Finding Remo

Rosaline Emma Johnson is confused about her love life wants to leave home and return to her younger years to relive the thrill of love once again.
Only one problem. she is a married woman at the age of 30 (next month), with a five-year-old daughter, living under a high status family name. How could she be free without endangering everything she cares about?
The following week, at her seventh wedding anniversary party, she announces "Honey, I'm leaving."
Will she find what her heart truly seeks? What will become of her broken family after her sudden shift?


3. Uncertain

I've managed to throw away seven years of marriage, abandon my child, ruin the relationship with my mother and create a bit of a reputation. What was I thinking? I had my reasons, yet why did they seem so lame now? Rory must have filed a divorce by now, so what was going to be our reason for seperation? Lack of love? Lack of sexual intimacy? No, none of those would fit because they were all present. The only reason was, I wasn't happy.

'Pull yourself together woman,' I shook myself, 'It's too late to be dwelling on that. You wanted freedom and there you have it. What next?'

Choking down images of Rory, Anna and mom, I watched the streets of London fly through the tiny window beside me. Every doorstep promised freedom, a fresh start. I could live my life again, a job, a steady income, a carefree life. The prospect seemed exciting, but it still remained a dream.

The cab pulled up against a high block of flats, all lit up like a Christmas tree. I managed to find some change, saving the more expensive notes for later, reminding myself I no longer had a husband to pay for my needs. I admired the stillness, the unchanged building for a good few minutes while my ride rode off. Then, I lifted up my luggage and marched towards the entrance. A grey intercom stood near the locked door, I punched the number of the flat : 34, and hit the call button. I prayed hard, hoping that she hadn't left this place, after all, I haven't contacted her for a while. The device coughed into life and I could hear a ringing noise. Moments later, a lady 's voice called out, "Hello?"

"Stacey!" Her voice still sounded the same, years later. I couldn't resist the flood of joy that filled me, making me sound and feel like a giddy college girl.

"Remo? ..Is that you?" came a reply laced in confusion.

Giggles erupted from my lips, I couldn't believe it. She recognised me; after all these years of solitude, I've found my friend. My response must have confirmed my identity as I heard gasps and squealing.

"Hold on a sec" she panted. Then the empty buzz of of the intercom as cut our call. I stared into the dark night, smiling at my luck. Maybe she'll forgive me, and offer me a room for the night. Or insist that I stay until I find a source of income. Perhaps she'll help me find a job too. I sighed, I couldn't allow myself to be that selfish and pin all my hopes for the future on her. She might not even want to speak to me for longer than ten minutes after our break-up. All my optimistic feelings spiralled down as I remembered our last meeting. It hadn't gone too well, obviously, and I had no-one to blame for it apart from myself. And Rory.

The glass door clicked open behind me and a shadow came into view. I felt myself shiver slightly, suddenly the anxiety squeezed me, 'no,' I affirmed my previous thoughts, 'no, I will not ask for any favours. I just want to apologise.' She stood still for a moment, then emerged from the shadows and flung herself at me, yanking me into a tight hug.

"I missed you," she blurted out, her voice pitched higher than I remember, ragged, from which I took she was half crying.

"Me too, I'm so sorry Tace," I sobbed, hugging her back.

We stayed like that, minutes that felt like seconds; our past leaking away with our tears. Being near her, I felt stronger; like the old me. Weak too, as though I wanted to pour out everything to her to make everything automatically ok.

Stacey was the first to pull away but her arms remained firmly perched on my shoulders as though to prevent me from running away. I caught a better glance at her in the faint light. Her frizzy brown hair was messily tied into a ponytail giving a better view of her face. I'd always envied her pale, smooth skin that radiated so much light, and her brown eyes looked almost black in the dim lighting. The high, angular cheekbones and her slim body structure told me she had succeeded in losing weight. As I'd been busy examining her, she too had been drinking in my features. I wonder what the years have done to me.

"So, are you gonna come in? Do you want to stay overnight?" She gave my suitcase a meaningful look. I held my silence.

"Are you okay?" Her concern threatened to trigger another release of tears. I bit my lip and shook my head.

"I knew something was up. Where's Rory?" I gulped, averting my eyes to the gravelled footpath.

"What?" she demanded suspiciously.

I raised my empty left hand and waved.

"No way!" she gasped. I was torn between the strong urge to both laugh and cry.

I watched the emotions conflicting on her face: pride, confusion, sadness, joy, surprise. Sympathy won.

"Aww, honey, come in," she reasoned, grabbing my bag, leading me in by the hand. That was accomodation sorted, I smiled to myself.

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