August 4th

Had a letter from Alan today, His wife is ill. It brought everything flooding back. We both married on the same day, all those years ago. I'd met Jo at college; he'd known Pat at school. Jo and I moved our ceremony forward an hour. We had so many friends at church; it seemed the right thing to do. What a coincidence, picking the same day. We hadn't spoken in three years.

He's had three more years than me. Is that jealousy? No, I don't begrudge him. I hope Pat gets well soon. I'll send a card. I'm getting used to that by now, sending cards, Jo did all that, my Jo.

August 5th

Had one of my dreams last night. It must have been hearing from Alan. Jenny was in it, of course, just as she was, sweet seventeen with that devastating smile. And, of course, I was the same, too shy and unsure to say what I wanted to say. Couldn't ask her out for fear of rejection. I think we were outside the chip shop after Youth Club. Jenny and June were trying to make us all guess the title of a Beatles number. They had a routine worked out. They mimed and danced the first part then sang one line, ‘What a thing to do.’ We couldn't guess it. How I would have loved to say ’that it was ‘Baby You're a Rich Man’. To have seen her smile at me and perhaps think, ‘This lad isn't the berk I thought; maybe he's worth getting to know better,’ but it took me two days to work it out. The moment was lost.

August 8th.

Pat rang today to thank me for the card. She's on the mend, thank God. I wonder what made Alan write. He must have been worried; knew I'd understand, losing Jo like that. It brought back the past. I haven't had a Jenny dream for a long time.

I once had a photo of Jenny. I wonder what happened to it. It wasn't of Jenny as I knew her later, as I loved her, thought I loved her; was infatuated. It wasn't even a close up. It was really a picture of my junior school teacher, Mr Cowan. We were on a school outing to Scarborough and I took a picture of him outside Peasholme Park. I found it one day and realised that Jenny was walking just behind him. I carried that picture in my wallet for ages. It's funny, really, I spent the whole of my junior school life in the same class as Jenny and took not a blind bit of notice, then suddenly we meet again as teenagers and I'm smitten.

I tell kids in my class that in a few years they will want to be next to the girls they spend their time avoiding now, but they don't believe me.
All that time in the same class and then off to the ‘big’ school.

My education at a boys’ grammar school equipped me for many things, and James Starling, its illustrious head, gave me a number of useful tips for life but he never showed me how to have the guts to ask a girl out. ‘Guts’ - now that is a word he would never use. I remember we had a special trophy to present at ‘Speech Day’. It was for the pupil who had overcome all odds to succeed. There was some talk of it being the prize for ‘Guts’ but Mr Starling named it the prize for ‘Intestinal Fortitude’. No, Mr Starling did not give me the ‘intestinal fortitude’ to ask Jenny out.

And so I never did ask and went off to college to learn to teach as Jenny went away to become a librarian. I seem to remember that June got pregnant unwed. Not a thing you did in those days.

August 9th

I've just read yesterday's entry. What a load of drivel but it does help. When Jo died, her sister told me to start a diary. She said it would help me to get things off my chest in the same way that I used to with Jo. She was right. Mind you, I don't think I could have talked about Jenny with Jo.

If Cindy hadn't turned my world upside down at college, where I would be today? She asked me out. We went for this long walk and got soaking wet in the rain. She lent me a towel to dry off when we got back and suggested we go to Film Club together. I was on cloud nine. I had a real girlfriend; I was set for life. Then she dumped me and my world fell apart. It didn't really, but it seemed like it in my immature little mind. God, I was a prat. I made her life hell for a while, following her around like a whipped cur. I got over it and made a decision. I was going to be without a girlfriend for a long time if I didn't do something about it. I went looking for someone to ask out.

The ‘lucky girl’ was Jo. We had been in a play together with Drama Club and she seemed like a nice person so one afternoon I walked up to her in the library and asked her to the next college dance. She went very pink and said ‘Yes’. It turned out later it was only to wind up her flat mate who was very popular with the boys and thought Jo was a bit of a mouse. We were together for the rest of her life. I think I'll stop now.

August 25th

There is an old Latin proverb, ‘Fate leads the willing but drives the stubborn.’ I have been very stubborn over the last three years, rejecting the invitations of friends to the dinner parties that Jo and I used to enjoy. It is never, easy to be the odd one out. Jane Austen wrote about pairing people up to sit them at dinner and hundreds of years later it is little different. One or two of our ladies would try to invite someone they thought I might like to be with. Some married women will either try to break up a couple or bring two single folk together, I think it's genetic.

Thank God Jo was never like that. To avoid this problem I have resisted attempts to get me out to dinner. Then Pat rang and asked me to a little do they were having. I think they were celebrating her recovery from illness; it must have really had them worried. She insisted it wasn't a formal dinner, just a buffet and drinks with a few friends; I might know one or two of them. For some reason I said yes.

She was there. I'd just been introduced to one of Alan's work colleagues and was making the usual small talk when a voice said, ‘Simon? Simon Allen?’ I turned around and there she was. Her hair was different. Well, it would be, wouldn't it? She had filled out over the years as we all have but she was still Jenny.

‘Jenny Thomas’’ I said and then added, ‘Well, of course, it might not be. You might have changed your name six times and have had half a dozen children since I saw you last.’
‘Only one change and no children,’ she said, ‘It's Jenny Renshaw, and no wisecracks about Jenny Wren, thank you very much.’

I passed the evening in a dream, this time a waking dream and this time a different one. This was the present and I was no longer frightened of rejection. I asked her if she would like to have dinner with me and she said she would love to. She's still much the same Jenny I remember. The face has more lines but the smile is the same. Devastating!