In which the past came back to bite me!

Many moons ago when I was young and (I like to think) comparatively gorgeous (!) I hung out with a group of people who, like me at the time, were single parents trying to rebuild something from the wreckage of our lives. The people in this group were not necessarily those whom any of us would have chosen as friends (there was more than one oddball) – but we were all in the same boat and struggling with the same issues  – a random bunch of people who on the whole got along and learned that there was, in fact, a fresh life awaiting all of us. We got together for days out with the kids – simple things like playing rounders in the park, barbeques, picnics and group holidays by the coast (they are cheaper to book when there are a lot of you!) Cheerful things that most of us could manage at a time when we were so low, we couldn’t manage much else. Some of the group built new relationships, others (like me), were grateful for the support that each of us had to offer. We were a compassionate bunch who had each other’s backs.

As the years passed, inevitably we all moved on to different stages of our lives, parted ways and, apart from exchanging Christmas cards, we lost touch. This is not a sad thing. Lives change, needs differ and the group, founded for that purpose, had done its job. I have fond memories of that time for which I will be forever grateful.

One of the men (who was one of those I exchange cards and the odd birthday text with) found me on Facebook a few months back and sent me a friends request, which (once I realised who he was) I accepted, not really thinking anything of it. He immediately began to add odd, slightly inappropriate comments to posts, which I didn’t want to respond to as they made me feel uncomfortable; not quite enough to ‘unfriend’ him, but enough to relegate him to my restricted list.

So imagine my glee last Saturday afternoon (Valentine’s weekend) when I answered a knock at my front door and found him on the doorstep bearing roses, wine and chocolates, very happy to have managed to successfully track me down…

Who travels, uninvited, for four and a half hours (on public transport no less) on the off-chance that someone would be in and happy to see them, after all those years? I made him a cup of coffee, told him it was inappropriate, and politely suggested he leave as I was going out. Luckily he went, but since then he has left me several messages (which I’ve ignored) suggesting that we go out for a drink, or a meal. What the hell is he thinking?

And more to the point, is he likely to turn up again?

2 thoughts on “In which the past came back to bite me!

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