I thought I would always remember this, but over time it must have become blurred. I was seventeen and he was just twenty. We had been seeing each other for a couple of months and I think we were pretty much in love. I had just passed my driving test and was determined to get some practice. It was the most beautiful, sunny, autumnal day, so we decided to drive to the top of box Hill for a picnic. I think we planned some great spread with ginger beer, sandwiches, scotch eggs and cream cakes. But we spent too long in bed in the morning and by the time we got our act together all we could find in my dad's fridge were a few cold sausages and some nearly stale bread. I can't remember now if there were many other people there. It's a hugely popular beauty spot, so there were probably hundreds. We must have walked away from the crowds because I don't remember anyone disturbing us. Maybe we were so wrapped up in each other that a herd of elephants could have stampeded by and we wouldn't have noticed. We lay our picnic blanket under a tree and at some point we must have chewed our way through the nearly stale sandwiches. I don't remember what we talked about or even how long we stayed there for. The image I remember, almost like a photograph that glows in my memory like yesterday, had nothing to do with where we were, the panoramic view or even the lovely young man. It was the view straight up through the golden-hued canopy of leaves. Transcendently beautiful autumn colours with sunlight pouring through them, all set against a watery blue sky.
I have often, in subsequent years, looked up through the leaves of trees in the autumn, searching out the same perfect combination of light, leaves and sky. I have never seen it again.
And the young man? Reader, I married him!
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