Missing Wife

Hi this is one of my first attempts at short story writing. Although I now prefer trying to write novels, this is one of the few I actually like doing. It’s not meant to be a great work of insight. Just a story based on people trying to come to terms with things. Steve.

WORKING TITLE: MISSING WIFE

Ten years later there she was.

I was sitting at the hotel bar when I saw her. The hotel was a good one, in a small market town in the East Midlands called Stamford. The only reason I stop to think about the location is due to the irony of it.

I had lived here since my early childhood, and went to school nearby. Over the years I have traveled all over the world, but always to come back to England. Eventually, I come back to in Stamford.

As I look at the woman taking a seat by the window, I think back on the reasons why I have traveled so widely. Only to be reminded by the painful fact, that it is due to her.

True enough I'm a service engineer and my work affords me the luxury of travel. However that is not the only reason. In truth I used it as an excuse. The real reason was sitting only a few yards away from me.

I would have walked those few yards, if it was not for the fact that I had traveled even greater distances, just to see her. It was for this reason I was rooted to my bar stool. I sipped my half pint and wondered if she had seen me yet. If she had, surely she would give some reaction.

Why here?I kept asking myself the same question as I remembered the places I had been to, just for such a moment as this.

We has first met ten years ago at a party. She had pretended to ignore me, and went off to dance with someone else. In those days I was too shy to do anything more than walk away and get another drink. I had another chance to see her that night when a friend of mine became bored with the party.

He knew somewhere more livelily and was going round the room asking who wanted to come in his car. Of course I agreed, after all he was my friend, and I had nothing else to do. To my surprise and delight, the girl agreed too.

Her name was Helen. She was a student like myself, only she was reading art, and thought little of it. In fact she had no career plans. Having a wealthy father meant she could afford to be as lazy as she wanted. Her only plan was to go round the world.

I was already giving up any hope of becoming close to Helen and threw myself into my work. Then, a week latter, we met again in a pub in Peterborough. She seemed pleased to see me, and I was soon to find out she really had a small social circle. The reason being, most people had grown to hate her.

Of course I was already in love with her, and in my eyes she could do no wrong. In time she agreed to go out with me and soon we became engaged.

Things were going well, until the day I called round to her parent’s house. Only to find she had left for America.

My whole world fell apart. How could she simply leave me and go off across the world like that? Looking back I should have faced up to the fact she was the most selfish person in the world. Being young, it was hard to hate someone I was so in love with. So of course I thought it was my fault. I made it through the next year and left college, to work for a very good electrical firm.

There was method behind all this, and the reason was still Helen. When I had the minimum period of practical experience behind me, I set off to find her. With a work permit, I found a job on the outskirts of New York. I had a friend who had worked in America several times, and as luck would have it, he was going over there at the same time. He let me sleep on his floor and I managed to find a job working for a small house-wiring firm.

The conditions were terrible and the job was dangerous. Gangs ran the whole area, and I soon felt like I was living in a war zone. Being young, it all seemed like an adventure to me. Then again, nothing could distract me from my real goal, and that was to find Helen.

Her mother had told me of a friend she stayed with in the middle of New York. It meant calling on a lot of money and courage, but I walked the streets until I found Her. Then the day came when I knocked on the door, to watch it open, and see Helen standing there.

She was lost for words, so I calmly said hello, and told her I had heard she was in town. Of course she couldn't believe it, but she was pleased to see me all the same. The thorny question of why she had broken the engagement then cropped up. All she could say, was that she felt trapped and wanted adventure.

Since being in New York I had come to understand that, and so we came to an agreement. With her money we found a small place of our own, and together we lived out the rest of the time my work permit allowed me here.

We came back to England and got married. Everyone was pleased for us, and I was seen as a hero. Going out across the world to bring back my bride, was not an everyday thing. I think it was this fact that drew Helen to me then. If only I had realized it would not be enough.

Another year went by and I landed a very good job with a firm constructing generators. With my brief history of working abroad I had an added advantage and with her father pulling a few strings, we both found ourselves working for the company in France.

Paris was one of the happier times in my life. If nothing else, it convinced me that living abroad could bring you closer to the good life. That is if you lived in the right places. Helen loved it all, and was the center of parties and every social event.

Then came the day when the company called me back. I was willing, being able to see good career prospects. Helen of course did not.

So when I boarded the plane home, it came a no surprise that she did not take her seat beside me.

I returned to England a broken man. Not having any idea what to do next, I let work carry me through. Everyone was sympathetic towards me, even Her parents. It's a strange thing to say but I felt sorry for Helen at the time. For even if she did come back to me she would be the target of so much hate, her life would be hell. Maybe it was better she stayed in France?

The years past and I had brief affairs with other girls, but nothing lasted. They were all reminders of that ghost which still haunted me. In a way I did think of her as dead, and had almost forgotten about her, when the firm sent me to Africa.

Nigeria was the fastest growing country in Africa, and my company wanted those contracts. I was part of a team of engineers sent down to Lagos, and I left the others in their rooms to take a look at the place. I loved being abroad, and I loved exploring. The first place I called at was the hotel bar.

I had not walked two steps into the bar when I saw her.

Helen was sitting at the bar, sipping iced tea and looking the very image of the jet setter. She almost dropped the glass as I walked up to her calmly.

Once again I used the line that someone had told me she was in town. So once again she had to search for a reason why.

She came out with a lot of stories about having her wings clipped, if she came back to England, but I knew she meant none of it. Al1 the time I simply watched her face and in time she realized she didn't have to give a reason. I had already forgiven her.

We saw each other for the next few weeks and had a lot of fun. However I did not press her this time about coming back, and I never even bothered to say goodbye before I boarded the plane home.

The only other time I saw her was in London. My company was fitting a new lighting system for a gallery. It was to be a showcase for us, and everyone thought it very important. So I was asked to take a look at it, even though it was outside my field.

On the opening night of the gallery, I walked around saying hello to people and looking at the price tags on the pictures. Our lighting system behaved itself, and I was about to go home. Then from across the far side of the room, I saw her.

Helen did not see me at first, and I was almost wishing I could escape without us having to meet. Sure enough our eyes met, and we stared across all the other people in the room, simply to look at each other. All I could do was raise my glass in a sort of salute, and Helen returned it. That was the only outcome of the event, and I never saw her again.

That was until now.

Now she sat there before me, and I could not help thinking she looked as lovely as the first day I saw her at that party. In a way she seemed more like the woman I knew at the bar in Lagos, with a very cosmopolitan look.

By now I was growing embarrassed by the silence between us, and decided to walk across to her. It was the most painful few feet I have ever trod, but I stood before her.

"Hello Helen." I said simply.
"Hello Mark." She replied, almost in a whisper. She toyed nervously with her drink, but did not look up.

"May I sit down?" I pointed to the chair at her table. ? "Of course." She seemed strange somehow. All our other meetings had made her come alive, as if she was suddenly animated. For now she sat in silence.

"I heard you were in town, so I thought I'd call round." I sat down calmly and put my glass on the table. For the first time she smiled slightly, remembering the line I had used before.

"I never thought you would be here. I said to myself, of all the places in the world she would never be in the town she first came from. Well, here we both are. Back where we started." She had a washed out look to her, as if the last few years had not been kind.

"Usually you are full of life when we meet. You know, ready to bounce back." I smiled at her, to show there were no hard feelings.

"Well things are different now Mark." She said.

"I thought you were doing well in the art world? Things not so good?" I asked her.

"Yes, my works is ok. It's just that I've been thinking about the years. You know, the years between us." Helen looked to me, as if she wanted me to say something.

"Look love I don't hold any grudge, or anything. You are, who you are, and nothing will change that. So you don't have to come back here to make me feel better." I hoped this was enough to put her mind at rest, but there seemed something else.

"I didn't mean it like that. What I was getting at, is all the wasted time. I was stupid enough to think I wanted adventure because I thought I'd feel trapped. Well the truth is I feel more trapped now than ever." She stopped and took a long drink from her glass.

"Trapped? What by?" I asked her.

"By myself. I feel trapped by the knowledge that I wasted so much time running away from the thing I really wanted. If I'm honest about it, the best times I ever had where with you." There was a pleading look in her eye now, which I had never seen before, and which worried me.

, "Sure, we had some great times." I said.

"Yes, but I couldn't see that. I was too stubborn, or stupid, or something. What ever it was Mark, I was wrong." She leaned forward in her chair and held my hand.

"Helen, we've both made good lives for ourselves now, don't be sorry about that. You did what you thought was best at the time. I still love you all the same." I squeezed her hand to make her feel a little better, but I knew the worsted was still to come.

"Take me back? Please Mark? I don't care what I've got to do to prove I really love you, but for God's sake take me back?" There were tears in her eyes now as she gripped my hand, and waited for my reply.

"What about all the times you said that in the past? It didn't stop you walking out on me again, did it?" I said.

"Oh Mark, I'm different now. More grown up. I know what I really want, and it's just to be with you. Please Mark?" The tears were starting to run down her face as she clung onto my arm.

I had to ask myself whether she was being really honest, and would she simply do it all again? In my heart I knew she would, but I also knew I couldn't stand being this lonely any more and I did want her back.

"Yes, I agree." What else could I say.

She was so pleased she kissed me, and her face lit up. Soon she was back to the Helen I knew. We had some more drinks and talked about the years between our meetings.

"What did you do after Lagos?" I asked her.

"I came back to France and worked in Paris for a gallery, my mother once knew. Then they asked me to come to London so I did. We were having an exhibition in Newcastle, so I thought on my way up the A1, I'd call in "She have fully recovered now and chatted away, as if we had been parted only days.

"Well, if you really want to come back to me, you may have to leave the gallery for some time." I said.
"Why? You don't expect me to give up work and sit at home all day?" She replied sharply.

"No, but you could move you base of operations to Australia. You see, the firm wants me to go to Sydney for a while. It could mean a bit of foreign travel.

THE END