Echoes of the Past

By Sue Hassett

Do you believe in other lives? In souls that reconnect time and time again? In love that endures forever?

I do. Ever since I was a child, I’ve experienced weird echoes, fleeting images, sensations of déjà vu, but when I meet Greg for the first time, all of these strange phenomena intensify a thousand times over, and I know in a flash that we’ve been together before, in another time.

The sense of connection overwhelms me, and when I look into his pale grey eyes, I see a hazy image of another face, not the same, but a resemblance too strong to ignore. Familiar chiselled features, arched brows and a gentle smile. I see all of this in a split second when Aiden, my boss, introduces me to Greg.

The occasion is a book launch at the small publishing house in Oxford where I work.

“Hey, Emma. I’d like you to meet Greg Boulton. We’re handling his book about the English civil war.” Aiden flashes one of his glossy white, persuasive smiles. “I’ll leave you two to get acquainted. Discuss whatever it is you history buffs talk about.” With that he vanishes into the throng, leaving Greg and me together.

My area is historical fiction, so I don’t normally deal with our nonfiction authors. In fact if I wasn’t so powerfully drawn to Greg, I’d be furious with Aiden for offloading this new client on to me, out of the blue. A client he presumably doesn’t want to talk to himself.

I’ve been hoping to get off home early. I’m tired and my new shoes, a bargain too good to miss, are pinching my toes. It’s the usual overcrowded, overheated affair too, a room full of noisy, chattering folk, juggling with glasses of tepid wine and plates of fiddly canapes.

But I am attracted to Greg from the outset, a magnetic force that’s so strong it makes no sense. Not to my rational mind, at least.

“Is this your first book?” I ask now.

“Is it so obvious?” Greg grins, blushing slightly. Very appealing. “Do I have history teacher stamped across my forehead?”

I laugh. “It isn’t that! It’s just I haven’t come across your name before. So what made you choose the civil war?”

He shrugs. “I know what you’re probably thinking. It’s been done to death. What can this guy have to say that hasn’t been said before?”

“I wasn’t thinking that exactly.” I say. “But do you have a new angle?”

Our eyes meet and the connection is mind blowing. And then for a fleeting moment, the other face hovers between us. A paler face, wider spaced eyes, longish light brown hair. It’s so brief it could be just my imagination.

“For some reason I’ve always been fascinated by that time in history,” he tells me. “But I’ve tried to focus more on the lives of ordinary people. More about how families were torn apart by conflicting allegiance. Less about battles and the fate of the king.”

“Interesting.” I’m intrigued by this lovely man. He’s different. Most of the men I know tend to be a bit brash and pushy. Lacking sensitivity or depth. Like Aiden, I suppose. Full of drive, with an eye on the main chance.

Greg is more caring. I know this instinctively.

“Say, can I get you another glass of wine?” he offers now.

I pull a face. “Thanks, but I’ll pass. It’s not the best vintage!”

When Greg laughs his whole face comes alive. He has dimples too.

“Phew! I’m glad you said that and not me. It’s pretty undrinkable stuff, isn’t it? I was being polite. Can’t afford to offend my new publisher!”

“It’s probably good for cleaning drains,” I laugh. “But don’t worry I won’t tell Aiden what you think of his cheap, nasty plonk!”

I feel so comfortable with Greg in the here and now. But I’m still haunted by this sense of having known him before. Suddenly another image flashes across my mind, flickering pictures like an old cine film. Blurry visions of a ruined abbey, skeletal stones rising from grassy ground. Me, with heavy black skirts flapping around my ankles.

I’m meeting John in this cold, lonely place. Yes, that’s his name. We’re childhood sweethearts who long to marry. Not possible now. John goes off to fight for the king in the morning and my heart is breaking. My family are on the other side. The plain, drab clothing I wear leaves no room for doubt about this. There’s no happy ending for us.

“Hey, you look miles away.” I’m jolted back to the present.

“Sorry. What did you say?”

“I was just asking if you fancy a proper drink. And some decent food too, if you like? There’s a good pub round the corner.”

“I think that’s a brilliant idea. Let’s get out of here.” I’m feeling light headed and it isn’t the wine. And I’m no longer in a rush to go home. Not even tired any more. And you know what, I don’t care a fig if my shoes are pinching!

“Let me get rid of that for you.” Greg reaches across to take my half empty wine glass and as his fingers brush gently against mine, every cell in my body vibrates with yearning.

Perhaps tragedy in one life can be redeemed in another? Even if it takes four hundred years. It’s a good thought.

Weaving our way through the crowd towards the door, it feels the most natural thing in the world for Greg to take my hand. Being with him is like coming home. Like lazing in a warm scented bath or basking in the glow of a log fire.

And though he probably doesn’t have my memory flashes, it seems that somewhere deep down, Greg too has felt the tug of those tragic events so long ago.

But we’re together again at last. No longer in an England torn apart by religious and political conflict, but in a twenty first century publishing house in Oxford.

I can’t help smiling. It could be that you think I’m crazy. But you know, there’s so much out there that we don’t begin to understand. And who knows, perhaps it’s even true what they say. Perhaps love really does conquer all – given enough time.

🩷🩷🩷

For many years Sue taught English to students from around the world. Some time ago she began writing short stories and has since written stories, poems and articles, some of which have appeared in various publications including, The Lady, The People’s Friend, Fictionette, Crystal Magazine, All Your Poems, All Your Stories and Scribble.

She currently lives in Suffolk with her husband, Roger.