February 13th. Another rainy day in Dublin.
Gift shops were filled with young lovers, searching for the perfect gift for their valentine.
Frances was an exception. Alone, she could be quickly spotted in the crowd. Her wrinkles, her grey hair, and her old-fashioned clothes gave her away, always. She was not picking a gift for her husband. In fact, they were no longer in love, but they decided to stay under the same roof for the rest of their life, just for convenience’s sake. She was picking a gift for Nora, her co-worker. Finally retired after 40 years of work, she would be holding a retirement party, and what a coincidence, just before Valentine’s.
She chose a Beatles record eventually. After all, who wouldn’t like the Beatles?
Nora’s was packed. Frances thought there would be lots of shared acquaintances, but she knew none. Her old friends perhaps, she thought. The party itself was no fun, only with a bunch of old bones shooting the bull, laughing. But luckily, there was music; in fact, it was her very gift.
When I get old and losing my hair ~
Many years from now ~
…
Ah, the music. It brought her back to the old days, when she was young and beautiful and dating. How come those boys of old came into her mind, she wondered.
Right, it was this particular date, she thought.
They had an early dinner, and it was then at the dinner table that Frances noticed him. Their eyes met for a second, but she quickly looked down to avoid his. It couldn’t be him, she thought, but the resemblance was uncanny, except for his thinning hair.
The guests toasted Nora, gave speeches, played games and cut cake, but Frances paid little attention. She was thinking about him. Carefully, she glanced at him again, and again, and again.
She kept thinking about that lad as the party preceded, though lad no more. That was 42 years ago.
“Frances Bell?” A familiar, yet hoarser voice called suddenly.
Frances turned. It was him.
“Chamberlain. Frances Chamberlain.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Chamberlain,” his voice faded.
Her mouth quirked up a bit. She shook her head slightly.
“Finn Gosling.”
“You remember me?” He said calmly in a flat tone with some surprise hidden.
“I know your eyes.”
Silence.
She looked into his eyes. His milky blue irises, shining. How could she forget those eyes?
“So, how’s life?” Frances finally broke the silence.
He shrugged. “Yours?”
“Normal, I guess.”
“Kids?”
“Yeah, two. One graduating from the Trinity and the other working as a comedian.”
“Lovely,” Finn nodded.
“Your kids?”
“I’ve got none. I was never married.”
“Why?” Frances asked naturally, but she regretted it immediately. It was too offensive.
“I lacked the courage to speak up when it mattered most, perhaps.”
Silence. Frances opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but lost the words. She started trembling. Her heart beat fast, and her eyes got watery, and a lonely tear, unconsciously, fell down her cheek.
Silence. Only the record player sang.
When I get old and losing my hair ~
Many years from now ~
Will you still be sending me the valentine ~
…