decided it was all rather nice in fact.
There was a short discussion between the blonde and her companion, too low for Ellen to hear and she anyway had to choose, the shop assistant was asking if she could help her. Ellen picked out the cheeses she wanted, hearing how the rich woman chose Beluga after all, enough to pay a fortune for it, but then, what was a fortune to Ellen was probably just peanuts for that beautiful woman. The young assistant packed up the cheeses in perfect wraps of brown paper and string, and Ellen couldn’t help think that the rich blonde would have been able to buy a piece of everything, but Ellen wasn’t her. She had a good life too, though. It just wasn’t as richly expensive, as glitteringly affluent as the blonde’s. Then again, wasn’t it nice to see that a woman at her age had such money and power? Everything about her told Ellen that she had worked hard to get where she was now, that she owed nothing to others and all to herself. It was in a way reassuring. The possibility, at least, was there.
Ellen smiled a thank you at the shop assistant and took the parcel of cheeses. Due to the sudden crowding at the counter, Ellen had to walk the other way, past the rich blonde and whoever-it-was with her. She said ‘Excuse me’ and ‘Pardon’ and moved past the people as best as she could, avoiding the stacked wheels of Gouda, the slim glasses of black olives and the exotic olive oils. She passed close by the rich blonde and her partner, and maybe it was curiosity, but Ellen did take a closer look. It was only a glance, a glimpse of his face, just as they too turned to leave. Ellen could not say if he saw her, but she saw him as he turned. By then she was beyond the shelves and walking without thinking. Her heart was racing so fast, she could feel it in her throat. She finally stopped at a shelf full of chutneys and breathed in deeply. Maybe she had seen wrong. Yes, maybe she had seen wrong. It was a reassuring thought. Yes, she had probably seen wrong. It would be ridiculous to meet in a place like this, especially if he was with that blonde. And who would she be anyway? But she had called him Honey. Maybe she was his mother, but Ellen knew that was wrong. The blonde wasn’t that old yet. Fifteen years at best, maybe twenty if she’d kept herself really well.
Ellen shook her head. No, she must have seen wrong. It was probably a trick of the light and it was really only a glimpse. Anyone could look like anything in a second. Yes, exactly. Ellen exhaled once more and went to pay her cheeses and the baguettes, feeling a bit like a mademoiselle. She had to wait in line and couldn’t help it, she looked along the other two queues. They were there. She was in her expensive skirt and jacket combination and he was in that perfect suit. She was talking to him and he was nodding. Ellen recognized the gesture immediately. It was in the shoulders and the turn of his head. It was in the way his hair fell and the angle of his face, showing a profile she could never forget. Just as the blonde turned to pay with her card he turned and their eyes met. Ellen felt everything inside clutch sharply, snatching at her breath. It was him. It was him. It was him. And he knew it was her, she could see it. ‘Miss?’ the young man at the cashier asked. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ Ellen said, flustered, blushing. She paid her cheeses and the baguettes. They walked past her just as she was done. He did not look at her. They stepped through the sliding doors and were gone. Ellen saw that her hands were not steady when she took her card. She thanked the young man at the cashier and walked out into the rest of her evening.
*
It was him, there was no denying it. She had seen. He was not a figment of her imagination as she had come to believe over the past year, ok, seven months. Six and half. Those days had been too perfect, those weeks had been too wonderful to be real. She must have read it or seen it somewhere. It could not have happened. It could not have happened if she woke up alone that Monday and it was as if nothing had ever happened. Ellen had come to believe that, since it made it easier. She could think about it without wanting to cry if she believed it was a dream, a hallucination, a figment of her imagination, a vision in a dream. Where did she read that? Probably a blurb or magazine somewhere. Anyway, that was how she could bear it, by believing that it really never happened, it actually never took place. Now, that was impossible. It was him. She would have recognized that face anywhere.
Ellen arrived home quicker than she expected. She climbed the stairs to her front door and dreaded opening it, but she was in for a surprise. Her friend Tara was waiting with bags of shopping, grinning, ‘I got bored waiting and decided you need some help.’ Ellen smiled gratefully, and pushed back the sudden tears. She would not cry, definitely not now. No, she would not. And anyway, she had seen wrong. If she wanted to enjoy the evening, if she wanted to keep her smile, if she simply wanted to live in peace, she had to believe that. It wasn’t him. It was someone cruelly like him, but it wasn’t him. There was no one like him. He did not exist. And with that, Ellen opened the door to her apartment, stepped back into her life and started preparing the dinner, laughing with Tara who had new outrageous stories to tell, she really was a great friend, she somehow always knew when to turn up in time and make Ellen smile again.
*
A week later, Ellen came home from work feeling exhausted. The whole week had been draining. She had managed her dinner quite well, what with Tara making her laugh the whole time, and once Anne, Leon and the others joined, everything was great again anyway. But even after they left the memory was there, waiting like a bear-trap under dried leaves, snapping closed the moment Ellen walked into her bedroom. The tears were back, but she refused. She would not. No. She would not cry. She absolutely would not. She refused to. It would not happen. No tear would pearl and slide, she would not reach for any Kleenex, she would simply brush her teeth, change for bed and sleep. And Ellen managed very well until she was in bed, and turned on the TV and found a rom-com on one of the channels, one of those sticky-sweet movies with that young woman who had that face like a sweet young puppy and just got kicked like one by the bastard friend she had, shouting gleefully ‘He’s just not that into you!’ or something like that, really relishing it. Ellen saw the tears slide down the pretty face on-screen and clenched her teeth. She would not. She would not. But she did. Awfully. She cleaned out her whole box of Kleenex, she just couldn’t stop.
Somehow Ellen fell asleep. When she woke up she saw the massacre of Kleenex on her bed and floor. That was the beginning of the end. Saturday was… not good. It was so bad, she called Tara, but Tara was busy with her own life and never took her calls. Sunday turned up, and it got marginally better. Tara came over with coffee, cake and bottles of wine, and watched all kinds of nonsense with Ellen, one rom-com after the other, the worse the better, until they ended up watching Audrey Hepburn movies and singing drunkenly while draining their glasses and pouring out more wine. Tara really was the best friend Ellen had ever had, she always turned up with her emergency kit of sugar, caffeine and alcohol, coffee, cakes and wine, and didn’t care how long it took or what time it was, she stayed until Ellen stopped crying.
Monday showed up without asking and Ellen had a headache, a bad one, but she felt more like herself again. Tara had already gone home by the time her alarm went off. She had taped a post-it to Ellen’s forehead, Tara liked to do things like that. It was hugs and kisses and Need to talk? Call me!, which made Ellen smile a real smile. Tara was the best, she really was. Ellen crawled out of bed, showered, dressed and went to work, lying that she felt a bit chill when someone asked her what was wrong. It was snowing outside so they believed her.
Even so, every day was a trial. By Thursday, Ellen was exhausted all over again. She didn’t want to think anymore. She didn’t want to remember anymore. She was starting to feel that anger she loved, that anger that she had met him, that she had been so foolish to ask, and listen and answer and actually believe it meant something, that she had been stupid enough to talk to him, to give herself away like that as if she had no brain in her head.
Ellen loved that anger, it brought her back into the life she knew, that life that was hers again. By 
Friday evening Ellen detected the beginnings of normalcy. That anger was growing and soon, very soon, she would spend her hours and days furiously living her own life, with her own thoughts, her own feelings, her own peace of mind. Maybe she would call David and agree to meet him again, her evenings and nights with him were always very nice and he really was a good man. Yes, she would do that. She would go home and ask David if he would like to come over for some pasta, Ellen was very good with pasta, everyone liked her pasta, people even asked her to make it again. Yes, she would call David and ask him if he would like some pasta and wine, she was sure he wouldn’t mind a few hours to relax and unwind.
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