The Bench - Part 3

Camille and Marcus

The rain stopped shortly after Daniel left the park.

For the next couple of hours the bench stood empty beneath the plane tree.

Water still dripped occasionally from the branches above, but patches of blue had begun appearing between the clouds. The paths slowly dried and the lunchtime crowds started to emerge from nearby offices.

Shortly before midday, a woman arrived and sat down on the bench.

She looked at her watch.

Then at the park gates.

Then at her phone.

A few moments later she sent a message.

Whatever she had written, she seemed dissatisfied with it. Almost immediately she sent another.

Then she returned to watching the entrance.

She was in her late forties, elegant and self-possessed. Dark hair framed striking features, and although she was dressed professionally there was a restlessness about her that suggested this was not simply an ordinary lunch break.

She was waiting for someone.

A few minutes later a man appeared carrying a battered guitar case.

The moment she saw him, her face brightened.

He saw her too and quickened his pace.

"Marcus."

"Hello, Camille."

The smile that passed between them was the smile of two people who had already spent a great deal of time thinking about one another.

Marcus placed his guitar case beside the bench and sat down.

"I've only got an hour," Camille said.

"That's an hour more than I expected."

She laughed.

"I wanted to see you."

Something in her voice caused Marcus to look at her more closely.

"Everything all right?"

"I don't know."

For a moment neither spoke.

Around them, people crossed the park carrying sandwiches and takeaway coffees. Office workers hurried back towards meetings. Somewhere beyond the trees a siren sounded faintly before fading into the background noise of the city.

Marcus waited.

Eventually Camille said,

"There's something I need to tell you."

Before she continued, Marcus nodded towards the park gates.

"I think I saw one of your patients earlier."

"My patients are everywhere."

"No, this was a young bloke. Indian, maybe early thirties. Smart suit. Briefcase."

Camille frowned.

"And you know this because...?"

"He stood listening while I was playing this morning."

Marcus smiled faintly.

"Everyone else was rushing somewhere. He just stopped."

"And?"

"There was something wrong."

Camille turned towards him.

"Did he tell you?"

Marcus shook his head.

"No."

"Then how do you know?"

"I don't know."

He rested a hand on the guitar case.

"You just get a feeling sometimes."

He thought for a moment.

"I noticed he was crying."

Camille looked surprised.

"Crying?"

"He tried hiding it."

Marcus shrugged.

"Didn't do a very good job."

"What did you do?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"I was a stranger with a guitar."

He smiled.

"I figured the music might help more than questions."

Camille was quiet for a moment.

Then she nodded.

"You're probably right."

Marcus looked out across the park.

"He stayed until I finished."

"Did he say anything?"

"No."

"What happened?"

"He gave me a little nod and walked away."

Marcus smiled sadly.

"I hope whatever it was worked itself out."

Camille followed his gaze.

Thousands of people crossed London every day.

For a few seconds, lives touched.

Then disappeared again.

No names.

No explanations.

Just brief moments between strangers.

Something about the thought made her finally say what she had been carrying around with her all morning.

"I spoke to my husband."

Marcus looked back at her.

"Oh."

She laughed nervously.

"That's about the same reaction he had."

The humour disappeared almost immediately.

"I told him I've been unhappy for a long time."

Marcus remained silent.

"I told him I don't think I can keep pretending everything's fine."

The park suddenly felt very quiet.

A year earlier, Camille could never have imagined having this conversation.

For twenty years she had built a life that, from the outside, looked enviable.

She was a doctor, respected by colleagues and patients alike. She lived in a beautiful house. Her husband was successful and well known in his field.

Everything looked right.

Yet somewhere along the way her marriage had become something that functioned rather than something that lived.

The affection remained.

The partnership remained.

The intimacy had disappeared years earlier.

Most people never noticed.

Including her husband.

Until recently.

Marcus waited.

Camille looked down at her hands.

"I told him about you."

Marcus blinked.

"You actually said that?"

"Yes."

"Camille..."

"I thought honesty might be better than lying."

"It usually is."

She laughed softly.

"Easier said than done."

"What did he say?"

She sighed.

"He wants to save the marriage."

Marcus wasn't surprised.

"And?"

"I told him I didn't know if it could be saved."

The words hung between them.

They felt heavier spoken aloud.

Marcus looked at the people passing through the park.

Twenty years.

A house.

A marriage.

A life built together.

None of that disappeared because of a conversation on a park bench.

"That's a lot for anyone to process," he said quietly.

"I know."

Camille turned towards him.

"I don't expect promises."

Marcus met her gaze.

"Good."

She smiled.

"I wasn't trying to trap you."

"I know you weren't."

For a moment neither moved.

Then Camille reached for his hand.

"I just wanted you to know where I am."

Marcus looked down at their hands.

The truth was he cared about her.

Far more than he had intended when they first met.

He remembered the coffee shop.

The woman who had paid for his drink when he realised he didn't have enough money.

The conversation that should have lasted ten minutes and somehow stretched across an entire lunch break.

The chance encounters afterwards.

The messages.

The excitement of seeing her name appear on his phone.

None of it had been planned.

Life rarely was.

"I care about you too," he said quietly.

Camille smiled.

The tension in her shoulders seemed to ease slightly.

"I thought you might."

Marcus squeezed her hand gently.

"But let's not rush anywhere."

"No."

She nodded.

"I think you're right."

For a while they simply sat together.

The old bench had seen grief that morning.

Then uncertainty.

Now something else entirely.

Hope, perhaps.

Or the possibility of it.

Eventually Camille checked her watch and sighed.

"I really do have patients waiting for me."

Marcus smiled.

"Probably best not to keep them."

She stood.

Then bent and kissed him briefly.

"Can I see you later?"

"Of course."

"Message me when you're finished playing."

"I will."

Camille smiled one final time before walking towards the gates.

Marcus watched her go.

Just before disappearing into the crowd she turned and waved.

Then she was gone.

The bench suddenly felt larger.

Marcus sat for a moment, thinking about everything she had said.

His phone buzzed.

He pulled it from his pocket.

A message.

Wendy.

Marcus frowned.

That was unexpected.

For a moment he stared at the screen.

Then slipped the phone back into his pocket unanswered.

Whatever Wendy wanted could wait.

He picked up his guitar case and stood.

The afternoon was still young.

Somewhere in London, people were hurrying through stations, worrying about jobs, marriages, money, grief and all the other things people carried around unseen.

And somewhere amongst them, a few might stop long enough to listen to a song.

Marcus headed back towards the city.