When Time Intervened by Yvonne Witter

Maisie met Phil again after 40 years at the Rosebud grammar school reunion dinner in Coventry, they danced and flirted for most of the evening. Phil had aged well, he was on the athletics team at school, and had obviously kept that up, but Maisie had not liked him while they were at school together. He confessed that picking on her from time to time was the only way that she would have taken any notice of him. Maisie had rolled her eyes at that comment. Teenaged Maisie had turned young boys’ heads and had the girls gossiping about her even when she was asleep. 

Middle age was a turning point for many, and Phil having said that he was now separated sounded plausible, after all Maisie was a divorcee. No surprise when she had received a call from Phil a month later, telling her that he was in London and wanting to take her out to dinner. He had told her that he travelled to London quite frequently from his base in Madrid. Maisie has a fear of flying and was fascinated by anyone who was a frequent traveller.

They met in Mayfair on a Friday night and enjoyed a sumptuous Thai meal, and far too much alcohol. The next time Maisie saw street lights was on Sunday evening waving Phil goodbye as he jumped into a taxi.  She closed the front door and leaned against it, hitting her forehead with the underside of her wrist to check if her brain was in situ or not. 

Her decade old weekend routine was now truly messed up. She took a deep breath and tried to figure out what domestic chores could be shovelled into five hours, and instead grabbed an opened bottle of red wine, a clean glass and microwaved the yellow sludge that was chicken korma. She slumped in front of the flickering screen, tired but grateful and satisfied.

Soon, she had a handle on these weekends and looked forward to them, Phil and her rarely went out and his visits were never planned well in advance, and she nearly always felt exhausted but very happy on a Sunday evening. 

She had to be prodded by colleagues at work as she ruminated about the possibilities for their future together. Whenever she had tried to have a conversation with Phil he was always busy with the remote control while he farted in her bed. Their exchanges over WhatsApp were brief.  She had thought about sending him a long email to his Hotmail account but decided against it for fear of appearing rather desperate. She decided to wait, to see if he would suggest something more permanent.

The following eight months flew by and apart from four nights in the Lake District during August, his visits became pretty predictable in format. Short notice, short stay, short chats, short attention span if Maisie wanted to talk about her feelings. Long on sex, wine, champagne, dining in, TV, gifts and farting.

He left on Sunday 18th November usual time, to catch his flight back home. Having not received a single emoji or brief message of endearment by Monday 19th this was deemed unusual and by Wednesday the radio silence was totally out of character and by Friday still nothing! Maisie was frantic with worry as she had not been able to get through to him either. The Hotmail account did not reply, his phone line was active but all calls went to voicemail.  She now had the time to think more fully about this encounter and realised that she did not have any real basic information on Phil.

When she had called the organiser of the Ball, he read out the same number that she had for Phil, which he had described as a New York number. She did not contradict him because she did not want to appear stupid. She did however use Google to find out where the area code +718 was located.

Christmas was nearly a month away and Maisie had plans which included Phil, she had assumed that they would be spending the holidays together. She wanted to celebrate after a decade of being on her own, to finally have a man of her own for Christmas. She had already collected eggnog recipes via Google for Xmas morning. His gift was a trip for two to Corfu, as she had decided that he would be the one to help her get over her fear of flying. As she pressed redial and listened to the ringtone, Maisie was trying to remember the name of the company that he said he worked for. She threw her phone across the room, and was grateful that it landed on her sofa, as the voice message for the umpteenth time interrupted the ringing tone.