I wonder whether this is strictly true. Would I really have missed out on that Christmas week? Maybe you can’t entirely protect yourself from being hurt. Without the lows, there would be no highs. I’ve spent the past two years insulating myself from everything that might hurt me – avoiding coming home and only dating people with whom I have no real expectation of becoming serious. And what good has it done me? Am I any happier as a result? Would I have been better taking risks and having fun and letting the future take care of itself?
It's a lot to think about. And now definitely isn’t the time. But I’m determined to make some changes in the new year.
I take one last look at Mr. Toad’s beautiful motorcar, remembering how Alex insisted on mixing up the exact shade of red for it. I remember too how impatient Suzy was. She said that no one would notice.
Alex disagreed. ‘Annie would know. She obviously loves The Wind in the Willows. Every time she looked at it, she’d regret not taking the time to get it right.’
Suzy rolled her eyes. ‘It's a stupid children's story. It isn’t real life.’
‘What's the difference?’ I said, then blushed as Suzy laughed. ‘I mean, books are real life too. A real person makes them up and creates new worlds for us to enjoy.’
‘Talking rats and toads!’ scoffed Suzy. ‘I think I'll stick to the real world if you don't mind.’
I was too annoyed to speak, but Alex answered for me. ‘There's no harm in making sure you get something just right. Especially if it's really important to you. And this is important to Annie.’
Suzy tossed back her hair and gave him a dazzling smile. ‘Perfectionism is boring. I prefer to take a few risks and see what happens.’
A touch on my shoulder makes me jump. I turn to see Alex standing there, smiling at me. I shake my head to clear away the mists of two years ago.
‘I thought I might find you here,’ he says. ‘I came to see these yesterday. I was worried someone might have painted over them, but I'm glad they haven't.’
‘Me too,’ I say without thinking.
‘It's a shame to paint over memories,’ he says. His tone is light, but his eyes are serious.
‘It's certainly a waste of paint,’ I say.
‘From a practical point of view, yes. But I’ve never thought of you as practical.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘I don't mean that you're disorganised,’ he says. ‘Quite the opposite, in fact. But I always had you down as a bit of a dreamer. It's one of the things I most liked about you.’
I meet his eyes squarely. ‘People change. I'm not the same person I was back then.’
He gives me a half smile. ‘You seem pretty much the same to me.’
‘Well, I'm not. Don't pretend to know anything about me, Alex, because you don't. You probably never did.’
His eyes are hurt. ‘I think I did. And people don't change, not really.’
‘Perhaps not,’ I say more calmly. ‘But our perceptions of people change. We think we know them, and we imbue them with all sorts of characteristics and virtues. But that’s not necessarily who they are. And we blame them for that when actually we should be blaming ourselves for wanting them to be someone they aren’t.’
‘Is that for me?’ he asks. ‘Are you saying that I disappointed you?’
I’m caught off guard. How can he even ask that when he must know full well that he disappointed me? If not, he really isn’t the person I imagined.
I shrug. ‘I'm talking about people in general. Anyway, now isn’t the time. It's all in the past, and that's where it should stay. We should –’
‘What's in the past?’ he says. ‘You and me? Are you talking about what happened between us?’
‘Alex, there is no you and me,’ I say calmly. ‘There barely ever was. We had a couple of dates, and it didn’t work out. That's perfectly normal. Why bring it up now?’
‘But it was more than that,’ he says. ‘We only went out a couple of times, but we were really good together. You know we were. And then you threw it all away.’
A surge of welcome anger floods over me. For a moment, I was in danger of succumbing to the seductive influence of our shared memories. Thankfully, he’s reminded me of who he is and what he did.
I turn away from the pictures. They’re firmly in the past. There’s no sense in continuing to look back at them.