#simple-things

But it was clear the message was lost on his sibling who was now curiously looking at a specific article in the paper. A grin spread across her face, he could tell she was up to no good when she looked up at him with that mischievous sparkle he’d come to dread over the years. What now?

“Hey, isn’t that the ComiCon–lawyer-person?” she pointed out.

“Word gets out fast,” Tom muttered under his breath before sipping his coffee again. He reached his hand out and motioned his sister to hand him the newspaper. He was ever so eager to correct his sister on the reality of ‘this Charlotte-thing’ until his eyes fell on the cruel nickname in bold black print next to a snapshot of her. ‘Angel of Death’.

Tom was utterly appalled and furrowed his brows as his eyes skimmed the article. “Well this is harsh,” he mumbled. To him Charlotte - without fault - came across as a charming and eloquent persona, not the grim reaper the press were now suddenly labelling her.

His heart went out to Charlotte. It really did. She seemed to have crawled under his skin somehow; this warm hearted woman who had been ever so daunting towards the press from the start. He’d gotten to know her as an ambitious woman, who longed for nothing more than to set the record straight about who she was and what she stood for. It seemed so unfair for her, of all people, to get mulled the way she was.

“It’ll all blow over by tomorrow, I’m sure,” his sister relativized while trying to steal her brother’s scone.

“Still,…” under a lifted brow he playfully slapped her hand away while fishing out his smartphone. He typed out a message to Charlotte in which he expressed his concern, much to his sister’s delight. Emma tilted her head in an attempt to peer at the text, murmuring “it’s sweet though, that you care so much.”

When Tom - ever fast on his feet - quickly reciprocated with a “I would do the same for any other friend,” Emma couldn’t help but nod with a final gentle tease, “and how long ago did you two meet again?”

Tom slanted his head and raised an eyebrow apprehensively, “don’t…”

Emma held up her hands as if to convey him of her innocence, “I’m not. I’ve missed my big brother - indulge me in my teasing…”

He only shook his head in utter annoyance, “it is nothing more than a concerned friendly message. That is it. Be careful there or shall I start on your love life now?” a small grin lit up his face. “And besides, haven’t you read? I’m apparently seeing a mystery blonde now…”

“Well yes,” Emma caught on after taking another sip from her coffee, “I wàs wondering about that…”

“Can’t show my bloody face before they start snapping away and publishing rubbish,” Tom shook his head in disbelief before his sister looked up at him, positively beaming and no doubt fired up with one or two monkey tricks. And indeed, with a strange sense of pride she lifted the newspaper in her hands, revealing a pap-shot of Tom strolling down the street and cosily laughing with said lovely petite blonde, “rubbish big brother?”

“Ok, all right, all right,” Tom chuckled while turning a deep shade of pink, “I admit she’s a very lovely colleague. Good heavens, look at you - trying to get Luke out of a job little sister?”

“Just what I thought,” Emma delightedly winked, “so? Dating?”

“We’re working together,” Tom mildly protested, “it would seem highly inappropriate to…”

“M-hm,” Emma sighed loudly, as if to highlight she’d already heard that routine before.

Tom rolled his eyes in playful annoyance, which lured Emma into raising her brow before inquisitively leaning in and whispering, “now really. Tell me,”

“I don't know,...” he hesitated, “she's lovely, she truly is. But… ”

“Something is missing,” now it was Emma’s turn to roll her eyes in exasperation while shaking her head. When would he ever learn?

“Don't mock me,” he scolded softly.

“I'm not! I'm just wondering when the day will come when something is not missing to your standards…” She didn't want to seem hurtful, it was simply the truth.

Emma had noticed her brother had taken more than one step back when it came to dating these last couple of years. While it had originally been a very conscious and logical decision of his, she now often heard her mother worrying about the impact this decision was taking on him. And on second thought she found she would have to agree with her mother, on a certain level.

But then came the Hiddleswift-extravaganza, the whirlwind romance that knocked the family right off their feet. So much, so fast, so soon. However, at least he was breaking his solitude and that was, in a way, a good thing. After it fizzled out equally abrupt as it had started in the first place - and under the ever critical and even speculative eye of the (gutter)press no less - it was no wonder to Emma that her brother would step back from dating again for a while.

At first she thought he just needed to lick his wounds - wouldn’t we all? - but then new projects started following each other up in a vast tempo. As always. And what was worse, his emotional private life seemed even more neglected then ever before. Her brother was exhausted and haunted by his own thoughts, And now Emma didn’t know what to think of the situation anymore. Though she thoroughly hoped his current break could or would bring back the more happy and carefree brother she grew up with.

Tom exhaled loudly, “well, you’ll be happy to know that we’re going out for drinks soon. After the project wraps up. Just … don’t tell anyone.”

“Good! Very good. Also, my lips are sealed,” she gestured, delighted at the notions her big brother was getting back out there again. “but just remember, the camera’s are not.” She added with a well meant playful wink.

 2. Berlin

‘Angel of Death’ – the term haunted her more than Charlotte cared to admit. The words stung, they stung so bad.

Charlotte blamed her initial emotional reaction to the article on fatigue, because the gruelling pace of travelling all over Europe was definitely starting to take its toll. Also, the intense debates that repeatedly occurred at every Conference were slowly starting to get under her skin as well…

However still, Charlotte’s strong beliefs were suddenly shaking on their foundation. And while she wanted to power on through, she found she could not handle the backlash that was now coming towards her. Charlotte was raised to be diplomatic, to find an agreeable way to interact with people, to negotiate, to debate, not to tear someone down without mercy. To have the press do exact that to her was difficult to comprehend and impossible to forget.

Charlotte’s dad had called her as soon as the article came out. He’d tried calming his daughter by advising her to not pay any attention to it. “Bad press is press at the least. You’re doing something that matters, leave those nasty words behind, rise above it. Be strong, be proud and do not give up sweetheart.” But he failed to realise Charlotte was under heavy attack because of her personal situation more than her professional one.

You see, his wife and Charlotte’s mother was diagnosed with ‘young dementia’ and she was currently already residing in a memory care facility. That last step was a recent development after a new diagnosis confirmed she was in fact suffering from Lewy Body Dementia (*). Under the public eye, the written press very broadly analyzed and scrutinized Charlotte for simply "not practicing what she preached". They painted a very unstable and hypocritical image of her. “Euthanasia for those who suffer mentally but not your own mother? Come on now!” The press was relentless and paid no attention to the details that truly mattered, the same details that made every difference in the world.

Charlotte was amazed where the journalists had found all this background information, and was left utterly devastated at the harsh words at her address. More over Charlotte was exhausted and alone; craving the comfort of home, family and friends. She’d spilt hot tears under the shower that evening, it was the first time she’d allowed herself to shake her frustration and pain on the matter.

All day long attendees at the conference had either confronted her with the article and asked about her opinion, which was not the most pleasant experience, but others were worse and kept quiet in her face yet whispered about it behind her back. As if Charlotte didn’t know they were talking about her...

Her phone had been blowing up all day with a whole variety of messages and warm wishes from family, friends and even colleagues who knew there was more to Charlotte than what was so harshly put out in print. But Charlotte didn’t answer. She didn’t answer anyone of them, she was just done with it. And wished for the day to be finally over as well.

 3. London - Berlin

The night was slowly creeping in and hours had passed since Tom had sent Charlotte a text but she hadn’t answered. He realised he would surely not be the only one texting her, but still… usually she would respond to him one way or another. It seemed out of character for her not to respond, but then again this was an unusual turn of events….

Her silence plagued him, and so ultimately Tom took it upon himself to text Charlotte once more later that evening. To his surprise, he was rewarded with a quick cynical reply. Something he had come to know as ‘Charlotte-style’. His lips curved upwards; she wasn’t asleep yet. And because her words didn’t really convince him, he tapped the call-button on his cell.

Very quickly his thoughts were confirmed; her text message might have been cynical and morbidly funny in contrast her voice sounded clearly distraught and cracked with exhaustion. He was quite sure she thought she was hiding it well.

“You should distance yourself. I’m your publicist’s worst nightmare,” Charlotte pestered quietly.

“I didn’t hear back from you,” he spoke softly, “I was worried.”

“My phone is blowing up right now.”

“How are you feeling?”

“It’s ok, I’m all right. Bad press is still press, that’s what they say right?”

Tom couldn’t shake the feeling she seemed so short, curt even, in her replies. She was speaking rationally, distanced from the situation, vehemently prohibiting any emotions in her discourse. So he asked, he simply hàd to; “and now the truth please, Charlotte?”

A loud sigh on the other end.

Charlotte hated he possessed the talent of gently luring the truth out of her. And so she confessed to be feeling exhausted and annoyed.

Or no, make that ‘angry’ and ‘sad’.

‘Disappointed.’

‘Emotional.’

 And so incredibly alone.

She closed her eyes and rested her forehead on her hand. She could feel the tears stinging again and tried her best to hold them in. Granted, it wasn’t as if he could see them, but she desperately wanted to spill no more tears over the whole debacle. She found she would have to be strong and suck it up. Surely that would the best and fastest way to get over it. Utter denial, step over the issue as if it were no more than a nasty, muddy puddle on the pavement.

So yes, she would hide her tears. However her voice turned a bit hushed and a bit high-pitched as she cautiously fumed things along the likes of How or where do they get this information? Why does this matter? This is my personal life… Doesn’t anyone remember what I stand for? At all?

Tom sighed and tried to console her by confessing he could, in fact, relate on the matter somewhat and offered her his support.

“Please, then tell me, how do you rise above this kind of nonsense?” Charlotte sounded exasperated, “because I’m not the type of person to let things like that get to me, far from it. But I see it in print here in Germany, it’s in papers back home and apparently in the UK as well. And I can handle criticism, don’t think I can’t. But this?! This is almost a personal attack. God, I feel so judged...”

“Do you have the article there?” Tom was astounded, “do you have it before you? On paper? And you’re reading it? For the umpteenth time no doubt...”

“y-yes?” Charlotte groaned uneasily.

“Take it,” he ordered sternly, “do you have it in your hands?”

“Yes, why?”

“Tear it apart Charlotte,” he ordered simply, “really. Trust me on this one. Just rip it up, and rip it up good so you cannot possibly put it back together again. Then toss it in the bin. And promise me you won’t go googling for it.

Charlotte chuckled at his rendition of rigorous fatherly advice.

“Really,” his voice softened, “promise me Charlotte. “You’re an intelligent woman and I admire you for what you stand for. Do not let anybody tell you anything different. Ever. And what they printed about your mum, I’m quite sure that it’s just gutter-talk. You don’t fool me darling. Don’t let them get to you, all right?”

“Do you want to talk about it?” he paused and then reconsidered his words. “Would you tell me about her? Please?”

She felt his compassion cool her frustrations, his kindness covering her like a warm blanket. So Charlotte sighed, before carefully opening up about her mother's young dementia.

“It was just silly things at first, like forgetting where you put your keys. Then her vision worsened and she left the driving over to dad or my brother and me, which we didn't mind because we just got our driver's licence,” she chuckled at the long forgotten memory, “but then she stopped writing at one point... stopped having fun at it. She got all gloomy at times, isolated herself more at times.”

Charlotte paused, for a while, “she went for long walks by herself. Only later on we found out they were only ‘long’ because she suffered with finding her way back…”

Tom sympathised. He listened and gently asked on about certain things but only when he felt she might be all right with it. He was there, ready to chase out the bad words and replace them with bittersweet nostalgic memories.

“And I know she is good where she is now,” Charlotte concluded, “and she has her lucid moments. And she wants to live. So much. And that is her good right and we have to respect that. I just… I just don’t appreciate I'm being called a hypocrite because I'm refusing to take to euthanasia in my personal situation.”

“Don’t they get it?” Charlotte all but exploded, “it is not my decision to make. It is hers and she chose not to consent to that when she was lucid. Don’t they see how hard this is on everyone involved? It’s a lose-lose-situation and… oh crap … what's it to them anyway?”

On the other end Tom sank back in his seat as the reality of her situation sank in. “Oh Charlotte,” he spoke softly, his voice low and quiet, “I - I can't imagine how hard this must be.”

That. That one sentence right there. It came out as a whisper - a truthful confession. Charlotte could feel the tears stinging in her eyes and did her best to wish them away. No more, please no more tears.

“Thank you,” he added softly, “for confiding in me.” “When did you last see her?”

That did it. Charlotte hiccuped, her eyes welling up before new salty tears fell from her eyes, trickling down her cheek without relent.

“I'm sorry, Tom,” she breathed, “I'm just - I’ just so tired. The days are so long and exhausting...”

A feeling of complete powerlessness fell over him. There was nothing he could do but listen and talk. He hated he was not there to offer a handkerchief, to run his hand over her back in reassuring circles, to hug her or offer her a small smile in the hopes it would diminish her tears.

“Darling, don't apologise. It's been a while since you've seen her I take it... “

Charlotte nodded silently, not even aware he wasn't there to see it.

“Oh Charlotte,” he sighed, felling ever the more guilty, “I should let you sleep... can you sleep?”

She admitted she'd been tossing and turning for a while now. Her mind absolutely in turmoil. "But I'm glad you called," she confessed, while wiping her tears with the back of her hand, “so glad.” Because he knew what he was talking about, and he somehow had managed to calm her down somewhat.

"How could I not...."

Charlotte took a shaky breath and sighed - his heart broke for her.

“You know, I’ve been meaning to tell you, I caved,” he gently switched the subject, “you know Elena Ferrante isn’t all that bad…”

Charlotte smiled, aware of what he was doing.

“Shall I read you a little bit?” He never waited for an answer, but just flipped open the book and commenced. He could hear her rustling on the other end and imagined her curling up underneath the duvet, the cell phone glued to her ear still.

 “My friendship with Lila began the day we decided to go up the dark stairs that led, step after step, flight after flight, to the door of Don Achille’s apartment. I remember the violet light of the courtyard, the smells of a warm spring evening. The mothers were making dinner, it was time to go home, but we delayed, challenging each other, without ever saying a word, testing our courage. ….”

He read the rest of the chapter as though he was reading just for himself, taking his time and engulfing himself in the story. By the end of the chapter the sounds on the other end of the line had gotten very quiet.

“Charlotte?” he queried, “Charlotte darling,” quieter now, “are you asleep?”

He paused for a second to concentrate on the noises on the other side of the connection. Very vaguely he heard her steady breath; yes, she was most definitely asleep. A sense of pride and sweet affection came over him; a smile crept across his lips as he listened a little while longer.

“Good night my darling Charlotte, sweet dreams.”

2. Charlotte hastily threw on a cardigan to cover herself up somewhat as she curiously padded towards the door. And indeed, there he was as she swung the door open. He stood there, gazing at his feet before looking up to her.

She wasn’t quite sure how to react, only furrowed her brows and quietly ushered him inside. She wanted to ask if everything was all right, if he’d forgotten anything. Surely she had returned his jacket, didn’t she? But he beat her to it. The moment the door clicked shut, a sigh escaped his lips before he started talking.

“Ever since,” Tom paused upon exhaling loudly, “I mean - I’m fine. I’ve been fine. I àm doing just. Fine…. And then I see you. And I talk to you. And I … ” he lingered and she could see him gently clasping his fist by his side.

“… and I don’t quite remember what it is I should do next,” Charlotte whispered to herself, as she leant against the door.

“It’s probably utterly idiotic that I am standing here. Now. But I felt that I could not let you leave before I told you this. I just - I need to get it out of my system and I guess I hope that by saying it out loud, the power of it might go off,” he hesitated for a second, “or maybe it won’t – I haven’t figured that part out yet.”

“There is this …. gravitational pull about you,” his hands gestured it so beautifully and, if it were physically possible, Charlotte was certain her heart would have jumped out of her chest at this confession. But she was lost for words.

“It’s hard to resist really,” his eyes lowered towards to his feet again “and believe me, I’ve tried…”

Charlotte didn't quite know what to do with herself anymore. Because this was not in the plans. She was meant to be out cementing her career. She couldn't afford to lose her focus to matters of the heart. She knew better than that; she’d followed that path before and look what good it had brought her. If anything, Charlotte was now adamant to start loving herself first, putting herself first, creating peace in her mind first.

Looking back she could see she’d come a long way. She had her own place, decorated to her liking. She ran her own office, organised to her wishes.

Her mind however was not at ease. Not anymore. So she picked up yoga first, then pilates. But to no avail. Charlotte figured it just came with the territory. Something she ought to learn how to live with.

Curling up with a good book in the safehaven that her house had become, did make a lot of things easier to bare. But there was room for improvement still. What she was clueless on, however, was on what she might be lacking.

And then he had to walk in her life and be all perfect and charming, even while adorably tipsy. Sweep her off her feet and disappear. And that part was all right, strangely enough. He'd woken her from a slumber she never realised she was in. And for that she was strangely grateful to him.

But then he would reappear when she had least expected him to. Ever perfect, ever charming, so considerate. It pained her that he could bestow so much empathy and understanding towards her, which she feared she could not ever reciprocate… That part of her was broken, jaded even, safely kept away under lock and key.

“I have been fighting it but now, tonight,” he confessed, “I catch myself wondering what it is exactly that I am fighting for? And it seems I am incapable of finding a valid reason. Or any reason for that matter.”

It was too warm for a cardigan; in fact the piece of clothing kept Charlotte’s body more than warm. To the point it just might get uncomfortably hot. Still Charlotte broke into goosebumps again and lots of them.

Her heart thundered even harder in her chest when she laid eyes on him again. Truthfully, he was not hard to look at either, which made it all worse really. So many good traits that kept her from raising her voice to chase him out.

She’d felt safe in this cool minimalistic cell she'd designed for herself, she really could do without any company. But then he had to cross her path. All calm, polite and amiable. And she had no idea how, but there he was. Now. In her room. Saying all these things she couldn’t wrap her mind around...

“Have you been mulling this over this whole time?” Charlotte finally questioned carefully. After all, quite some time had passed since he had dropped her off at her hotel.

“I confess I’ve had to drink in some courage,” he wrinkled his nose in humoristic defeat.

“Courage?”

“Yes, courage,” he murmured, “for this.” And on that note he stepped in closer to her and, before Charlotte could form a complete thought, she felt his hand slide into her hair as his lips unceremoniously brushed against hers. Unknowingly he’d had her teetering on that fine line between composure and surrender, but now - with his lips on hers, she was well lost.

It's true what they say, 'touch has a memory'. It came flooding through her when her fingertips traced his beard and lost their way in his generous curls.

It steered her to a blissful state when she felt his hand stroking her cheek before his lips adoringly pressed onto hers again and she prayed he would not leave them soon.

This is wrong, this is not how this is supposed to go.

Yet Charlotte was unable to pull away. Instead her hands greedily locked themselves around his neck and held him closer in wordless permission. In this moment she is unmistakably his. There was nowhere she could imagine herself running to. There was nowhere she would want to hide, except in his embrace. She felt she could dissolve in his arms and all worldly stress would disappear. She felt as though she could live off of every exhale of his. As long as it was his. How silly and irrational was that?

Charlotte’s eyes fluttered shut. She could feel his warm breath on her cheek and his lips momentarily ghosting over hers. The anticipation is almost too much. His lips captured hers so gently, so affectionately. And Charlotte was tired. Tired of mulling this through. Tired of thinking. She only wanted to let go now, and allow herself to just ‘feel’. She gasped at his tongue gently flicking against her upper lip and within moments their tongues gliding against each other in a glorious dance. Her hands pawed his cotton shirt in an attempt to hold him even closer to her.  

It felt a bit surreal when Tom rested his forehead against hers and confessed, “I have wanted to do this since the moment I laid eyes on you yesterday.”

While her mind tried to register all that was suddenly happening, Charlotte reached up and stroked her fingertips tenderly along his cheek, tracing his sharp cheekbones and then over his soft beard again, simply touching and exploring, towards his warm and generous lips.

“And I love your dress,” he declared, “I forgot to tell you that.”

“Shame I’m no longer wearing it,” Charlotte chuckled quietly.

In his entire stream of consciousness, Tom had been so caught up in his emotions that he hadn’t even laid proper eyes on Charlotte yet. But he was well and ready to make up for that. He delicately pushed the cardigan off her shoulders and glanced at her skimpy pyjama-set underneath.

“I can live with this as well,” he broke into a big grin before his lips engulfed hers again. Charlotte felt alive. As if she’d suddenly awakened after a long and dull slumber, which was not far from the truth really.

“I’m not here because I want to take advantage, mind you,” he muttered in between kisses, “had I known you’d be….”

Charlotte placed her index finger on his lips, “I’m glad you came back,”

“You are?”

She nodded, “I’ve been kicking myself for having acted so … nervous around you,”

“Do I make you nervous darling?”

Darling.

Charlotte smiled and placed his hand on her heart. That’s what we say, isn’t it? Although in reality his warm hand actually rested on her warm, soft and just barely covered breast. No room for pretences here.

Tom chuckled as he locked eyes with her, “well that’s quite something.”

Yes indeed, the term ‘arrhythmia’ comes to mind.

“This is so unlike me,” she frowned because this was absolutely not something she would usually do, not at all. Her boldness took her aback as well. But then again, this was not a situation she would ‘usually’ find herself in. She felt safe here with him somehow.

His clear blue eyes anxiously sought out hers, “Charlotte, I,”

“M-mm,” she muttered before sweetly pressing her lips to his again, “please don’t,” she pleaded softly, “let this be a one off.”

And with that, their mouths crashed together again, tongues lashing against one another as their hands roamed with renewed fervour and urgency. He tasted of whiskey and chocolate and she relished it. She clawed at his shirt eagerly and in return was rewarded with a lustful grope before his arms wrapped her up in an impassioned embrace.

This was a long time coming, a long time coming for sure. It felt as if the dam had been broken, all water came pouring down. A force of nature. Unstoppable.

Tom’s hands roamed over her spine and down to her silky shorts, which he proceeded to massage with a firm confidence. Charlotte was pleasantly surprised when he grabbed a strong hold of her, urging her legs to clasp around his waist. She could feel him hardening underneath her and locked her hands behind his neck, in a desperate need to hold him ever so close to her.

His strong arms lifted her up and carried her towards the small writing desk in her room. Her fingers feverishly unbuttoned his shirt and she slid her hands under the soft fabric to his back, her nails scraping lightly over his skin and making him shudder and groan into her mouth.

When their lips parted Charlotte could hear him breathing heavily in her ear before he kissed her cheek, then nibbled her earlobe and sat course down her throat towards her neckline. Her head lulled back and a whimper escaped her lips, much to his pleasure…

His fingertips wasted no time and tenderly pushed the thin straps of the camisole off of her delicate shoulders, his lips following suit, leaving a trail of adoring kisses as he sat out to explore every inch of her.

He was undoubtedly not aware of this, but the trail his fingertips left on her set her ablaze. Emotions she had held locked down for a long time came surging back to the surface in full force. Charlotte gasped slightly, her hands desperate to feel him and touch him, stroke him. Meanwhile his hands had deftly rid her off her silky shorts.  

“Please,” she whimpered. Her cheeks were flushed, her mind incoherent, she didn’t even know what she begging for. All she knew was that she wanted, no, she needed him. All of him.

“Patience, darling,” Tom spoke under a slight chuckle as he moved back up so their faces were level, “I want to take care of you first.”

He kissed her deeply, hungrily as his fingers roamed further down where they gently teased and pressed her bundle of nerves with his thumb, leaving his soft fingers to tease and tempt her into oblivion.

Her mouth fell open, her back arched while her feet sought support onto his hips. Her wanton moans grew louder until she didn’t recognise her own voice, swallowed eagerly by Tom’s open mouth. She was close, so close, … and it had been so long, far too long…

“Please,” she moaned against his skin, ready to beg him not to stop. Ever.

But his touches did ebb away, agonizingly slow, until her mind finally processed the phone on her nightstand had started ringing.

What on earth? It took Charlotte a fair moment to realise there was no Tom in her room, there had been no confession nor a kiss. Her heart however wàs beating insanely hard in her throat as she came to her senses - quite aroused and mortified at the same time.

Groggily she grabbed the phone on the nightstand, only to hear a very polite and professional hotel employee greet her with a jovial “Good morning miss Daniël. This is your 6.30 am wake up call. Would you like a follow up call in 10 minutes?”

Charlotte kindly thanked the friendly woman but refused the follow-up, instead making a beeline to the shower. While her mind advised her to take a cold, very cold shower to rinse away that sudden excitement and kick start her day, her heart wouldn’t let her.

With eyes closed, she attempted breathing the images away. Yet under the warm rain shower her hand dwelled down south, craving to meet the arousal fictional Tom had left her with headfirst and take it home. After all it had been so long, so very long. Charlotte had doubted whether or not she still had it in her. Apparently and very very clearly she still did. It didn’t take her long to finish what had been unexpectedly started in her dreamlike state earlier. A quivering mess now, she rested the back of her head against the smooth tiles, heavily panting while muttering she had issues.

Oh silly girl, be happy, her heart jabbed back, I told you you were still alive inside.

3. Later that afternoon, Tom cheerfully greeted his mother with a doting kiss on her cheek. Bobby wagged his tail merrily as he set sights on one of his favourite humans; he knèw he was in for an afternoon of loving pats, cooing words and delicious treats. His paws pitter-pattered through the house the second Tom had released him from his leash. Bobby felt well at home here and it was heartwarming to see.

“It’s so nice to see you this often, dear,” the woman smiled before tightly hugging her tall son. Was he growing still or was she shrinking?

“But you do look awfully tired,” she slanted her head as she voiced her concern, which he simply met with a cheeky smile, “you worry too much, mum.”

Now that might be true, but she wouldn’t be a proper mother if she didn’t. Are you sleeping? Are you eating? Are you winding down enough? Diana did thoroughly enjoy having her son back home and closer to her again, but she did have her apprehensions on the toll the busy life was taking on both her son’s biorhythm and his health.

She gladly linked her arm in his as they walked into the living room of his childhood home where he would soon be snooping through the magazines on the coffee table, searching for new books on the shelves and sinking into deep thought at the sight of the latest family snapshots on the dresser while his mother made tea.

“I need a new one with you as well,” Tom’s mother confessed as she caught him gazing at a framed picture of herself and his two sisters each with their own little family. It was taken somewhere over the holidays; that part was very clear. Alas Tom had been caught up in an unfortunate and quite demanding press tour…

Tom sighed and nodded his head in agreement, “we should all get together sometime soon.”

His lips curved into a smile as he accepted the cup of tea his mother had made him, but she could tell the smile didn’t quite reach all the way up to his eyes.

“Now tell me, love, what is new with you? Are you getting settled in back home yet?”

Tom was many things, but his mother was particularly proud of the fact she had raised her son to be truthful. So when he blamed his tired outlook on Benedict’s birthday party, her ever-worried mother heart was instantly eased because he might look tired, but it was for a good reason. He was getting out and enjoying himself. At least that’s what she hoped.

The boy will never be alone, she thought, but he does get lonely… That is what haunted her the most. Every time he came back home after yet another project her son seemed progressively more exhausted, saggy and drained from all energy. It took him longer to find his joy of life back, as if he needed to remember where he had put it last.

As the afternoon progressed, their conversation moved into the kitchen where Tom started clearing the mail and newspapers from the countertop so they could start dinner preparations, when suddenly his eyes fell onto an article.

“Would you look at that,” he murmured while he stroking the creases out of the paper.  

“What is it, love? You’re smiling. Is it a good review?”

“I know her,” it took him a moment for the words to sink in, “this woman.” He lifted his chin to the newspaper.”

“Who?” His mother furrowed her brows as she peered over her son’s arm. “Her? How is that, dear?”

“That is the lovely Charlotte,” he chuckled and provided his mother with the need to know basis. His eyes still glued to the editorial in front of him, he failed to detect his mother raising an inquisitive brow.

He read out some excerpts of the article to his mother, while his mind quickly drifted back to Charlotte. Lovely Charlotte. Lovely, intelligent and elegant Charlotte. Who was probably well on her way home by now. That part he left out of the conversation with his mother.

Tom had truly enjoyed spending more time with Charlotte. And in all fairness, when he adjusted her shawl last night it took him quite some willpower not to lean in and kiss her again. Just like earlier this month. But sober this time.

Thankfully he did not. What would have been the point? It was clear Charlotte was firmly set on a path of a great professional undertaking. One just needed to read this article to realise she simply breathed out fresh and new possibilities. It was no wonder her diary easily got filled in with dozens of conventions, and now the press fell to her feet as well.

Besides, what if he had made his advances; she would probably laugh it away. Didn’t she already do that earlier this month? Surely, she would want something more than just a mere actor to claim her heart. Perhaps someone was already waiting for her at home…

His mother nodded in appreciation as she heard her son recite quite some words of praise at Charlotte’s address. And with delight she detected his eyes sparkling as he read on.

“I imagine she’ll be thrilled reading this,” Tom’s mother concluded.

“Oh yes, right!” he nodded and, as if a light bulb was switched on, pulled out his smartphone. He snapped a picture of the article and proceeded to send it. To Charlotte.

Diane glanced at her son, typing away on his smartphone while she shook her head under a motherly smile. My sweet boy, lonely and alone, but always busy…

While Tom typed, he made a mental note to thank Sophie. Last night, when she suggested Tom - being the globetrotter that he was – should offer the sightseeing-advice he was offering Charlotte in writing, he unreservedly chimed in and agreed. However he did not expect Sophie asking Charlotte’s cell-phone to add his number in it. Tom had laughed the occasion away, claiming to Benedict his wife was ‘cutting his balls off’. But now, in retrospect, he wàs thankful Sophie was attentive enough to secure information he might have been wanting to get himself.  

Dear Charlotte, it seems your passage here did not go unnoticed. I thought you might appreciate this raving (!) editorial – Tom PS. I hope you got home safe.

There. Good. And in truth, it was the perfect excuse to get back in touch with her. He felt uncomfortable about the way they had said their goodbyes. Maybe this would prove there was no love lost on this end.

His mood lifted, he scuffed Bobby’s head and suggested letting him out in the garden before making himself helpful with his mother in the kitchen. Just like the old days…

His smartphone buzzed on his way to the garden.

Oh my! Thank you for this, Tom! It made my day! (Silly though, isn’t it?) And yes, safely home. Home, sweet sweet home. – Charlotte PS. Thank you for London.

The Convention didn’t take up much of her time for a change. Charlotte gladly took the opportunity to stop by the floating flower market for some fresh flowers, and browse through one of her favourite flea markets where she picked up a few books before boarding the intercity train home later that afternoon.

With her new acquisitions all packed up, Charlotte strolled down to the Central Station. Upon entering the building, that felt more like the ‘arrivals and departures’- scene at any given airport, she walked passed some colourful shops. She hopped in one to get herself a refreshing drink for the ride home and upon queueing at the cash register, her eyes scanned over the headlines of the international press that was presented there. One specific title in big bold letters called out to her. A tabloid read out in bold red print : ‘Tom Hiddleston spotted with mystery woman’.

Charlotte laughed a little louder than planned as she detected the picture showcased in fact his publicist’s intern. She shook her head in amusement; was this the man she was currently sending touristy pictures to? Felt a bit silly really…

Charlotte couldn’t deny that over the start of the summer her life had somehow taken an unexpected and bizarre turn. While her professional life had continued to overshadow her private life, she did seem to have found a somewhat manageable and unique balance between the two.

In the sense that she would combine her professional obligations at conferences abroad with some extra me-time. She would try to extend her stay as far as time or reason allowed, so she could go and explore the cities and come to herself before starting all over again somewhere else.

In her head her plan seemed picture perfect, in reality she came to realise she really ought to prepare these kinds of visits just a little bit more. Tom’s tips came in more than handy here… She caught her lips curving into a smile.

Stop it! Silly girl...

Up until now Charlotte had managed to keep her head on straight, regardless of her hectic schedule. She was tired but ambitious, worn-out at times but always remained curious and anxious for what came next. And then came London... the visit that shook her up a bit. It felt as if the carpet had suddenly been pulled out from under her feet. Metaphorically she’d stumbled at first, taken quite the fall nevertheless but then got up again, feeling quite unsure and apprehensive. It had been a dizzying 72 hours, but equally exhilarating nonetheless.

Granted, the subsequent sexual encounter might have been quite imaginary, it dìd prove to Charlotte she was still alive inside. It reminded her of her youth, her possibilities and – let’s be honest - her needs. And upon returning home Charlotte had deemed herself finally ready to gently ease herself back into the dating game, much to her best friend Elisabeth’s joy. The ‘Lizzie’ to her ‘Charlie’. Ever understanding, ever supportive, but ever impatient as well. So before Charlotte was good and well aware ‘Lizzie’ had her all set up for a blind date later that night.

Charlotte did her best not to take any offence in Lizzie’s sudden matchmaking extravaganza - lord knows how long she’d been pushing the matter - but decided to ‘just go with it’.

Charlotte switched her phone into flight mode as she boarded the train. She had a thing with flight mode. The thrill of being able to cut out all outside intrusions was one she often indulged in. And right now she had opted to treat herself to some lounge music while reading. With two hours to kill, it seems the perfect getaway from reality.

She settled in her seat, earphones plugged in, loungy music on and one of her new acquirements resting in her hands. She admired the mysterious cover for a while. It was a book Tom had highly recommended to her. Intrigued, she curiously delved in.

WIthin no less than a dozen pages, to her greatest surprise, the words struck home to both Charlotte and her wounded heart.

“Even though I complain sometimes it (his heart) said, it’s because I am the heart of a person, and people’s hearts are that way. People are afraid to pursue their most important dreams because they feel they don’t deserve them, or that they won’t be able to achieve them.

Many years ago Charlotte had lost her heart to a man. Well, a boy still when they’d first met. And she’d treasured him just as much as he had treasured her. They had gone through so much together; they left the university-benches together and dived headfirst into their professional lives. And while they took their time to search where their respective professional futures lay, they wasted no time on their personal future and got married. She’d truly followed her heart.

Fairly soon he was on his road to success, while Charlotte struggled. They bought a flat with a breath-taking view over the park but by then the marriage was already in heavy weather...

Charlotte’s stomach turned into a knot as the narrative in the book went on.

"We, their hearts, become fearful just thinking of loved ones who go away, or of moments that could have been good, but weren’t, or treasures that might have been found but were forever hidden in the sands. Because when these things happen we suffer terribly.”

You see; back then, in her professional life Charlotte had only faced glass ceilings and struggled with the balance between professional and private life. A struggle her husband had failed to see or recognize.

Evidently work demanded they would started moving in different circles, networking, meeting new people, investing. He had to put in crazy hours, there was no energy left for other struggles. And Charlotte definitely felt like a struggle he wanted to do without. Or one he could do without.

It astounded her really. After all, they had overcome so much together; she always thought their relationship had a solid foundation that could resist any type of storm. But somehow, in this phase of their lives, she felt as if their marriage was built on nothing more than a children’s floaty. Whimsical, terrifyingly unpredictable. To make matters worse, in his opinion there was only room for one career in a marriage. Charlotte begged to differ but for the sake of her marriage she gave up trying to pursue more , thinking it would make her happier and by result him as well. Only it didn’t.

She wasn’t suffering though, not anymore , Charlotte thought. With pain in her heart, she had to accept the crumbling of their relationship, their understanding and ultimately their love. She had fought and sacrificed, alas it takes two to tango and their paths lay so far apart now. Closing the door on her marriage, she closed off the door to love in general. Although the divorce was ultimately somehow a mutual decision; that didn’t mean it hurt any less. He had been a part of her past and present, but sadly no longer held her future and that insight hurt. Those who say infidelity hurts the most, meet ‘indifference’; the very close runner up!

"My heart is afraid it will have to suffer,” said the boy.

“Tell your heart that the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself. And that no heart has ever suffered when it goes in search of its dreams because every second of the search is an encounter with God….”

Charlotte had turned her focus now solely on her professional life where all of a sudden – to her a delight - a glass ceiling started showing subtle cracks. She grasped the opportunity with both hands, diving into work and research at full speed, ignoring all else.

Her wings had been clipped in the past, she felt she owed it to herself to open them up now and fly. Far, far away. And she dreaded the day (or the person) who would even try to confine her again.

It caused her an occasional lecture from her best friend Lizzie, but was it clear to outsiders as well that she had closed herself off like this? Or was Tom’s recommendation of this particular book just a happy – albeit freakishly strange - coincidence?

Cracking open the door to my heart wasn’t enough; must you take down the entire façade as well?

Realising the answer to this question was irrelevant she immediately engrossed herself further in the book. Charlotte felt tears stinging as the chapter went on. Before she knew it, she was halfway along the book when the train halted at her destination. She left the train with a heavy heart, an emotional wound but a regained insight. She shook her head and tucked her new favourite book in her purse.

2. It had to be said : Charlotte was pleasantly surprised that she was greeted with a very charming man that evening.

Well done Lizzie!

He was tall and dressed to the nines, with dark hair, piercing green eyes and a handsome smile to match. She had an inkling he knèw he had charm, but she was not yet sure if he played that card.

He turned out to be both charismatic and intelligent. Charlotte had to fight her inner cynic who immediately wanted to find out what was ‘wrong’ with him in order for him to be single, temporarily forgetting he might as well have the same reservations towards her.

They shared appetizers while talking about the current heat wave, the local news, bits and bobs. It was mildly entertaining, at least as far as anxious blind dates can go. It would seem a lovely dinner would ensue.

The man was athletic, which made him easy on the eye however not on the mind. It started when dinner was ordered and gluten was off limits. “Not allergic,” he elaborated, “but bad for my physique.” Charlotte however gladly indulged in a homemade Sicilian pasta stew. It wasn’t meant as a rebellious act, she was simply a not-so-secret foodie.

We’re on the fence here, ladies and gentlemen, but let us not jump to conclusions…

When the topic of interest came up, it was clear they could not have been more divers and while in her mind that thrilled her, she found he held no remote interest in her hobbies. In fact; he was quite opinionated. She may have been as well, but isn’t there some sort of grey zone? Or the illusion of politeness for starters?

Strike 1.

He considered art as overrated and too pricey. While Charlotte could agree on the financial matter, but ‘overrated’? Seriously? He considered literature old and stuffy, and commented along the lines of “honestly who reads these days.”

Strike 2.

Also, he left his smartphone on the table during the entire dinner and wasn’t too shy to check it at times. Hel-lo?

Strike 3.

Charlotte had learned long ago to be honest about her desires and so by the end of dinner, after the coffee and the dessert, when he suggested drinks at a wine & lounge bar, she politely refused. She was knackered and the foresight of spending more time going through pointless conversation frustrated her.

She kindly bid her farewell and at his attempt to a ‘let’s do this again maybe’ Charlotte carefully added she did not see any point in that. Kind as he might have been. She was met with a surprised reaction. Apparently he did not expect an answer as honest as this, even though he did feel the same.

Was it not ok to just step forward and say things like this, then?

Clearly he wasn’t a feminist either. Or was she just high maintenance?

You’re out!

On her walk home, Charlotte unmuted her smartphone. At least shé had the common sense to zone out outside distractions during her date. As expected Lizzie had already dropped several lines to her. And Charlotte was about to – and very gingerly so – elaborate on the horror-date, “ 3 hours down the drain, did I rush home for this ?” when she made another, more pleasant, discovery.

Tom had replied to her Amsterdam snapshots. It instantly lifted her mood to read her pictures had brought ‘joy to his heart’ before going on to share an equally amusing as eloquent anecdote on his day. Clearly a man who reads , the devil on her shoulder fired back to her long-gone date.

3.

After London, Charlotte had adjusted his name on her contact list to the more fitting ‘Instigator Tom’. She grinned as they exchanged some messages back and forth. As it appeared Charlotte wasn’t the only one who had suffered a lousy end to a promising evening; Tom had gone through a crappy day as well. In an attempt to lighten the mood, she carefully informed him :

                           I started reading ‘The Alchemist’<<

>>And? Your thoughts so far?

          There was this quote that I cannot shake…<<   ”You will never be able to escape from your heart.<<           So it's better to listen to what it has to say”<<                                       So tonight, I listened to it.<<

Tom’s lips curved into a smile while he tapped on his phone that that was undoubtedly a very wise decision on her behalf. Although he did sympathise for her date gone wrong. He chuckled out loud when Charlotte swiftly countered with a “you should be, it’s all your fault really - recommending that book and all…” And he gladly and sincerely apologized to her.

To his surprise her date turned out to be a blind date, and before he was well aware he had sent out :

>> So, it was a ‘blind’ date? Forgive me for saying, but you don’t strike me as the type who would need a set-up?

                                     I’ll take the compliment ;-) <<

So Charlotte had went on a date, a blind one at that. While Tom wanted to think 'good for her', his mind fixated on 'single'. Truly, he wanted nothing more than to bond with her on the difficulties of dating but found himself lacking for any decent answer in that department because he simply did not date. Not anymore.

Long gone were the days were he would (or could) just go out and strike up a conversation with a woman and see where it went. He wasn’t around long enough to let anything flourish, let alone bloom. Not at all. When he wasn’t working, his days or evenings were filled with press tours, interviews, premiers, gala's. Maybe an occasional party. But the essence of it all was always exactly the same. Someone would pull on his sleeve, demanding him to ' come and meet someone' . Someone in his line of work, someone up and coming, someone he should definitely rub shoulders with. Meet so and so. Talk, discuss, network. At times it really wàs lovely and interesting. But the horrible truth of the matter remained that Tom was living by his work schedule and not by his heart. A very conscious decision he’d made many years ago, that had somehow turned into a grueling reality these days.

So he replied to Charlotte in the only way he could, by truthfully confiding in her and sharing the loneliness of the ‘picture perfect actors’ behind the spotlights.

Thank you for saying that. However, I find this very doubtful… <<

>> It is the truth though, I’m afraid.

He hesitated for a moment, before daring to question her :

>> You’ve not been dating long?

              No. Just easing into it again. (Peer pressure)<<                                                        It’s been a while…<<

Tom unknowingly bit his lower lip, subsequently running his tongue over it while he wondered how he could diplomatically find out more without seeming crass or rude. Did she suffer from a bad break-up? To his surprise she very easily and clearly admitted that the only thing she ‘suffered from’ was a lonely divorce.

A divorce?

Charlotte chuckled and shook her head when Tom apologized via text - as if he had anything to do with her marital status… A short text of his followed asking her what had happened and then a third one; another apology because he reasoned his asking was ‘probably rather indiscrete’.

She was unaware that a heavy sigh escaped her lips as she delved deep into her thoughts before typing out:

                         That’s all right. I guess ‘life’ happened?<<                                                   Feels like failure though.<<

Or the death slot on the goose board. Back to square one.<<

                                           (can’t believe I just said that)<<

         Goes to show, I’m damaged goods. Steer clear ;-)<<

Her answer came out in a series of separate texts. The obvious proof her mind was still processing somewhat. Tom’s benevolent reply that she shouldn’t be too hard on herself, warmed her heard. After all, he reasoned “Sometimes it’s nice to start over? Or heal.”

                                                                  So they say… <<

Dot. End of the line.

Charlotte kept silent after this. Nothing more was to be said on the matter, was there? In London, Tom thought long and hard about a decent reply… In his heart he felt he could not end this conversation on those last words of her.

>> If memory serves me well, the book also says : “Don't give in to your fears. If you do, you won't be able to talk to your heart.”

Charlotte smiled to herself as a text followed in which he reasoned “we’re not meant nor made to be alone” and that her peer pressuring friends are right in pushing her forward after nearly a year on the bench. “Someone to talk to late at night, Someone to cuddle, … not to be underestimated!”

He shook his head to himself when he caught himself typing that the end of a marriage isn’t the be all - end all. And while he fervently dreamed he would never have to experience a divorce first-hand, sometimes it was simply the right thing to do. If only you handled it well. In which case he referred to his parents and the toll it could possibly take on the young children involved. But Charlotte had no children, she was young enough to start over. And there is no harm in that.

Now this is some very cheap therapy , a mirthless grin at his own expense.

>> Not all storms come to disrupt your life, Charlotte, some come to clear your path.

A pause.

>> Besides, there’s always the prison-slot. Just a time-out until someone sets you free.

                                                       … isn’t that a Sting song?<<

>> Avoiding the point Charlotte..

                                                                                            :-) <<          Thank you for recommending the book to me though.. <<

>> I hold it close to my heart. I had a feeling you might appreciate it as well.

Charlotte heaved a content sigh and confessed that, indeed, all she wanted to to was to get home and finish the book. To her surprise he correctly guessed she would and should just do that in her garden. Good memory, young man. Bonus points for you.

She agreed with him and shared her intent of making a fresh mint tea first. Because when you read in the garden at night, this was the only way to do it right. He chuckled to himself and confessed how much he could relate to that.

Their conversation ended with wishing the other a good night and the promise of more book recommendations.