On extended summer breaks, Anna and Paul find themselves in for some surprises when they meet in a coffee shop.

As Anna approached the glass door she caught a glimpse of her reflection. Automatically she paused and checked it out. Despite the fresh breeze her hair was still up in its chignon and her skirt was still below her knees. She smiled to herself. Up until three years ago her reflection had always caused her to frown, there had been nothing she had liked about it, but the past three years had made so much difference.

Inside the coffee shop the barista gave her a friendly smile. They weren’t on first name terms, but Anna had been coming here every other morning for the past month and they knew each other well enough. Although the shop was busy there was no queue so she smiled and ordered her usual latte and considered the cakes and pastries behind the glass counter. The barista’s hand hovered by the croissant plate and Anna realised that her ordering had become predictable. She smiled to herself and ordered the panettone for a change.

As the barista busied herself with her order Anna turned around to look for a seat. Her favourite armchair, in the front corner of the store that commanded the window and a view over the town centre, was occupied. Being a little late this Sunday morning, she hadn’t really expected it to be free. What was unexpected, though, was that there wasn’t a single unoccupied table. She would have to share with someone. This was easier said than done. She had always been a fairly shy and solitary person and living alone, with only a cat for company, hadn’t made her any more outgoing. She scanned the tables looking for a sign that would tell her who she might share with and realised that her favourite window table was the best bet. The man who occupied the other seat was about her age and appeared to be concentrating deeply on the screen of a laptop. There was very little chance he would speak to her.

Gathering up her coffee she approached the table. He didn’t look up, another good sign. She coughed, delicately, to gain his attention, then gestured to the other seat.
“Is there anyone sitting here?”
“Help yourself,” he smiled. It was rather a nice smile, warm and without reserve. It was quite brief though and his attention went quickly back to his screen. Absurdly pleased, Anna put her mug down on the table and settled herself comfortably in her armchair. She had a good view of the Sunday morning shoppers scurrying around in the wind. She drew a slim book of poetry out of her handbag and prepared herself for the pleasure the words would give her.

She had hardly made a start when her panettone arrived. She put the book down. The breakfast and the poetry, each was a separate pleasure, neither was enhanced by being taken together and the hot toasted fruity bread needed to be experienced at once. She applied herself to the butter and took the first bite, her attention shifted to her view of the town centre outside the window. The sky had suddenly and dramatically darkened, shoppers dashing for shelter as a summer shower began to cross the square; the cathedral doors opening to admit a late worshipper. Rain rapidly pooled in dips in the pavement, running in a stream down the gutter beyond, bouncing off the outside tables, causing the few smokers braving the day to rush inside; splattering against the shop windows. Inside the shop, the warmth of her coffee and the rich unctuous texture of her breakfast made Anna feel safe, protected from the elements. All that was missing she reflected, was a log fire. It was a romantic notion but her internal realist was already telling her that splitting the logs and lighting it wouldn’t have been worth the effort.

As she reached down for the second piece of her panettone she was aware of a pair of eyes smiling at her. She looked up, a little startled and saw that her neighbour was looking at her with an amused expression. She automatically smiled across at him, silently cursing herself for allowing him to break the spell.
“I think we’re better off in here,” he said. “All we need is a log fire and we’d be set up for the day.”
“A log fire?”Anna asked, her morsel stranded halfway to her mouth as she struggled to keep her composure. Could he read her mind?
“Mmmmm. I’ve always thought a roaring real fire to be a comfort when the weather turns nasty. It can be inconvenient though, can’t it? You can’t just turn it off like the central heating and it is going to be warm and sunny again later, when this storm passes.”
Anna smiled back at him, unwilling to encourage him and break the routine of her day, but at the same time unable to be offended and reluctantly charmed by him.
“Sorry,” he said, “I’m keeping you from your reading and your breakfast. I’ll leave you to it.”
He transferred his attention back to his screen and Anna felt a strange mixture of relief and disappointment. Better not to go there. In her experience people who made the effort to get know her were either too fascinated by her past or completely unable to deal with it. She fell back on her old tactics and protected herself by shutting him out. She picked up her book again, not to read yet, but to hide behind it.

Five minutes later she gave up trying to read. The words were passing her eyes but quite failing to register in her brain. Her Sunday morning was, in theory, ruined. She didn’t feel that though. She glanced at her neighbour again over the top of the book. She quickly formed a strong impression. He was about her age, casually dressed in a shirt and jeans, but not cheap ones. They were clean and possibly even ironed. His dark hair was well cut and just tousled enough, neither uncared for nor over styled into bedhead hair. It was receding, just a little, and touched with grey at the temples. He seemed to be intelligent from their brief conversation and she was sure she had read it in his eyes, but he was puzzled by whatever he was doing with the laptop. He lifted his head and suddenly, before she could break it, they had eye contact again. He smiled and snapped the lid shut.

“Can you do HTML programming?”
“Programming?!” Anna nearly choked on her coffee. “What on earth made you ask that?”
“Frustration, I think. Would it insult you if I thought you looked like someone who would know about it?”
“No, I just didn’t think I look like one.”
“You don’t. I’m sorry if I’ve offended you. Can I buy you another coffee to make up for it?”
“Well, I usually only have one...” Anna wasn’t sure whether she was being made game of.
“If you’ll have a coffee with me I’ll explain why I asked. You don’t even have to drink it. You can finish your poem while I’m getting it, and if you don’t really want to talk to me you’ll have a chance to make a getaway while I’m at the counter.” He smiled that warm smile again and Anna knew she’d stay.
“I’ll have a latte, please. Better make it skinny this time.”
She tucked her book into her handbag. It would give her the opportunity to make a quick escape if she needed to. He seemed quite nice though, the warmth of his smile was backed by something in his voice that made her feel quite warm inside. She was fairly certain it would all end in disaster but she had taken so many risks this past three years that another one was easily encompassed.

Outside the window the weather had cleared a little. It was clearly still windy, but the rain had moved on and bright sunlight was warming the puddles. As she watched the cathedral doors opened on the opposite side of the square and the congregation began to spill out; restive children accelerating onto the open flags, harassed parents in chase; the majority coalescing into small groups which merged and dissolved as the worshippers made their way slowly across the precinct to the buttery for refreshments.

She was watching the antics of a particularly active pair of boys for whom the service had clearly gone on too long when an arm entered her field of view with a coffee mug on the end of it. She looked up her companion sat down.
“Good, you’re still here.” He smiled. “We haven’t exchanged names yet. We can’t drink coffee without names. I’m Paul.” He stretched his arm across the table.
“Anna.” She favoured him with a smile of her own. “And you owe me an explanation.” She added to prevent him from asking her questions.
“Ah, yes. The programming. I don’t have a clue about it. I was looking at my friend’s website and it all stopped working. I don’t know if it’s something I’ve done and I’m something of a fool with computers.”
“It sounds as if your friend has got the wrong person to check their site.” She tried to get the right level of gentle tease into what could be interpreted as a critical comment.
“He would have, if I had been checking the workings, but I was just looking at his marketing. Still, I can’t do any more for him. I’ll let him know later and in the meantime I want to get on with my holiday. Perhaps you’re a local and can steer me towards the best things for a man to do with a quiet Sunday in this area?”
“I don’t know whether I can really help. I’m a visitor myself.”

Despite her initial fears Paul turned out to be a very easy companion. They talked happily about the attractions of the south west, the peace and beauty of the moors and how little there was to do on a rainy day. It was Paul’s suggestion that they tour the cathedral together. Anna had already done so but she was happy to revisit the splendour of the gothic arches and this time Paul paid a guide to take them up the tower to view the town from above. They lunched together on panini, back in the coffee shop. Over lunch they found that they both had a lot in common. Each in their late forties they were both divorced and as part of the divorce had sold a business. Anna had a feeling that his marketing business had been rather bigger and more valuable than her inherited dry cleaners had been but he didn’t make her aware of it in any way.

It was strange, Anna reflected in a quiet moment, that they should get on so naturally. They seemed to share a sense of humour and far too many interests. They were each here seeking a break from the pressures of life, walking on the moors and resting. Before lunch was over they had determined on a short drive in Paul’s car to the coast, a visit to the delights of the sea while the sun might just stay out.

The drive down in Paul’s coupe was delightful. They had liked similar music, way back in the Eighties, when they had been young, often seeing the same bands, but in different parts of the country. Paul had a selection of his favourite bands from that time playing on his iPod and although Anna didn’t feel brave enough to risk her voice in singing, they reminisced about fashions and gigs with many a mutual snort of laughter. Paul parked on the promenade, behind a row of colourful beach huts and they made their way through to the beach. Anna kicked off her shoes and gathered her skirt, running down the sand to dabble her toes in the water. Paul joined her quickly, having had to take longer unlacing his shoes, removing his socks and rolling up his jeans. The waves were rolling in in fine style, spreading cool foam up the rise of the beach, washing their feet in a gritty froth. Paul stood imitating Canute, some hundred miles further west and 1,500 years later. He had no more success than the historic king and the rolls of denim at his knee were wet before a laughing Anna pulled him back away and they set out on a mission to find ice cream.

The kiosk, when they found it, had a longish queue so Anna volunteered to buy while Paul sorted out his shoes and trousers. She took her opportunity to reflect on the day. It had probably been the best of her holiday, one of the first in a long time when she had forgotten her troubles and had been able to give her attention freely to someone else. She had been happy without even realising it and when she brought the towering spirals of sweet delight back she accepted his suggestion of another day out tomorrow with pleasure.

They walked back along the promenade licking their ice creams and making plans to walk the next day. Neither had yet attempted the highest of the tors and the forecast for the next day was favourable. For now the weather was deteriorating, and they paused to watch a storm gathering out in the jaws of the bay. A dark cloud had built up over the sea and was now towering over the headland to the west. Beneath it hung a dirty curtain of rain and they watched it progress steadily nearer and nearer.
“I miss the sea, you know,” Paul said. “I’ve been living in the city for far too long. You can never see far and the weather is only ever a nuisance, whatever it does, too hot, too cold, too wet.” He paused.
“I know what you mean.” Anna replied. “I grew up with fields behind my house, high on a hill. You could see for miles, across the Solway to Scotland. The clouds would pull together and march up the estuary, soaking first Dumfries, then Annan, then us. The hills would disappear one by one and you never had to rush in, you always knew what was coming.”
“I’d love to live somewhere like that.”
“It was lovely, but I could never go back. That was too far out in the wilds.” It was close enough to the truth to make an acceptable story. “I’ve become too used to having civilisation in reach. I need to be able to get into the wilds easily, but also to have a few of life’s amenities around me.”
“That’s a good point.” Paul agreed. “Having shops and restaurants in walking distance, or a short cab ride away is a hard thing to give up. I’ll have to find a compromise, a nice town with sea and wilderness nearby.”
“It’s a good dream. Do you think you will ever achieve it?”
“Maybe soon. The last of my children will be at University next year so I don’t have to worry about living near enough to support them, and I can move my business on line.”
“So it can be done.”
“I think so. Now I have a worthwhile goal. What about you?”
“I hadn’t really thought about it, but it certainly opens up some possibilities.”

They were about half way back to his car when the wind brought the storm in off the sea. He grabbed her by the hand and together they began to run towards the car, the rain, however had other ideas and the light shower suddenly intensified into large cold drops, bouncing up from the ground below their feet and striking exposed skin almost painfully. Paul veered their course towards a promenade shelter and together they huddled in, gasping for breath and laughing. Outside their temporary refuge the weather lashed impotently, inside they were suddenly aware of their proximity and the way their intimacy had grown so quickly over the day. They were both of a similar height and when Anna straightened up after pulling her hair back and tidying it out of her eyes she was suddenly struck by how close their two faces were together. It was clear that Paul was, too. The smile slowly faded from his face, replaced by a look that Anna had never seen so close to hers before and he leaned closer. She felt herself automatically sway towards him and their lips brushed. A wave of unfamiliar feelings washed over her, sweeping her up and as his arms closed around her waist, hers reached up to his neck to steady her wobbling legs. Her brain tried to frame a protest but it was overruled by a deep, primal instinct from somewhere much lower in her, her mouth opened to his and she let herself go, tumbling in the wave of her own emotions.

An age passed. Outside the shelter the rain hissed, flattening the surface of the sea, washing out their footprints from the sand and beating impotently on the roof. Inside it Anna was lost, her brain reeling in its own tempest, her body supplying messages she had thought it would never send again but deep inside her reluctant consciousness the alarms were ringing louder and louder. Eventually she summoned her strength, broke the kiss and tried to pull away. He looked at her with that idiot smile that all men employ when they are driven by their hormones but uncertain of the outcome. It helped her to pull back more firmly.
“Sit down, Paul.” She said firmly. “I’m not sure about this.” His face fell, and he sat, but he kept a firm hold of her hand. It felt good, but with her brain back in control of her body Anna couldn’t afford to give in to that feeling again.
“What’s the problem, do you have a terrible family secret?” His eyes held hers there was still warmth there, still hope. Anna‘s heart, until recently so buoyant, continued sinking.
“I wish it was that simple. I have to tell you this. Tell you now. I’ve made the mistake of getting too close to someone before I told them and the result was a disaster.” Disaster didn’t really cover the violent reaction of a man she had thought once loved her, the time in hospital and the months of heartbreak.
“Sounds a bit more serious, then. HIV? AIDS?” he was still holding her hand but she couldn’t let herself hope.
“Mmmm, nothing you could catch, but something you might hate even more.” She examined his face; he was waiting, encouraging her to speak with sympathetic silence.
“There is no easy way to put this and I’ve never really prepared for telling someone,” she paused briefly. “I’m transsexual. I had something go wrong with me in the womb. I’ve always been a woman but for a lot of my life I had a man’s body.”
Paul rocked back, visibly surprised. Anna closed her eyes and bowed her head, not wanting to see his fury, certain that her best hope of avoiding a beating for allowing him to kiss her was submission. At least it would be easier this way. It would hurt less physically and emotionally to be slapped for a kiss and left alone again now, before she built any hopes, any dreams on him.

They sat in silence for a long, long minute. Experiencing neither a blow nor a tirade, Anna raised her head slowly. Paul was looking at her, a long hard, questioning stare, as if he were trying to see through her armour of make-up and artifice, her skin and flesh to her soul itself. Tentatively she met his eye. He didn’t pull his gaze away, but neither did he speak. Eventually he broke the silence.
“Well, that was unexpected.”
Anna was unsure of what response he expected, so she remained silent. He hadn’t taken hold of her hand again, but he hadn’t left the shelter either.

“I don’t know quite what to make of it. I’ve never met anyone like you before.” He paused, considering how that might have come across. “I don’t mean transsexual, I mean so open. Although I don’t think I’ve met a transsexual either.”
There didn’t seem to be anything Anna could say to this either. The pause ran on.

“I really rather like you, and that was a wonderful kiss, but do you mind if we slow down a little?”
This did require a reply. “I think that’s probably the nicest response I could have expected.” Anna looked once more into his eyes. “Paul, I have really enjoyed the day we’ve had together, but I never had expectations of it and that kiss was something of a surprise. I’d like to keep it in my memory as part of a lovely day. Can we do that?”

“I think so. I’ve had a lovely time too, probably the best day I’ve spent without my children since my divorce.”

“So we can both go away with a pleasant experience.” Anna could hardly believe the words as they left her mouth. Part of her wanted to seize him again with both hands and kiss him again, abandoning all attempts at dignity or truth. But it was opposed by a fearful need to lift her skirt and run, perhaps to plunge into the sea to prevent such another encounter. And deep in her stomach there was rising wail of grief that she could never have the love she craved with every fibre of her being.

“I think there’s a gap in the weather. We should head back to the car before we are trapped here for the evening.”

Their journey back to town was much quieter than the drive down to the coast had been. Their easy flow of chatter and intimacy had been cut off, severed by her revelation and the joy of the day was leaching slowly out of it. Paul dropped her at her rented cottage and she slipped quietly out of the car, not offering her cheek for a peck but thanking him for the happy day.

Once inside she ran up to her bedroom and threw herself on her bed, face buried in her pillow letting the sobs well up and finally overcome her. They may have talked about walking tomorrow, but she knew he would not be there. He had been very nice about it, but how on earth could he overcome the shock of discovering that he had just kissed a man? She would have to forget him, go back to her life as a walking zombie, a creature of habit who trudged her way through a life of routine, never risking anything more and never experiencing real joy. The problem was that that one kiss had reawakened her, reignited a fire that she had long given up hope of ever experiencing again and she wasn’t sure that it could be re-extinguished. Too distraught to move she clutched her pillow tighter and let the grief take her into a long convulsive misery that eventually released her into an exhausted sleep.

The inevitable morning came clear and cool, the sunshine reaching in around the blossomless wisteria over her bedroom window caressed Anna’s face. The insistent warmth woke her gently, turning her over, away from her stained pillow and driving her from the bed. In the bathroom she surveyed the havoc that her night of tears had wreaked on her face, cleaning away the streaked mascara then pulling back her hair and plunging it into a basin of cold water. The grief had left her with a chilling despair and she resolved herself against it.
She forced herself into autopilot. They had planned to walk together on the moors, so she would still do that. She dressed herself in her walking clothes, took up her rucksack and made her way into the kitchen. Because of the upset of the previous evening she hadn’t been to the shops for lunch ingredients so, after checking the cupboards, she spread out her maps in the living room to try to find a route that would allow her to collect something to eat. There were two choices: a route that started in a small village where she could buy something before the start and another, which took a pub in at about lunchtime. The former was cheaper but in a small village store the choice of food would be limited; the latter was more expensive, a treat really, but would expose her to people and she wasn’t sure that she would be up to it. Neither was near to where he had planned to go so she would be safe from bumping into him. She was still there, studying the map when the doorbell rang.

Anna jumped up, pushing a stray lock of hair back behind her ear. She had no idea who it could be. She had no friends in the area, and didn’t expect deliveries or post. There was no view through the wooden door so it was a surprise when she opened it and found Paul on the step. She pulled back in shock, stammering. He didn’t follow her and seemed to be a little short of words himself.
“Er. Hi. Anna. I, er. We had sort of planned to go walking together.” Pause. “If you still want to, that is...”

Words failed her. She had been so much in control yesterday, now she had nothing more to give.

“Look, I behaved quite badly when you opened yourself up to me. If you tell me to go away I will, but I’d quite the chance to talk to you again.”
“Just talk?” The words staggered clumsily from her mouth.
“Well, that depends on what you want.” He didn’t look at all sure of himself and this was clearly not something he was used to.
“You’d better come in then.” The words leached from her mouth while her subconscious screamed at her that she must look awful, no makeup, hair unbrushed and tied back, in her old battered and unflattering walking clothes.

He took a step forward to come in, but she was blocking the door, unable to move. He lifted an arm to her waist, perhaps to guide her backwards, perhaps to comfort and she melted into it. His other arm stretched around her back and her head was in his shoulder, the tears coming again, not last night’s desperate wrenching cries, but a release of her resolve.

He supported her through to the kitchen and held her until she moved again, then lowered her gently into a chair, turning to find the kettle and some cups.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you, but I just couldn’t work out what to say or do with myself.”
“It’s OK,” she heard herself say. “It isn’t everyday you find you’ve just kissed someone who wasn’t what they seemed.”
“Yes, but that’s thing, isn’t it.” He sat down on the chair opposite her, two cups of coffee already on the table. “No-one is ever what they seem. I think, and it’s probably what why I kissed you, that you are one of the few people I’ve met who really is as they seem.”

“How do you mean?” Anna was puzzled.

“Mmm, I think I do need to explain it,” he took a sip of his coffee. Anna lifted her cup to do the same but his hand intercepted hers. “Don’t drink that. It’s vile. I’m so wrapped up in what I’m trying to say that I forgot to switch the kettle on.”

He held her hand for a little longer than perhaps he should have then eased her cup out of it, getting up and switching on the kettle. He poured the cold coffees away and turned back to face her.

“The thing is, it’s years since I talked to anyone the way I talked to you yesterday. The whole day flashed by as if it were five minutes. We have so much in common, you seem to understand me, and I thought I understood you. When we kissed it wasn’t a conquest kiss, the victory kiss after a long chase or even a duty kiss that comes towards the end of a long marriage. It was the most natural thing I’ve ever done.”

He paused as they both relived the kiss. Behind him the kettle bubbled and spluttered into disregarded silence. “And then you told me.” The silence that followed was as complete as it was short. “I think I blew it then. I couldn’t help but think that I had just kissed a man and that I had never done that or wanted to do that before.”

He could see her face start to contort and seized her hand to stop her from speaking. “I wasn’t revolted; I didn’t think it was wrong or that I would never want to do it again. It just turned my world upside down for a moment. And I didn’t know how to handle that. I think I know how much that must hurt you, and I don’t want you to be hurt. You see everything I have known about you says woman. The way you act, the way you think, the way I respond to you, everything. So I know I didn’t kiss a man.”

To give her a chance to recover herself he turned back around to the kettle and busied himself with the cups again.
“I knew that before you’d finished explaining but something still held me back. I’ve been hurt a lot recently and something just stopped me. I knew I had offended you, but I just couldn’t work out what I thought.”

“It’s OK, I do understand, I’m fine this morning.” Anna protested. Paul turned around with two fresh cups of coffee which he placed between them on the table. For a moment they were both silent, each intent on the curls of steam rising from the cups.

“But are you though?” Paul’s question was rhetorical and Anna stayed quiet, her eyes still on her cup. “After I dropped you off here I went back to my cottage. I couldn’t settle. I kept running the events of yesterday up and down in my mind. Everything we did, everything we said to each other, all the things we liked and agreed on. The way you were excited by climbing the tower; your laughter when I played the fool on the beach; running in the rain; all of it. I knew that we had left things in a place where I could just walk away. You would know that it was the end and everything was clean.” He reached across the table again and gently took her hands. Anna kept her gaze firmly on the ethereal spirals of steam.

“But I couldn’t get you out of my head. I think it was about midnight when I knew I had to see you again. So then I had this other dilemma. Your little gender thing. I kept trying to straighten out in my head how I felt about you. Did it mean I was gay? Did it really matter if I was? How might my children react? But the real problem with all this was that it just didn’t make sense. I couldn’t stack it up and make sense of it at all.” He lifted one hand away from hers and gently smoothed a tear back up her face with his thumb.

“It must have been two o’clock this morning before I realised that it didn’t make sense because it just doesn’t make sense. Yesterday I met a woman that I really like, who had fun in all the ways that I have fun and that I really want to know better.” His hand, still cupping her cheek, pressed it gently upwards until she was forced to look at him.

“I didn’t see a man and I don’t care if anyone else does. Yesterday we both thought that your honesty had destroyed anything we might have had. I need to tell you that it doesn’t matter who you might have once been, I want to know the woman I met yesterday better, if she can ever forgive me.”

Anna’s vision blurred as the tears came back to her eyes and before she knew it they were standing, wrapped tightly together, her tears a rapidly fading memory.