Fateful Lightning: A New History of the Civil War & Reconstruction by Allen Guelzo (self help books to read TXT) 📕

crowd as the glass doors hissed open and out on to the concourse. Family members and loved ones were waiting for the return of their dear ones, business associates mingled, and there was a handful of drivers, some liveried, some in jeans and heavy coats.

“Is anyone meeting you?” Nia asked, hoping Tom’s answer would be in the negative. She had suddenly realised that neither she nor Tom had asked whether there were significant others in the picture. She got a strong sense that Tom didn’t have one. She hadn’t had a significant relationship for a long time.

“No, not here,” Tom replied. “I’m catching a train up north, to Chester, my sister is picking me up there.”

Good, single, she thought.

“Look,” she said directly. “I have a car service. I can get the driver to drop you off at a Tube station if you’d like.”

“Yes,” Tom said. “I would like that.”

He appreciated the offer as it would mean more time with Nia. Tom noticed a driver was holding a home-made sign that simply stated ‘Nia.’ Tom pointed to the sign.

“I know it’s a relatively rare name,” Tom said. “But the one name thing. It’s a bit Cher isn’t it?”

Nia laughed. “It’s more like a habit now, but I still need to be a little protective of some privacy, of some personal space.”

“Are you really paparazzi famous?” asked Tom.

“No, not really any more,” she answered without any hint of regret. “I never really was, consistently, but I did have my moments.”

He was intrigued, “Moments?”

She stopped walking and turned to him, “So you don’t know who I am at all? And I don’t mean that in a pompous arseholey kind of way.”

“Err, no. I’m sorry,” he responded, and she felt his honesty and a little of a shared embarrassment. “I got out of the habit of theatre and TV when I was in the army. Should I know who you are?”

“No, but I still occasionally bounce into people who still see me as some kind of public property or think I’m actually one of the characters I’ve played. The press were, at one time, brutal. It has made me a little wary, a little defensive.”

They paused in front of the already tired looking driver. They both wanted to say something, the same thing.

“Look, do you have time for a coffee?” Tom asked.

“Yes. I’m sure the driver could find a cafe close to a Tube station for you.” She didn’t want to break the connection. She turned to the driver, “An extra fifty do it?”

The driver nodded. Tom felt his heart beat a little faster with genuine excitement.

***

London

The cafe was one of those nondescript, shopfront, neighbourhood affairs loved by retired locals and hipsters alike. Nia and Tom both ordered flat whites and took a small table by the steamed-up windows. It was raining outside. The heavy tiredness of the long travel night came over them both.

Nia smiled at Tom over the rim of her mug. He felt a part of him melt. He knew that he had lived so deeply inside his head for the last five years that the feelings he was now experiencing were both rare and liberating. Everything seemed to have a new resonance; the coffee tasted richer, the steam hiss from the latte machine sounded fuller, the winter light appeared softer. He felt as if he was breaking a swimming pool’s surface after a deep, lung bursting dive. Nia looked lovelier in what natural light was available than she had under the airport’s harsh fluorescents or in the jet’s semi dark cabin.

They talked, and laughed, and talked some more. Go for it, thought Tom.

“I would very much like to see you again,” he said.

She smiled; her dark eyes shone like wet lead.

“I’d like that.”

Nia asked for his phone and swapped phone numbers.

“I’ll text you soon,” she said. “I have a busy, few days, but I’ll get in touch.”

She saw his face register disappointment. Nia held out her hand across the table and he took it gently.

“No, I promise. I will. This has been nice, Tom. Unexpected, but really nice.”

She was distracted by the driver’s entrance. The driver theatrically tapped his watch.

“Look, I have to go,” she said. “Don’t worry. I mean it. I’ll text you, okay.” She squeezed his hand encouragingly but Tom was already feeling the sensation of loss.

Tom watched her leave the cafe. He liked the way she moved, the bounce of her hair, and the quick, over the shoulder gaze towards him as she opened the cafe’s door excited him. He turned his chair to watch her through the heavy condensation on the windows as she moved through the haze of the late morning drizzle and into the waiting car. He continued to watch as the car pulled away from the curb and disappeared into traffic.

He replaced his air pods and took out his phone. Something cinematic he thought and chose Jon and Vangelis ‘Friends of Mr Cairo’. He hit play then switched screens to his web browser and typed her name into the search box. His eyes scanned the results. “Holy fuck,” he said loudly enough for the people at the next table to turn around with displeasure.

Outside, rain drizzled down the car’s windows and Nia pushed herself deeply into the warm, pliant leather of the rear seats. She was tired. She had been excited to return home and get back into the regular routine of her life but the last hours had been something completely surprising. She wasn’t a stranger to desire; indeed, it was something of another occupational hazard. She had drifted in and out of relationships, but they were usually fun, short, and shallow. Love wasn’t a reality any more, she had thought. It wasn’t that she couldn’t love. There had been several lovers, but very few loves. Fewer loves