**Breath**
Yesterday was Kate’s 47th birthday. Two years ago, her life had shattered. Funny how an overused phrase could still capture everything so perfectly.
Kate had found the dress just days before her birthday. She rang her mother and said she’d bought a blue one. Her mum insisted on seeing it in person. When Kate put it on, her mother was delighted. *”You look like a doll in it! But that’s not blue—it’s turquoise.”* A different generation, that. Probably because they’d once gone to dressmakers, discussed patterns, chosen fabrics. Every dress had been an event.
So, the turquoise dress—properly acknowledged—waited for its debut.
Kate had invited the few relatives and friends left for a small gathering. The restaurant set a table in a cosy corner of their little hall.
Her cousin Natasha gave a toast that lasted a good ten minutes. She brought up their sixteen-year-old selves, drunk and hailing a cab, unable to remember the declension of *”cathedral”* and slurring, *”What’s so hard? We live near the cathedral! The Cathedral! Hedgehog Village! Just drive to the centre—we’ll show you!”* She suggested they all get roaring drunk now, just to relive the memory. Laughter followed when someone pointed out they were all staying at the same hotel as the restaurant. *”No bloody romance left,”* Natasha sighed. Her husband chimed in, *”We’d still climb through our lovers’ windows—if not for the damn mosquito nets.”* *”Right. And your bungalow,”* Kate snorted. The table erupted.
Next, Alex—her other cousin’s husband—raised a glass. He recalled their trip to Brighton a lifetime ago, where they’d first won, then lost every last penny at the casino. Outside, Kate had grinned and said, *”What would you lot do without me? I stashed a fiver for vodka and snacks.”* So they’d drunk the lot, then stumbled along the pier singing *”Leaving on a Jet Plane.”* *”Here’s to the woman who saved us from sober starvation!”* Mum’s husband, Geoffrey, lamented the lack of scales—they couldn’t seal their toast the old-fashioned way. Soon, everyone was softly singing the same song, like that famous pub scene.
The evening was lovely. Her own husband didn’t toast—public speaking wasn’t his thing. He always joked, *”I’m a techie, not an orator.”*
The next morning, they’d agreed on breakfast and a walk in Hyde Park. By evening, everyone had left, and Kate and her husband were alone in the flat.
He glanced at the desk in the corner—the one with his computer—and said they needed to talk. A cold unease settled in Kate’s stomach. She’d felt off all day, thought she hadn’t drunk much, but her insides trembled. Then he told her—he’d met someone. He was leaving. He hadn’t wanted to ruin the celebration.
The next year was the Year of P. Pain. Packing. Pints. Paralysis. Pity parties.
By her 46th birthday, Kate decided to change the letter. She woke and walked along the shore. Even on the darkest days, she forced herself out each morning. A chilly January day, the beach empty. The crisp solitude, or maybe the sea’s energy, lifted her—finally, she knew she was healed. She’d never believed in that energy nonsense, but right then, she physically felt the last of the darkness evaporate.
Except—she still couldn’t take a full breath out.
Kate declared the next year would be N. New friends. A new *”her.”* But no surrender.
That same day, she made a dating profile. Among the replies, one man stood out. They met. A year ago now.
Hard to believe life could turn so sharply again. Did fate show in palm lines? Hers might’ve snapped and restarted. Right there, that day. Kate inhaled the salty air deeply—but exhaling? Still incomplete.
She called her mother.
*”I told Alice you’re heading off—she’s desperate for you to stay over.”*
*”Brilliant. Love them. I’d planned to drive straight to the Cotswolds, but stopping in London works. Just a hop to their place—I’ll be at the Nolans’ by lunch.”*
The *”Nolans”*—nicknamed for the three Ns in Oliver and Olivia Nolan’s names—were still *her* friends.
By the second evening, Kate reached London. Alice and Felix had laid out snacks, warning her not to fill up—they had a surprise. Twenty minutes later, the surprise walked in. *”Kate, meet Victor, our neighbour. Sadly relocating to York soon—but tonight, he’s treating us to sea bass, his secret recipe.”*
*”Pleasure,”* Victor said.
*”Likewise,”* Kate replied. She liked him so much she almost felt guilty about Ian—the man she was meeting in Edinburgh tomorrow. Victor, mid-fifties. Not classically handsome, not fit, but with an open, clever smile.
Felix raised a glass. *”Right then, who are we waiting for?”*
Victor poured two shots. *”Shall we ditch the formalities?”*
*”Gladly,”* Kate smiled. Victor grinned. *”Then—cheers!”*
Laughter, clinking glasses.
*”Food’s as good as Christmas,”* Kate said. *”Victor, I’m no fish lover, but this is divine. Felix, your prawn cocktail’s unbeatable. Blizzard of ’82 or now—still perfect!”*
*”Blizzard of ’82?”* Victor asked.
Felix grinned. *”Pour up. Time for the family legend.”*
Between bites, Felix began: *”Our first winter here. Thirty years back. Forecast said snowstorm tomorrow—news wouldn’t shut up about it. Schools closing, all that. So we prepared. Stocked vodka, I chopped a trough of prawn cocktail. By six, we were at mine with Kate’s parents, drinking. Even let teen Kate sip some. Snow started. Beautiful flakes. But—no storm. We drank more. Finished the food. Still no storm. Polished off the vodka, walked Kate’s lot home. Maybe ten centimetres tops. Next morning? That was the storm.”*
They ate, laughed. Kate wished the night wouldn’t end. But an hour later, Felix dozed. Kate, exhausted from driving, yawned. Victor noticed.
*”Right, I’m off. Kate—lovely meeting you. If you’re ever in York, my door’s open. Felix, Alice—see you soon.”*
The moment he left, Alice clapped. *”He fancies you! Don’t be daft—invite yourself to York!”*
*”Alice, didn’t Mum tell you? I met someone online. He visited me in Cornwall. Nothing happened, but he invited me to Scotland. We’ve written a year, know everything—planned a mountain hotel. You think I’ll chuck that to chase the neighbour?”*
*”Fine. Stick to plans. Bed now. Fancy Hyde Park tomorrow?”*
*”Promised the Nolans lunch. Need to leave by nine.”*
By one, Kate pulled into the Nolans’ drive.
Oliver stepped out. *”Brilliant you’re here. Leave the bag—let me fuss over the pretty brunette while the blonde fries spuds.”* They laughed. *”Come on—poor Rex is bursting.”* Before the door opened, a golden retriever barrelled into Kate. She sat, let him lick her face, kissed his cold nose. *”You remember me! Guess what I brought?”* She handed him a chew. Rex bolted off.
*”Kitchen, Kate. Can’t leave the stove. We’ll cuddle later.”* They hugged. *”Wash up—we’ll eat in ten. Made up Danny’s old room for you.”*
Upstairs, Kate unpacked, texted her mum, then got a message from *”the Scot”*—Ian. *”In Oxford today, heading home. See you at the hotel tomorrow.”*
Downstairs, she announced, *”Potential boyfriend’s in Oxford. Wrapping up—meeting tomorrow.”*
*”Tell him to come here! He’s nearby. Plenty of room. Leave together,”* Olivia said.
Kate kissed her, rang Ian. *”Hey. Stopped at friends’ en route. Fancy coming here? Lovely people. Promise they don’t bite.”* *”We’re looovely!”* the Nolans chorused.
*”Perfect. Be there in ninety. What’s everyone drinking?”*
*”Anything flammable. See you.”*
They drank. A lot. Before long, Rex barked—someone had arrived.
Oliver answered. Kate dashed to freshen up. Downstairs, Ian was introducing himself to Olivia while Oliver restrained Rex. *”Hi! So glad we’re meeting early!”* Kate said.
*”Lucky detour,”* IanKate looked at Victor walking toward her with the white Labrador, and for the first time in years, she finally exhaled completely.
