Free Uptown Girl by Holly Kinsella

the cheek. His light stubble made her face – and heart – tingle. He breathed in her perfume, as if wishing to store up and recall the sensation one day. He pulled away but their eyes met, bright with wine and something far more intoxicating than Emma’s fragrance. They had met as friends at the beginning of the night, but she wanted them to part as more than that. She clasped his rough hand more firmly, lacing her fingers in his, and pulled him towards her. She wanted him. Needed him. They kissed – and not on the cheek. William cradled her body with strength and tenderness. His kiss married passion with tenderness too. She sighed. Maybe he did as well. Her chest was pressed against his, their breathing and hearts attuned to one another.
    Just as they were about to lose – or find – themselves however William pulled away. Sadness, rather than rapture, glazed his expression.
    “I’m sorry, I can’t. I don’t want to lie to you Emma. I’m still in love with my wife. I’m not sure I can give you what you want. It’s not you. God no, it’s not you. You were the last person I thought about last night and the first person I thought about when I woke. But I’m a mechanic, who needs fixing. I’m sorry. Maybe it’s best if we don’t see each other. I should go.”
    The young widower hung his head in shame, or misery. His face was scrunched up in pain. He turned and walked away with a heavy heart and leaden steps.
    There was a mellow sorrow in his voice and features that would have moved the hardest of hearts. Tears swelled in Emma’s pretty eyes. Sadness, rather than anger or frustration, also swelled in her breast. Words – and her heart – were stuck in her throat. She remained in the doorway, hopeful that she would see him turn around. It would be a sign, like a scene in the movies. She willed him to. But his forlorn figure continued to be swallowed up by the night.
    Emma finally closed the door. She slumped to the floor like a ragdoll, buried her head in her hands and cried most of her heart out (as she had done when her mother had passed away). She could understand why he wanted to end things, before they began. She strangely envied his wife. Yet she liked her too – for having made him happy for a time. Emma told herself that she was still glad to have met him – that they had a bit of time together. Without William she may not have seen how empty her life and relationships had been. Without him she may not want to give herself a second chance and become a teacher. But it all hurt so much. She sobbed and her entire body, being, convulsed. Emma philosophically told herself that the would-be teacher was being taught a lesson, that not all love stories have a happy ending.

 
    17.
     
    Some of the tears commenced to dry upon her cheeks but her eyes were still moist. Emma still could not find a will, or reason, to get up from the floor however.
    “Do you like him then?” Robert Hastings stood in his dressing gown upon the stairs, his expression and tone full of paternal thoughtfulness.
    “No. I think I love him,” Emma replied, raising her head.
    “I thought that might happen. You’re not the only one who can play matchmaker Emma. He’s a good man. He’s not a rich man though. Too often nowadays girls equate the one with the other. You used to be like that. But you’re not now.”
    “He’s different, special. He makes me laugh, like you used to make Mum laugh. When I first met him there was no way that I could have thought that he would have ever been good enough for me. But now I’m not sure that I am good enough for him.”
    “Why don’t you give him the chance to be the judge of that? He likes you.”
    “You think so?”
    “I know so. I also know something else.”
    “What?”
    “I know that it’s not all that easy to get a cab around here this time of night.”
     
    Birdsong laced the air. The moon slipped out from behind a cluster of grey clouds. Turnham Green shimmered, turning from