he had let her down by never once knocking on her door, and now he was struggling to make it through a few hours.
“It wasn’t a mistake. We might have both made mistakes over the years, but this certainly isn’t one of them.”
It was so warm and genuine that her disappointment eased.
“Am I forgiven?” he asked.
“Forgiven? For what?”
“Being a spoilsport.”
“There’s nothing to forgive.” And she didn’t just mean today; although he was the one who had left, she was the one who needed to ask for forgiveness. “I could never be angry at you.”
“Then let’s get to it,” he said, edging her out of the car. “I’m guessing we’re about to see 1984 come to fruition, judging by our location.” He stepped into the sunlight. It was such a lovely day, a light blue sky with fine wisps of cloud. It made everything seem easier, and somehow it helped him find the energy he needed. The driver helped steady him, and soon enough they were on their way down the narrow lane that would lead them to Temple Church.
“I thought that you couldn’t remember all the years so well,” she said.
“Well, maybe I remember them better than I let on. After all, I had all year to think about what I wanted to wish for us. It wasn’t that hard to remember fifty wishes, and the order that they came in.”
They steadied each other, Elizabeth gripping his arm as the ground sloped down. “I think you mean forty-nine,” she said with a hint of sarcasm. “Remember, you never made it to Porthsennen this year.”
“No, I don’t suppose I did, did I. Let’s call it forty-nine.” The ornate circular church appeared before them, and as they descended the steps into the vestibule Tom watched as she gazed up at the ceiling. The architecture was awe-inspiring, and she was floored, just as he’d known she would be. “I’m right though, right? It was 1984.”
She handed him another wish, a crumpled piece of blue paper from her pocket. He read the date and the wish.
1984: I wish that I could take you to Temple Church, one of the most beautiful places I have found in London, where we would listen to evensong by candlelight.
“Just like you said.”
“I knew what I was doing that year, all right. And listen,” he said, holding his hand up to his ear. “I can already hear them singing.”
The acoustics were wonderful as they stepped inside, surrounded by interred Templar Knights. Vaulted ceilings rich and echoey loomed above, drenched in flickering shadows. Tom and Elizabeth took their seats to listen to the choir, and he watched her get lost in the music, transcended for a while by the feelings the singing could stir up. He had first walked in here by accident, drawn by the dulcet voices that had reached him on the street. That night he had argued with his wife, which was nothing new, but this time she had accused him of seeing somebody else. She had told him that she had a feeling in her heart that he wasn’t really hers. And although he wasn’t having an affair, and was in every practical respect a loyal husband, he also knew he couldn’t promise his wife that she was the woman he truly loved. And when she had asked him outright if he was in love with somebody else, he had seen little option to lie. He’d told her the whole story of Elizabeth, and she had left the same night. He knew his feelings would never change, and so Alice had begun to share her time between them both, but it had taken only six months for the natural shape of things to form, with Alice spending more and more time with her father in their family home, until one day her mother just never came back.
* * *
That evening after they left the church, they boarded a cruise boat from Embankment and began their sail along the river, just as Elizabeth had planned. They stood outside, the breeze cool against their skin, London Bridge itself lit up a soft shade of blue. When they started to feel the cold they sat at their table by the window, where they watched the boats, buildings, and lights paint the moving cityscape all around them.
“All the lights look like the stars,” she said as she gazed out toward the city. The food had been perfect, the atmosphere incredible. Even Tom had eaten. Now a pianist was beginning to