Garden of Stars by Rose Alexander Page A

of her own unkempt mane, roughly pulled back into a ponytail, untouched since she had got up that morning. She signed the form in the wrong place and had to re-do it, with much patient smiling from the receptionist and buoyant bobbing up and down from the chignon.
    Key finally in hand, mind in turmoil, she headed straight for her room, keeping her head down as she approached the conference centre entrance, praying not to see him now. She needed time, time to absorb the situation, to work out what to do. It was not quite true that they had had no contact since they parted. Ten years ago, he had found out from their mutual friend Carrie that she was getting married and had called her, he said to wish her well. They had had a polite and friendly conversation. He had givenher his email address, which she had written on a piece of paper whilst promising to keep in touch and then, as soon as she had put the phone down, had torn up into a thousand tiny pieces and discarded into the bin.
    He had not contacted her again.
    In her room, she sat on the edge of the bed and let her head fall into her hands. She could ignore the fact that she had seen Scott Calvin’s name on that board, forget she had even considered seeking him out. She could carry on with the trip, do her job, get the article written, and forget it ever happened. Forget he had ever been a part of her life, let alone a part so vital.
    She could do all of these things.
    Couldn’t she?
    Thirty minutes later, and having disposed of the contents of a small bottle of wine from the mini bar, Sarah opened up her laptop. Using the tab she had previously hovered over but not opened, she found Scott’s email address.
    Dear Scott
    How are you? It’s been so long since we saw each other, but by remarkable coincidence, that might be about to change.
    Her fingertips left damp marks on the keys as she typed with trembling hands.
    I can hardly believe it’s true, but I think that at this very moment we are in the same hotel in Lisbon. I saw your name on the list of speakers at the conference that’s going on here.
    Is it really you?
    If so, it would be great to see you. We have so much to catch up on. All is well with me. I still live in London and I’m still a journalist, but freelance now. My husband Hugo and I have two daughters, age 6 and 4.
    What about you? I guess your kids must be all grown-up these days.
    I’m sure you’re pretty busy, but my mobile number is at the bottom of this email, so give me a call or mail me back if you have time to meet for a drink.
    Love Sarah x
    She read it through several times, carefully considering it, weighing up the meaning, obvious and subliminal, of every word. Thank goodness for the distance email provided; so much easier than picking up the phone. Her heart hammering against her chest, she pressed send. There was absolutely nothing odd or wrong about emailing an old friend, when you find yourself in the same hotel. Absolutely nothing at all, in fact the reverse; it would be strange not to. And it was the perfect opportunity to close adoor that had remained ajar for two decades, to get, as the Americans would say, ‘closure’. Justifications came thick and fast now the deed was done.
    Her mobile bleeped to signify that she had received a text. She jumped out of her skin and her breathing quickened. Surely he couldn’t have answered so soon? The phone was right beside her, cradled in the crisp white bed linen. Her hands shook as she picked it up, saw the message alert.
    Hi, hope things are going well.
    It was from Hugo. A hot wave of disappointment flooded through her.
    The girls are fine but missing you. Can you call them in the morning? Xx
    Guilt took over, and her head pulsated as she realised that she had been so preoccupied with the unexpected turn of events that she hadn’t called to check up on her own family, make sure that everything was all right.
    She texted back:
    Will do. X
    She