Epping Forest

We parked the car among the dribble of others going for a walk on a damp January afternoon. The city hum continued in the background as we made our way, like pilgrims, into the wood. Really it was a left over scrap of ancient forest; the suburbs have encroached so far now that little remains. We were there out of some misplaced romantic notion that a walk in the countryside was a good idea. It was so barely countryside as to be laughable. The M25 continued its murmuring in the distance.

We were both younger then. He was dark and to my eyes, certainly handsome. I was, well, young enough to still consider myself young, but only just. And I was married; to someone else. We had known each other for years and there had always been a something between us. A slight spark. My heart always did something funny when I saw him. His kiss on my cheek at meeting always seemed to linger. Anyway, having not seen each other for a few years, about six months earlier, out of the blue, we had started to exchange brief, infrequent emails. The internet and email were still new then. Before meeting up with old flames through friends reunited had become a cliché. You could say we were early adopters – cliché-wise. And we weren't old flames either. We had never got beyond the sparks from the tinder box. Maybe that was why neither of us seemed able to let the other go. I can't remember now who sought out whom – but whether him or me – we must have made ourselves pretty easy to find.

We walked side by side down into the woods. Great, ancient beech trees lined the paths and last autumn's leaves were soggy under foot. I don't remember what we talked about, only that there was this atmosphere between us. An elephant in the woods – the size of one of the beech trees surrounding us. Neither of us was brave enough to make the first move. To find out whether the other was thinking or feeling the same thing. At one point he asked about my marriage and how it had come about. But we shirred off down another path before we got onto difficult terrain. Eventually we sat down on a log at the top of the hill. We could see the tall buildings of the city in the distance and the sun starting to go down behind them. He told me he had only ever been in love once in his life. I lacked the courage to ask when, or with whom. He must have wanted me to, surely?

We sat on a damp, cold log. Our hands so close together I could feel the warmth from him. It would have taken only the slightest movement to have brought about a great change in our relationship to each other. I have no doubt now, looking back, that we were both thinking the same thing. That slight movement would have lead on to many more. That we wanted to find out what it was between us that we had always sensed. What was it that made us hang back? For his part I can only guess. Maybe the one time he had been in love had ended so painfully that he didn't want to take that walk again? Maybe he just wasn't sure enough of me. For my own part, I guess, deep down I really did know that I loved my husband and that for me that this was some kind of romantic adventure. An attempt to sure up my ego perhaps, or maybe just to add some excitement to my life. Eventually we got up and walked back to the car. The good bye hug was slightly prolonged but went no further than being a good bye.