Should old acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind? Perhaps, for some, it’s for the best.

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“Oh, really!” I said to myself with some degree of disgust, as I put away the psychological study I’d brought to pass the time on my rail trip. I had just read how fascinating the researcher found it that twins have a greater degree of empathy with each other than other persons might have.

Karen and I had always had a great understanding of each other and a certain amount of eerie non-verbal communication. Less than a year ago I had suddenly felt a horrible pain in my right wrist, only to find out later that she had broken hers at that very same moment.

While we hadn’t always looked so much alike, lately it had become much more difficult to tell us apart. Both redheads, we had appropriate fiery tempers, a sprinkling of freckles and an ‘I don’t suffer fools gladly’ mentality.

Yes, indeed. Karen could feel everything I felt; well, almost. She fully comprehended the loneliness. . .and I wondered if life would pass me by while I waited for someone to appreciate what I had to offer. I’m not unattractive and I certainly could hold up a decent conversation.

Doesn’t anyone value those attributes anymore?

Of course, Karen now has Joe and the children.

I’d boarded the train in Manchester and was bound for Dorset. After I’d put my book away, I drifted in and out of consciousness, lulled by the gentle swaying of the train, as we hurtled towards the South Coast at well over a hundred miles an hour. I could see the fields as we passed them, but stations and other line-side features were just a blur. The air-conditioning gave no clue as to the outside temperature or environment.

I wore a demure white blouse, charcoal-grey pin-stripe skirt suit and black heels. My jewellery was tastefully simple and my makeup a subdued daytime look. I was business-like but feminine; appropriate, I thought, for a company director.

My First-Class ticket bought me a reclining seat, superior legroom, a small table on which to work on my notebook computer, and refreshments delivered by a steward. First-Class accommodation usually also has a peace and quiet rarely found in Standard Class. The extra expense on this occasion was, in my opinion, wholly justified, given a journey time of nearly five hours, and the need to arrive resembling something vaguely human and not a tired dish-rag.

Driving was not in the least appealing; fuel costs and parking charges alone would have made a significant dent in the price of the rail fare, which was a legitimate business expense and tax-deductible.

At least I didn’t have to fly in from Sweden like the wiring expert

The train stopped at Leamington Spa and, a few moments later, a man in a dark blue suit, pale blue shirt and conservative tie sat in the seat opposite.

I glanced up at him and the polite “Hello” froze on my lips.

My mind flashed back and I missed most of what he had said.

“…the last available seat, so it looks as though we shall be neighbours for a while.”

Colin Howard

“Hello,” I eventually managed to get out, as I tried not to look at him too closely.

“Have we met? Your face seems familiar.”

Met? How do you tell the person you had spent most of your teen years lusting after that “Yes, we have met, you insensitive pillock. But I crossed most of my appendages as I replied, “I don’t think so.”

His lips folded into a friendly smile. “If we had met, I’m sure I wouldn’t have forgotten you. Did you go to Oxford at all?”

His eyes! You would have thought I would have forgotten them by now. “No, Birmingham.”

“Oh.” He lapsed into silence and opened a conference folder. My breath caught again as I spotted a flyer and ticket. I fervently hoped that he wouldn’t be attending my seminar, but it’s unlikely that he’ll miss the keynote speaker.

I studied him through my lashes as I attempted to concentrate on my laptop. He’d hardly changed since I saw him last. He looked well; life seemed to have been good to him. He’d filled out a little; the handsome man seemed a little taller somehow, his dark brown hair framing a face just made for smiling. He still had that melodious baritone voice and that lazy way of speaking that you could listen to all day long and not be bored. His hands — oh, those hands! — were strong and masculine and flicked over the pages of the binder. I was mesmerised, and again my mind flashed back to school sixth form.

Colin didn’t flaunt his academic success, but he was the school maths brain. That didn’t seem to give him airs as he remained, throughout, an all-together pleasant and helpful fellow student. He was by no means a gifted sportsman, but did enough to fit in. His grades were good enough to earn him a place at Oxford, at which point our educational and social paths diverged. I went to Birmingham. That wasn’t the only reason our paths diverged.

Afar. . .that’s how I had loved him. He barely knew that I existed, while I worshipped the ground…

We tended to move in different circles at school, but would occasionally run into each other at major social events — although I managed to avoid all but the most persistent invitations. Now Colin was sitting opposite me.

“I remember…”

“I see you…”

“Sorry,” he said, “You first.”

I thanked him with a slight change of facial expression. “I see you have a flyer for the Business Continuity Conference.”

“Yes, is that where you’re going, too?”

“Yes, I am presenting.” Did that sound too pretentious?

He turned up the flyer and smacked his forehead.

“Of course; Doctor Jessica Martin, the keynote speaker. I looked you up on the Internet. That’s where I’ve seen you before. Sorry, how rude of me; Colin Howard.”

He extended his hand across the table.

I gently let out the breath I’d been holding, allowed the corners of my mouth to lift in acknowledgement of what he’d said, and gratefully relaxed my other facial muscles.

He grinned; obviously he meant to soften what he said — which was more a question than a statement. “An unusual field for a woman?”

I didn’t recall Colin as a person who would say such a thing, but was a little defensive anyway. “That sounds a little sexist, Mr Howard.”

A frown shot across his face for a fleeting moment, before giving way to a bright grin. “It wasn’t meant to be, I assure you. It’s just that you seem to be rather young to hold such a position; you must have worked very hard, both at university and in industry.”

How perceptive, and with no hint of condescension; my profile is on the Internet, so he must know that we’re the same age? Yet I get the impression that he thinks I’m younger than he is

“I have a joint honours degree in Mathematics and Computer Science. I gained my Doctorate, and my present employer indulges me so I progressed from there.”

He nodded. “And very rapidly, by the look of it, to become a Director so soon.”

He studied the conference leaflet. “Doctor Jessica Martin MSci FBCI PhD.”

I closed my eyes for a moment. It had been a hard slog but here I was, headlining a major conference at the ripe old age of thirty-three. My mind re-travelled the years since school and I wondered how I’d ever found the courage and tenacity to achieve what I had. I credit my parents with giving me a push in the right direction — although I’d never tell them that. Karen gave me more support than they ever did.

I thought that I ought to make some light conversation. “May I ask? What is your interest in Business Continuity, Mr Howard?”

“Colin, please. I manage the data centre of a locally-based electronics company. I carry out risk assessments and try to persuade them to invest in quality products, resilient systems and good practices. It’s often an uphill struggle.”

I laughed, mirthlessly. “Companies can be very reluctant to spend money on something they can’t see, such as being able to quickly recover from an event that may never happen. The fact that it can make their business more successful is often not considered.”

"You’re right there; I sometimes wonder why they pay me to advise them, even though they rarely seem to take my advice.” He looked puzzled for a moment, but then shook his head slightly.

I smiled briefly and returned to my computer. He pulled out his newspaper and began to read. We lapsed into a companionable silence. He didn’t seem to remember what it was that ‘he remembered’. I hoped that it wasn’t what I thought.

Lunch was served at Oxford and coffee at Winchester. On arrival at Bournemouth we shared a taxi to our hotel, having already established that we were staying at the same one. After we had checked in, he asked me if I would care to join him for dinner.

I’d half expected this and had a refusal ready. The problem was that the words wouldn’t come out. Instead, I found myself accepting, and we arranged to meet later.

Over dinner — acceptable but unexciting — we again conversed about business. I was happy with this as it might give the subject of personal relationships a wide berth.

Inevitably, however, he glanced at the unadorned ring finger of my left hand.

“Please forgive my asking, but is there anyone special in your life at the moment? If you’d rather not discuss it, I’ll quite understand.”

What a lovely way to put it; I was starting to warm to this man — again. I don’t exactly know why, but I felt comfortable with him.

“No, there isn’t at the moment. Is there a Mrs Howard?”

“Not now there isn’t. Mandy decided that the grass was greener in Tuscany.”

Mandy Gilroy dumped him then; I thought those two were in it for the duration

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

“That’s okay; we were both young and, I suppose, not sufficiently mature. I have no wife, no partner and no children.”

I felt for the man. I knew that he was also in his early thirties, but had apparently led a lonely life since his marriage broke up. Then again, hadn’t I led a lonely life since leaving school? It could be argued that I was consumed by study and work — but it wouldn’t be the whole truth.

“Would you like a drink or a coffee…Jessica?” he asked, after dinner.

Suddenly his face broke. “Jessica Martin. . . . Crikey! Did you used to have braces and a boatload of freckles?”

I smiled.

“Those were the days,” he boomed. He spoke briefly about school.

I almost told him about my school-girl crush, but decided against it. “I’m sorry; would you mind if we called it an evening? I am feeling rather tired.”

“I understand; I’ll see you tomorrow? May I impose upon you for your company at breakfast?”

I gave in, and we made appropriate arrangements.

In my room, I tried to analyse my feelings. Part of me was excited to see him again after all these years; another part feared eventual rejection. Crazy perhaps - but irrational thoughts are just that; irrational. Karen and I had led a life of rejection, so watching for it at every corner had become part of me. Don’t get me wrong; I love her like the sister she is but, in some ways, I envy her.

~ O ~

Colin and I shared a taxi to the conference venue. I wanted to arrive early in order to check that all the resources I’d ordered were available. He was happy to adjourn to the café and read his newspaper while I dealt with administrative matters. We agreed to meet for lunch and I admit that I was looking forward to it.

The conference was well-attended and the audience seemed to appreciate the small humorous items injected within the serious message that I had to convey.

All too soon, it seemed, the morning session drew to a close. Colin and I met at the rear of the lecture theatre and enjoyed a pleasant lunch. I found that I was not dreading his presence in my seminar as much as I had on the train.

He asked some pertinent questions and I was impressed with his knowledge of the subject. He invited me to have dinner with him and I looked forward, surprisingly, to my ‘date’ with this man.

~ O ~

The end of the conference inevitably left me with mixed feelings; part of me wanted very much to see him again, yet another part dreaded him finding out anything about the past.

Karen’s journey in life from Keith to the person she is today has left me paranoid. I need to embrace life for what it has to offer.

Colin again joined me for dinner, breakfast and lunch and I was feeling more and more at ease with him. The plenary session on the third day finished at about three o’clock, leaving time for our train home, albeit a late arrival in Manchester. Before parting company, we exchanged business cards and, for some absurd reason, I was moved to underline my mobile phone number.

~ O ~

About a week later, I was working at my desk when Colin telephoned.

~ Hello Jessica, it’s Colin Howard. I’m in Manchester on business next Wednesday; could we possibly meet for lunch? ~

“Yes I could manage Wednesday.” I consulted my diary. “And I look forward to having lunch with you.”

We made arrangements and he left me to my thoughts.
Where are we going with this?

~ O ~

As Manchester was my home territory, we went to a little Italian place just off Piccadilly. We had a pleasant lunch and the time just flew by. Colin and I met a few times after that; twice he came up to Manchester, once I met him in Leamington.

As it happened, my sister and her family lived at Warwick, not far from Leamington Spa and, after a month or so, I stayed the weekend with Karen, Joe and the children. Karen had always been very perceptive and could tell that I had something on my mind.

Inevitably I had to confess, so on the Saturday we had a sisters outing; coffee, lunch, shopping and chat.

“Karen; I’ve something to tell you.”

She bounced up and down with glee. “Oh? Tell me about him; what’s his name?”

“Honestly! I never could get anything past you, could I?”

“Come on, spill the beans!”

I hesitated, drew in a long breath and quietly said, “Colin.”

“Is he tasty?”

“Colin Howard.”

Her expression changed in an instant.

“Oh…my…God! Is that….?”

“Yes, it is.”

I told her about the train journey, the conference, the lunches, the attraction, the feeling that Colin might be ‘the one’.

She looked pensive. “Does he know…?”

“No, I don’t think so. At least, he’s given no indication.”

“So he wouldn’t.…”

“Until that conference, I’d seen nothing of him for fifteen years; and don’t forget, he was married to Mandy Gilroy for five of those. No, I don’t think he has a clue.”

She sighed. “Trust you, Jess!”

I thought again of our life so far. Karen had always appeared to be the stronger one of us two; perhaps she’d had to be. I was the bright spark but she was the dynamo. We’re twins, but you wouldn’t think so sometimes; we were such different characters.

All too soon, it was time to wrap up. I had a day’s childminding organised for the Sunday. Karen and Joe were having a well-earned day to themselves, leaving Auntie Jessica to look after a feisty five year old niece and a strapping and fearless seven year old nephew. I was looking forward to it.

~ O ~

We all sat around the breakfast table on the Sunday morning.

“What are you two up to today?” I asked, while getting ready to move child seats from their car to mine.

Karen smiled conspiratorially, and looked up at her husband — all six and a half feet of him. “Well, tempting as it is to spend all day at home attending to the needs of this man, we’re heading for the hills. We’ll find a pub for lunch and just have a relaxing time — or something!”

“Karen! Really!” Then I burst into tears.

Then she realised what she’d said.

“Jess, I’m so sorry. God, I can be a thoughtless cow sometimes!”

We hugged and cried, and cried and hugged.

“Well, at least you really are a cow now!” I said, as I shoo’d her out of the door in the wake of her husband.

~ O ~

“So; where to next with Colin?” Karen asked me over supper.

The children had worn themselves out, and nearly succeeded with me as well. They were now fast asleep and, judging from the amount of energy expended, would struggle to surface at breakfast time.

“I don’t know. There’s a definite spark there; he’s good looking, thoughtful, intelligent and always fun to be with. Karen, I think I might be falling in love. I thought that I loved Mark, but that didn’t work. I don’t know how Colin feels, though. He’s been hurt once and might be wary. Plus, I don’t know how he’d take our secret.”

“I can’t say I think it’s a good idea, but you’ll have to tell him.”

“Oh God, do I have to?”

She nodded, though not with enthusiasm. “Better that he knows now, rather than finds out later.”

“Could you tell him?”

She shook her head.

“No, you’re right. I’ll have to tell him,” I said, knowing that it was going to be one of the hardest things I’d ever done.

~ O ~

“Colin, there’s something we need to discuss.”

We were in our Italian restaurant in Manchester. My appetite had all but deserted me and my stomach felt like it was filled with rocks. I looked at the tablecloth; I saw the cutlery on it, but nothing else.

Colin reached his hand across the table and laid it on mine. “Jessica. Please tell me again; is there anyone else in your life?”

“No, there’s no one else. Once there was, but I was in love with love, not with Mark.”

“What is there to discuss then, other than that I have feelings for you? I’ve tried to keep them in check, so that I didn’t drive you away? I so value your company and our times together. I love your beauty, your wit, your intelligence — in fact, I love everything about you.”

I sighed. “Colin, do you remember that, at school, I was one of twins?”

“If I remember rightly, you had a brother.” His mouth twisted oddly. “I always thought it a shame that you had to put up with… Kevin? No, Keith, wasn’t it? He was gay, wasn’t he?”

Gay? “Keith was never gay.”

“Don’t give me that!” His voice had become too loud. “He was one of the most effeminate boys I think I ever saw!”

I’m going to have to tell him “Colin, Keith always knew that he was female; his greatest wish was for his body to match his mind.”

“WHAT?” He shot upright, as though someone had hit him in the back with a length of four-by-two.

“Keith is now Karen, my sister; she is married with two lovely children.”

“But…How? KAREN?”

“Joe’s wife died just after their second child was born. Joe was out shopping one day and literally ran into Karen in the supermarket. The rest, as they say, is history. Cassandra doesn’t remember her mother at all and Peter doesn’t remember much. Karen is the only mother Cassie has ever known.”

“Well I’ll be damned! Does Joe know?

“Of course he knows.”

“So, how does it affect you?”

“It doesn’t affect me at all, except that I have a delightful sister who can read me like a book, a very hunky brother-in-law and a niece and nephew that I love to bits.”

You could almost see the cogs whirring as he thought for a few moments. “So your brother-in-law is gay as well?”

He doesn’t understand. “No, he’s not.”

“But if you and I were to marry, my sister-in-law would be a man?” His face had gone from handsome and robust to ugly and ashen.

“No, she wouldn’t. She’s a she and. . . .”

His head swung from side to side. Seconds later, his chair legs scraped the floor and, shortly afterwards, the door crashed shut. Colin hadn’t said another word.

The waiter came over to see if I needed anything.

I couldn’t see him for tears.

The sounds of Colin leaving the restaurant will stay with me for ever.

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M.Sci Joint Honours Degree in Mathematics and Computer Science

FBCI — Fellow of the Business Continuity Institute

Once again, my thanks go to the ever-brilliant Angela Rasch for her input, advice and encouragement.

This is a work of adult fiction; there is no sex and no pornography. There are no deliberate references to real people. Licence is taken with occupations; their equipment, experience and execution, and no claims are made as to their authenticity.

This work is copyright; no reproduction in any form, except for personal perusal, is permitted without the express permission of the author, her heirs or assigns.

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