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There was a light chill in the air, weather turning from the warm summer days to winter’s dreariness. Leaves had started to turn, juicy green transforming into the radiant colours of golden yellow, rusty orange and ruby red, only available for that split moment in autumn's season where nature was still hanging on to the last parts of summer before giving into the cold clutch of winter’s hands. The smell of petrichor was a near constant companion on those days, much more frequent than the leftover summer breeze odour still to be found clinging on for dear life when the sun did grace London’s corners.
Charlie Nelson-Spring had made it onto the Bakerloo line at Paddington Station with minimal effort, letting muscle memory take him the same way he came most late Sunday mornings after a languid brunch with their grandchildren. Even with them being all grown up by now, they still insisted on their tradition that had started many moons ago, once the family home had no longer been big enough to accommodate their ever-growing clan.
He finally sat down on one of the seats of the underground carriage, which people tended to give up to him without much of a question these days. It served as a stark reminder that he was no spring chicken anymore, as Londoners were notorious for occupying seats silently and with no intention to move, no matter the circumstances. At 87 years of age, he was not going to complain, instead ensuring his pea coat was done up properly and his purse safely secured within the breast pocket. A black beanie hat kept his ears warm and his loose grey curls in check that he’d still kept, even after the merciless teasing of both the kids and grandchildren. His husband Nick loved them, and so they would stay until his hair fell out completely.
He got off at Embankment Underground Station, giving the familiar-faced staff member a quick nod of the head before sitting down on the bench furthest away from the entrance. The station itself didn’t carry any particular beauty, being mainly bright and white with rows of seats along the walls. But this bench had always been their bench, and so he’d search it out every time without fail. Leaning back, he closed his eyes and waited for the next tube to arrive. The unmistakable rumble of the approaching train soon became louder and louder the closer it got, the whoosh of the air being pushed through the tunnel making him shiver a little. The tube slowed down, gradually coming to a stop. He was tapping his dark brown chelsea boots against the floor impatiently, still waiting for three simple, but very special words.
“Mind the Gap” - His husband’s booming voice came over the tannoy, warmth and mirth carrying in equal measures, perfect enunciation making it impossible to misunderstand.
“Mind the Gap”
Oh how they’d laughed after Nick’s initial shock at having been told that he’d been the successful candidate in the TfL’s search for the person to do the announcements on the lines. After one too many drinks on a night out, their friend Darcy had dared Nick to apply to the callout. At that point, Nick had only been teaching for two terms and Charlie had just dipped his toes into the editing world. That night had ended in them looking at each other randomly and bursting into plenty more fits of giggles over the absurdity of Darcy’s challenge. However, Nick soon had started to seriously overthink how he’d best pronounce each sentence to ensure it would be understood properly. He’d always cared about other people deeply, which is why the teaching position had fit him so perfectly and Charlie had not been surprised by Nick’s earnest concerns at all, no matter the original intent of answering the call for being the “Voice of the Underground”.
What he hadn’t expected, however, was the sweet evening a few months later when they’d just gone for a walk to the park with their dog Daisy. He’d asked Nick whether he was planning to use the fairly substantial sum from the TfL job towards anything in particular, when Nick had looked at him sheepishly and pushed his hair out of his eyes, a nervous habit he’d picked up years prior. A blush had spread across his then boyfriend’s face, freckles drowning in the red tint of the heat rising in his cheeks, when he took firm hold of both of Charlie’s hands.
“I may have already spent it…” he’d murmured, before tugging Charlie in a direction they didn’t routinely walk with Daisy.
Once they reached Nick’s unspoken destination, Charlie had recognised it right away. It was the milkshake tent where they’d had their first unofficial date when they’d still been in school. It had however been shut for a few months, so Charlie was rather surprised to find it not only open, but also decorated with tons of rainbow coloured paper butterflies and strings of fairy lights. In the middle of the tent were throw cushions and blankets spread on the ground, where once stood tables, candles in little glass jars dispersed between, one of their playlists sounding softly from a portable speaker in the corner of the tent.
Nick had guided him right into the middle and had sat down onto one of the cushions, patting the one next to him to invite Charlie to join.
Confused but delighted, Charlie had sat down next to him and Daisy’d followed suit diagonally across from the two of them. “What’s this, then?” deep sapphire eyes searched for honey amber ones, surprised.
“Char…” Nick had turned around to Charlie with his entire body by this point, intertwining both their hands and his voice had trembled slightly. “From the moment I met you in Form, I knew that I just had to get to know you and become your friend. You opened my eyes to a world I hadn’t realised existed, never dared to explore and yet, with all the cheek and wit that is just so wholly you, you helped me find myself… and in the process you. Gosh Charlie… My life is so much better because of you, and these last few years have been an utter dream come true. Having found our own little place, Daisy, and jobs we both truly love has been nothing but amazing. I love you with every fibre of my heart and I cannot envision a life where you are not right beside me for every step of the way. We’ve been through so much together, championing each other’s successes and weathering the tough moments, too. There is nobody else in this world I’d rather do life with, and if you’ll have me, I’d like to prove that to you until the day I take my last breath.”
He’d reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a little, unassuming, black box.
A deep inhale, another squeeze of Charlie’s hand, before opening the tiny box to reveal a slim and matte silver band, hand hammered and perfectly imperfect. (He’d later pointed out an engraving within the inside of the band reading Yours. In any universe. ) He’d then moved to position himself squarely in front of Charlie, on one knee.
“Will you grow old with me until the day we shout at each other because we’ve gone deaf with age, but are too stubborn to do anything about it? Will you keep letting me bake for you every weekend until I’ve run out of recipes? Will you keep telling me to put the socks in the washing basket instead of leaving them strewn across the floor? Will you keep kissing me goodnight each evening, even if we’ve had a row?” Nick’s voice had dropped to almost a whisper by the end of that sentence and he had needed to clear his throat before continuing.
“Charles Francis Spring; Will you do me the greatest honour of my life and marry me?”
And of course he’d said yes. Immediately, in fact, breathy and disbelieving that this was his life and that his person had just asked him to commit to a life with each other, eternally tangled together, never to be separated again.
“Mind the Gap”
Nick’s voice brought him back from his memory and his right hand went to grasp his left hand’s ring finger, feeling along the edges and ridges of that exact silver band he’d been wearing for over five decades now. It looked just as beautiful now as it did on the day Nick had slipped it onto his finger for the first time. Maybe a little less shiny, a little more battered and bruised. Decades of loving and wearing it, touching it and playing with it through anxious moments having dulled its lustre. They’d joked about Charlie’s inability to part with it for a simple clean at the jewellers many times, Charlie having almost given in just last year. But he didn’t have the heart to take it in. Not now. The thought of the possibility of the ring being lost accidentally, no matter how small the probability may be (and Charlie had made the calculation a few times too many) was too much to bear.
He sat on the bench for a little while longer, letting his husband’s voice lull him into a sense of calm and safety once more, smiling at how little his voice had changed over the years. It had become softer in his old age, but had never lost the tone of love and adoration when speaking to him or any of their family members, warmth and sincerity ringing through with every spoken word.
Not much at all had changed over the span of time they’d lived and loved together, if he was being honest. They’d aged, of course. Their walks became slower, more comfortable. Their bones made themselves known with a cracking noise here and there, eyesight deteriorating over time, too. Nick had given into wearing glasses a whole lot sooner than Charlie, but they suited him, even if Charlie had teased him for growing into the teacher look years after retirement had started.
Charlie loved that he could still make him blush all those years later. Nick always looked a particular kind of handsome when flustered, when the dustings of freckles across his face got rivalled by the flushing of his cheeks.
He’d always been handsome of course, from the first moment he’d set eyes on him in Form, even through the process of puberty, growing into the strong but gentle giant their family referred to him as. And when his hair and beard had turned from the springtime sunshine gold to salt and pepper, Charlie thought he’d never been more beautiful. If the saying ageing like a fine wine was appropriate for anyone, it would have been for his husband.
After another announcement had come over the tannoy, Charlie stood up wearily, feeling the familiar dull pain in that same spot in his lower back that had caused him bother for the last 13 years. He gave a brief wave and a “I’ll be back soon!” to the member of staff he recognised before boarding the next tube, ready to head back to the place they’d made their home so many years ago.
Walking through the front door of their home, he slipped out of his boots, hung his coat in the hallway and made his way across to the mirror, before taking off his hat and sorting out his messy, ever-thinning curls. His gaze wandered across to a photo of Nick and him that had been taken just this last summer, mirth and happiness spread across both their faces, the clearest blue of the Mediterranean Sea behind them. An anguished look crossed his face, a whisper leaving his lips. “I miss you so much, Sweetheart.”
*
Charlie woke with a jolt, cold sweat clinging to his eyebrows, the back of his sleep shirt drenched through. He’d relived a particularly horrific memory in his nightmare and complete instinct made him turn to the left side of the bed, searching for his husband’s warm body and strong arms to snuggle into and be soothed back to sleep. But the bedside was empty, cold, the bedsheet smooth and untouched just like it had been for the past 139 nights, and his heart shattered into a thousand pieces all over again. The grief of having lost the love of his life washed over him anew, hot tears quickly forming and pooling in his eyes before streaming down his face. His throat felt as if it was closing up, bile rising in his stomach, yearning and despair swirling and fighting within his chest, before releasing via a heart-breaking sob that ripped through the quiet early morning hour. The sounds leaving Charlie’s body were akin to the ones of a wounded animal: loud, frantic, desperate.
They’d never talked about what life would look like without the other in it. The thought had never crossed their minds, because they’d been too madly in love to envision a day where they wouldn’t be with each other. Seeing Nick getting sick had made him feel helpless in a way he’d never felt before, not even during the worst months of his eating disorder struggles, where he’d been hospitalised. His husband’s unwavering optimism in the eye of the challenge that he was facing in his fight against pancreatic cancer had been admirable. It had even given Charlie hope, too. Because if Nick thought he could fight it, then who was Charlie to believe differently? Appointment after appointment, Nick kept steadfast in his strength and sanguineness, and Charlie had been with him every single step of the way. He was with him for each doctor’s appointment and every round of chemotherapy, distracting him with anecdotes of silly moments they’d had with their kids when they’d been little. Nick’s stubborn belief of overpowering the cells inside his body turning against him kept strong for months, regardless of the weight dropping off his body or the hair he lost. He’d kept that sparkle in his eye, the tease in his words, the gentleness in his touch.
And then it suddenly all came crashing down. The pain was no longer bearable. Getting out of bed became impossible and Charlie’s own arms were no longer strong enough to carry his soulmate. The brightness of the ambulance’s blue lights was only outshined by the whaling of its sirens, the assessment in hospital brief, the words palliative care immediate. It had taken three days for their world to come crashing down completely, knowing what was about to come. Their family rotated visits around the clock, bringing Charlie clothes and food, while he never left his husband’s side. By day four, Nick had been completely unresponsive, if only for a gentle squeeze of Charlie’s hand when he’d whispered to him that he’d make sure to stay with him until the end. On the evening of day five, surrounded by all their children and Charlie, while their wedding song was playing, he’d taken his last breath.
Charlie had not been prepared for the grief. He hadn’t been prepared for the many words from well meaning people just cutting deeper into the wound of his shattered heart. He hadn’t wanted to listen to another person telling him that time will heal all wounds or the tales of how they’d dealt with their grief of losing a loved one, nor had he wanted to see the look of pity in their eyes. He’d just wanted to sit in his armchair, listen to their favourite songs and cry. Alone.
Tears were still clinging to his eyelashes half an hour later like the drops of morning dew holding onto strands of grass. Eyes, puffy and red, stinging from the countless times he tried to wipe them dry. It was a pointless endeavour that Charlie knew could only be soothed in one particular way, by one specific voice in Embankment Underground Station.
He got himself dressed, putting on one of Nick’s jumpers that still had the faintest smell of his clinging onto it, ensuring to be wrapped up warm enough to deal with the cold morning’s chill. Stepping into the fresh air, hands burrowed deep inside his coat pockets, his finger glided across the edges of something that felt like paper. Unsure of what it could be, he decided to wait until he was sitting on the tube heading towards his destination before taking it out. Pushing his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose, he inspected the folded piece of paper that was about as big as the palm of his hand. On it, neatly written in blue fountain pen ink, he recognised his husband’s writing of his own name right away. He couldn’t remember seeing it before, searching the corners of his mind for a memory that would explain the note finding its way into his coat pocket, but came up blank.
He unfolded it carefully, eyebrows scrunched together, tracing his fingers over the words he found within. It was a letter addressed to him and he’d definitely never seen it before.
My Darling Char,
If you’re reading this letter, it means I’m no longer with you. It also means that you were putting on a particularly brave face at the last brunch with the kids, as I asked Georgia to slip it into your pocket on one such day.
How I wish I could be there with you right now. How I long to be able to hold you in my arms for just one more moment. And yet, I’m well aware that my time is running out. I know it just as much as you do, having just had the confirmation that the last round of chemo wasn’t successful. But, I’m not writing this to dwell on the inevitable. I’m writing this to remind you of just how lucky we have been, my love.
I’m forever grateful to have met you when we were both just teenagers. I would never have believed that I would find the person I’d spend the rest of my life with in school. I'd have laughed at the idea of finding my soulmate while still green behind the ears.
What a life we have lived, Charlie. What. A. Life. To know a love like ours is a gift that I will treasure forever. To be able to still feel so in love seven decades later is something I can’t quite fathom. I never thought I’d still be able to wake up in my retirement years and look over to the most beautiful person on the planet. Growing up, growing bold, growing old with you has been the greatest wonder of my life.
Just look at how much love we have brought into this world together, sweetheart.
Look at our kids and then look at their kids… We have been truly spoiled with goodness. Please let them be there for you now? I know you’ll want to have some time to just sit in the armchair and process by yourself. But when you’re ready, let them help. Can you promise me that?
I cannot imagine what must be going through that beautiful mind of yours right now, but I want you to know that I have loved nothing more than being with you. Coming home to you has always been the most comforting feeling. It never mattered where we were; if you were there, I was home. You’ve been my anchor all these years and I am distraught at the thought of having to leave you behind. I had never thought of one of us having to leave the other being a possibility. I always thought we’d just grow old and wrinkly and fall asleep one evening to go into the next world together, too. Well, I suppose we have done the first two of those things. (I know, I know, this is not really the moment for jokes.)
I love you with every fibre of my being. Every single molecule made up of atoms within me yearns to be able to hold you close right in this moment, to thread my fingers through your curls, lean my chin on your shoulder and just breathe in every littlest smell that is you.
If the pain you’re feeling is anything like the ache within my chest right now, not knowing how much time I have left with you, then I hope that you know that I honestly believe we will find each other again.
Yours. In any universe.
Nick xxxxxx
The tears had started flowing freely again just two sentences in, but the tight knot in his chest had started to loosen up the more of the letter he read. By the time Charlie had reached the end of it, his heart felt fuller than it had done in months. With the utmost care, he folded the paper back together and slipped the note into the inside left breast pocket of his coat. If this was the last piece of Nick he had to hold onto, he’d make sure to keep it as close to his heart as possible. He knew he’d read it again the moment he stepped foot through the door of their house.
Bracing himself for the arrival at Embankment Underground Station, he waited for the tube to slow down before getting up from his seat and stepping off, his hip reminding him once more of the fact that he was ageing continuously.
He hadn’t walked two steps when the tannoy started blaring.
“Mind the Gap”
Confusion flitted across his face momentarily before realisation hit him hard. It wasn’t his husband’s voice making the announcement. It had been replaced with someone, something else.
He felt like he’d just been hit with a thousand bricks, entirely disorientated, frozen to the spot. He could feel his heartbeat accelerating, his hands were shaky and clammy at once and his mouth dried out. He hadn’t dealt with a panic attack in decades, yet recognised the symptoms right away. It was an odd sensation to be catapulted back into after such a long time, but he managed to get himself to a seat and started an old but efficient grounding exercise he’d been taught by his first ever therapist, Geoff.
Five things you can see: The pattern of the tiles on the floor, the artificial light reflecting off the tube’s window, the abandoned blue and yellow umbrella two seats over, the young mother with an infant strapped to her chest, his brown chelsea boots.
Four things you can feel: the coldness of the metal seat on his hands, the light scratch of the woolly scarf around his neck, the tickle of the hair just above his eye, the gust of wind from the departing tube.
Three things you can hear: The distant sound of the busker down the tunnel, the young man to his left blowing his nose, the rumbling of the tube.
Two things you can smell: The sweet and sour smell of the infant’s spit up, the tiniest bit of Nick’s cologne on his jumper.
One thing you can taste: The leftover traces of toothpaste in his mouth.
His breath had slowly stabilised throughout the exercise and he could feel his vision becoming clearer again, the trembling of his hands reducing and heart rate slowing down.
He was grateful to his mind for having remembered something he once so frequently used in his younger years even decades after not having needed to do so anymore.
After a few more moments, he stood up and walked towards one of the staff members he recognised from his frequent visits. She met his eyes with a warm smile, greeting him with a brief “Good morning, Sir.”
“Good morning,” he checked her for a name tag on her uniform and found it next to a little rainbow pin, “Rain. I’m sorry to disturb you. But… where did the voice go?”
She looked at him a little perturbed. “Excuse me?”
“The voice. Over the tannoy. The one that made the Mind the Gap announcement?”
“Oh, it was replaced during the upgrade of the TfL system and replaced by the automated voice which is now the same across all stations.” she replied, matter-of-factly.
Utterly devastated by the news, Charlie started tearing up again, entirely unashamed by his emotions. Through the sobs he tried to explain to Rain why he was so affected by it.
“You… you don’t… don’t understand. That was my husband.. My husband’s voice. He’d done the recordings decades ago when we… we’d just started our post grad careers.” He hiccoughed. “He’s passed away not quite 5 months ago now and I’ve come back here frequently to hear his voice. Especially on difficult days, when everything just feels too much, I’ve come to find this to be a place of comfort and refuge from it all.”
He wasn’t sure what he expected to gain from divulging this much information, nor did he think that she would care particularly much, but he was surprised to find her face open and friendly. She offered him a tissue and some gentle words of reassurance before inviting him to a cup of tea and held her arm out to guide him to the little staff’s booth not far away.
Her manager, slightly taken aback by the 87 year old’s presence in the staff area, was quickly clued in on what had occurred and regrettably informed Charlie that the whole TfL system had been overhauled. To the manager’s knowledge, there was no way of getting Nick’s voice back.
They’d taken down his phone number and address, just in case they could track down any information of where he may be able to get a copy of the announcement from, without trying to build up his hopes too much. He left them with a polite goodbye, hopes for humanity replenished, if only just because there was clearly still some kindness left in people. They could have poignantly ignored him, had they so chosen to.
He arrived back home eventually, after aimlessly wandering the streets around their house. The overwhelming sadness of having lost Nick twice in the span of just five months had truly gotten to him that morning. He had relied so heavily on the underground announcements to cheer him up in his darkest hours. It was only once he finally sank into his arm chair that he remembered his love’s letter and went to retrieve it from the breast pocket of his coat again. He re-read the letter several times, sadness slowly shifting into a sense of stubborn decisiveness. He picked up his phone and waited for the tell tale sign of it being answered.
“Georgia, sweetheart. How would you two and the kids and their entourage feel about coming over for tea sometime this week? I could really do with the company.”
*
Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and the emotions of grief and love washed over Charlie in waves. Sometimes the shores of emotional togetherness were too far away to be seen, making the anguish of the grief near unbearable. Other times the memory of love was shining through brighter than the north star in the middle of the desert’s night.
He’d taken Nick’s letter to heart and surrounded himself with his family, and they’d been more than happy to comply. There barely passed a day where one of their kids or grandchildren wouldn’t check in with him, be it via text message, phone call or dropping by the house. That’s how he’d found himself sitting at the kitchen table with their second eldest, Iris, flipping through pages and pages of recipe books of Nick’s, hunting for that one recipe he’d always used to make the Birthday cake for all of their family members.
“Dad… we’ve been looking for nearly an hour without success. Are you certain Papa had written it down in one of his recipe books?” she asked, somewhat overwhelmed.
He huffed at her, incredulously. “It has got to be here somewhere, I still remember him finally sweet talking that little old Lady in Hyères to write it out to him. He was so chuffed. He’d never have binned that.”
As he grumbled that last sentence, he suddenly looked up and across to the kitchen counters. The thought process going through his mind was written all over his face, sudden understanding flashing in his eyes as they settled on the dried lavender flowers that had been framed and hung up only a few days after they’d returned from that first solo holiday together.
“He wouldn’t have, surely… would he?” With wonder in his voice, he looked at Iris before asking her to bring the frame across to the kitchen table, so they could look at it together. And sure enough, after closer inspection, he noticed the background of the frame where the lavender flowers had been mounted against and recognised it as the handwritten recipe from Madame Vernier. “Well fuck me, what a sly cat!” he chuckled.
“DAD!” his daughter scolded him before joining in with the laughter. “How did you know to check there?”
“You know your Papa was always a gigantic sap at heart. I’m not actually surprised at all. I can’t believe I never thought of it before, to be completely honest.” Another burst of joy and laughter bubbled from deep within his chest and he happily started to recount the story of the flowers in the frame to her.
It had been their first holiday together, just the two of them. They’d waited until they’d both graduated and settled in their respective first proper grown-up jobs before deciding that, as much as they enjoyed their annual trips to Menorca with the Nelsons, they wanted to experience a holiday just for themselves. A vacation where they could enjoy lazy mornings snuggled up together, explore the surroundings without having to be dictated by someone else’s schedule. Where they could stay up until the wee hours of the morning if they wanted to, without having to worry about keeping anyone else awake too.
They’d found a lovely, rustic-looking little apartment in a small place called Rocbaron, in the South of France.
“La Provence, mon amour!” Nick had explained and Charlie had readily agreed, as he did with most things when his love spoke French to him.
From there they had plenty of options for day trips, being only a half hour’s distance from the ocean, while also being able to go for walks in nearby national parks and explore old castles, or trips to other nearby small places to sample all of the finest pastries France had to offer.
It was on one of those daily excursions they’d found their way to Hyères, a small town known for its international fashion and photography festival, that Elle had urged them to go to and explore. The mistral had been blowing particularly wildly that day, little specks of dust flying across their faces repeatedly and Charlie's curls dancing to the rhythm of the airflow. It had altered their plans slightly but they had made more than up for it by visiting each and every bakery to compare croissants. Nick had insisted it was important to have an impressive sample size to get any kind of conclusive results in their pastry assessment. Charlie had rolled his eyes good naturedly at him and had indulged in the ridiculous experiment , as his boyfriend had called it.
One of those little bakeries had lured them in, not just because of the ridiculous amount of mouth-watering, buttery- and flakey-looking pastries, but because of the most delicious smell of deep chocolate mixed with a hint of hazelnuts and something Nick just couldn’t put his finger on. As they’d made their way inside the place, walls of all colours of the rainbow had greeted them, joy expelling from each stone of the mosaics that’d been laid within them. And in the midst of all the colourful chaos, they’d found the owner. Madame Vernier, she’d introduced herself as, hair as white as snow, mesmerising eyes the colour of deep emerald, and an air of je ne sais quoi surrounding her.
She had been insistent that Nick and Charlie try some of the cake that had lured them into her bakery in the first place, and over mouthfuls of the most delicious dessert either of them had ever experienced, she and Nick had fallen into a quick and comfortable conversation. While the flavours of the cake exploded across their tongues, senses heightened to new levels, she’d challenged them to list all of the ingredients. Neither Nick nor Charlie had managed to figure out that one spice that brought out the depths of the chocolate above all else, no matter how hard they'd tried. She’d teased them endlessly, laughter lines forming around her eyes, her forehead and her mouth. They’d ended up spending over an hour with her, learning about her family and the story behind the bakery, before they had to wish her farewell. Their visit ended with her writing down the recipe that’d been passed down in her family for generations and had been kept secret for just as long, for Nick to take away home with them.
Charlie had only later found out that Nick had managed to get the recipe from the sweet old lady by whispering that he wanted to bake it for his boyfriend’s next birthday, as a surprise and reminder to their time together that summer.
Nick had asked Charlie to let him surprise him with a trip to somewhere special for their last day of vacation. He’d been giddy about the idea for almost as long as they’d been on holiday together and he practically bounced off his feet with excitement. They’d spent their last full morning leisurely, limbs tangled under the bedsheets, sleep still clinging to their eyes. Nick had kissed Charlie, who’d pretty much fallen back asleep again, gently on the forehead before mumbling “Sleep some more, love. I’ll be right back,” and sneaking out of their rented flat. He’d nipped to one of the small bakeries a stone's throw away and picked up croissants for breakfast, alongside a fresh fougasse and other necessities for the surprise he’d planned.
Upon returning, he’d set the little table on the balcony with the purchased breakfast items, as well as a filled cafetiere and freshly squeezed orange juice, bits sieved out, as neither of them were massive fans of the textured nightmare that zesty orange juice presented.
They’d enjoyed their breakfast gazing over the balcony, the warm morning breeze’s fleeting touch on their faces, fingers brushing together gently, while discussing their favourite moments of their week-long holiday.
When they’d finally left the flat, lunchtime had already passed and they drove for another hour and a half before arriving at their destination, a gorgeous little town called Valensole.
It was quaint, with cobblestones lining the ground as far as the eye would reach. Houses of all shapes and colours framed the main town square, and a water fountain sparkled and splashed away with a constant stream right in the middle of the square.
With a rucksack on his back, Nick had guided Charlie through the village centre and towards a small walking path. The sound of the cicadas chirping away accompanied them on their small hike towards the unknown, droplets of sweat falling from their brows over eyelashes and onto the path, sweaty palms holding onto each other.
"We're nearly there, mon amour," Nick had promised, before requesting to hold his hands above Charlie's eyes and guiding him around the last bend semi-blindfolded.
Giggling, they'd made their way around the corner, successfully escaping any clumsy entanglements of limbs that could have led to falls. When Nick had finally removed his hands, Charlie had been stunned into silence, only the tiniest of gasps escaping him.
Before them, as far as the eye could see, had been the most vivid colours of purple and lilac, fields and fields filled with rows of lavender, painted golden in the rays of the slowly setting sunshine. The smell of the delicate flowers, diluted by the vast amount of fresh air flooded their senses, swirling through their airways, bringing calm and serenity.
As they’d stood, taking it all in, Nick draped both his arms around Charlie from behind, nuzzling his nose into the crook of his neck. "I've been wanting to bring you here all holiday, but I thought it would be a nice thing to do on our last day… stunning, isn't it? There's a little clearing over there," he pointed towards a spot in the middle of one of the lavender fields. "Fancy a picnic, darling?"
"It's beautiful, Nick…" Charlie had gasped, still totally enamoured with their surroundings. With utter wonder in his words, he continued, "but how on earth do you know about this place and the clearing? You've never been here before."
A sheepish smile had made an appearance on Nick's face then and he'd rubbed the back of his neck, while a blush started spreading all across his face, quickly claiming his cheeks, the top of his ears and the tip of his nose.
"I may have done some.. research? On Google? And there was this contact number for the owner of these fields here, which I may or may not have called?"
"And you tell me I'm a dork!" Charlie'd giggled. "You giant, lion-hearted wonder of a man." He'd turned around in Nick’s embrace at that, arms finding their ways around his boyfriend’s neck, fingers gently pulling him closer by tiny tugs on his golden strands of hair. "I am completely and utterly gone on you, Nicholas Nelson. Just when I thought I couldn't possibly love you anymore than I already do, you do something like this," he gestured at their surroundings, "and my heart goes into some kind of arrhythmia."
They’d spent the rest of the evening in the clearing, spread out on the picnic blanket surrounded by the lavender and the buzzing of cicadas, trying all the different French delicacies Nick had packed especially for them to try. The sun continued to touch the purple flowers and turned them an even deeper golden in the evening glow, specks of dust shimmering through the air, the couple laying next to each other on the blanket, listening to music and sharing languid kisses, while burning their first ever holiday together to their memories. And when they finally left, so did a little bouquet of lavender, carefully wrapped within a napkin, making it all the way back home to England with them.
“And that’s how the lavender ended up in the frame. Your Papa was insistent that we’d dry them out first and keep them as a memento from that holiday.” Charlie finished the retelling of the story to Iris, sweet memory suddenly clouded by the very vividly felt absence of his husband.
Seeing her father’s face glaze over with grief so suddenly, Iris stepped around the kitchen table, laid the framed flowers down and pulled him into a tight embrace. “We all miss him terribly, Dad. You’re allowed to be sad. You two have spent a lifetime together, more than any other couple I know, and you loved each other so much, until the very end. I don’t think I know anyone that’s ever felt love the way you two have. I’m not even sure Sam and I have a bond the way you and Papa did, and I’d be devastated to lose him. I can’t imagine the pain you’re going through, but I do know that Papa would want us all to focus on the things we can influence. So let’s follow that recipe and make the most marvellous birthday cake we’ve ever had. One that Papa would be proud of.”
Piercing blue eyes bore into hers, determination shining through them then, a cheeky smile forming on her father’s face. “Let’s see what your old dad can whip up, then,” he laughed, grabbing the frame once more to get to the recipe. They worked together like a well-oiled machine, following the recipe step for step. Laughter filled the kitchen when the flour accidentally exploded all over the kitchen counter as they weighed out the ingredients. Half an hour later the kitchen resembled chaos, but the soft smell of chocolatey goodness started swirling through the house.
They’d just finished the last decorations on the cake when the landline rang, shrill and loud, ripping them both from their thoughts. Charlie went to fetch it.
“Hi there, this is Rain from Transport for London. Am I speaking with Mr. Nelson-Spring?”
“Yes, this is he?”
“Hi! I don’t know whether you remember me at all. We had a really lovely chat a couple of weeks back about your husband’s voice over for the Underground?”
“Ah Rain. Yes, of course I remember. Thank you again for the cup of tea.”
“Don’t be daft, Mr. Nelson-Spring!”
“Please, just call me Charlie…”
“Alright then, Charlie… You must wonder why I’m calling! I’ve got some fantastic news for you! We’ve managed to track down the old recordings of your husband and even better, we’ve been able to digitise them. A copy of it is already in the mail to you. But… that’s not all! Additionally, the manager of Embankment Underground Station has been able to revert the announcement back to your husband’s. So, if you want to come by again anytime, you’ll get to hear it again.”
Charlie's hand flew to his mouth, eyes as round as marbles, and he had to steady himself quickly as his legs started to tremble.
“I… wow. I don’t quite know what to say. Thank you, Rain. Thank you so much. I’m sure I’ll see you again soon. Thank you so much for letting me know.”
“My absolute pleasure Mister… sorry, Charlie! Have a lovely rest of your day and I’ll see you soon.”
“You too. Bye.”
“Bye!”
The gravity of what had just been relayed to him took over at once and Charlie found himself staring at his second oldest with a sense of utter disbelief mixed with a pinch of relief, a heaviness that had been sitting on his chest lifting suddenly, allowing his breaths to come easier and more steadily. The turmoil of emotions he’d felt since the loss of his husband’s voiceover work on the underground had really knocked him for six. The last grasp of something, anything connecting him to Nick in the real world had made him spiral more than he could have imagined. To get that sliver of him back felt impossible.
“They found the recording of the announcements for the underground and have restored it, petal. Your Papa’s voice will keep playing at Embankment Underground Station.” He reached out to hold her hand in his, trembling with the shockwave of the truth of that statement washing over him. Fingers pressed together while sweet smiles were exchanged, tears of happiness falling onto the table one by one.
They sat in silence for a while, holding onto each other, communicating with nothing but hand squeezes and sincere looks. Iris got up eventually and walked across to her father’s chair, squeezed his shoulders lightly and dropped a quick kiss to the back of his head.
“The rest of the family will be arriving soon. Let’s get that cake onto a cake stand and onto the table and wow them all with it.” She reminded him before cocking up her eyebrows and looking at him once more. “What was that spice neither Papa nor you could ever figure out in the original cake, Dad?”
He smiled at her mischievously, eyes twinkling with mirth. “A teaspoon of the freshest espresso powder. We only found out once your Papa made me that cake for my birthday for the first time after that holiday.”
*
The birds were chirping away, singing loudly, announcing the break of a new dawn, the start of a new day. The bare tree branches started to sprout with green buds all over, promising the end of winter and the start of a new spring season, the temperatures slowly warming day by day. The morning breeze blew the grass back and forth gently and lifted the dirt from the roads into airy spirals. There was not much traffic on the roads yet as Charlie Nelson-Spring walked towards the tube entrance slowly, wrapped in his usual pea coat, beanie hat firmly sat atop his head. The sign of the station was calling for him, shining brightly, luring him into the depths of the white walls and stale smell of air that’d been sitting within the same tunnels for too long.
Left hand holding onto the staircase rail, right hand digging into his lower back, he walked down the few steps and towards the well known and loved platform, where he had come to religiously each Thursday morning since that fateful phone call. He steered towards their bench once more, now sporting a shiny plaque, which read: In memory of Nicholas Nelson-Spring, the voice of the Underground. Yours. In any universe. Charlie
Letting out a little huff, he sat down slowly, knees clicking in a disgruntled manner. He listened out for the long awaited sound of the incoming underground, the rumble slowly building, growing louder and more furious, ground trembling under his feet.
“Mind the Gap”
Small flutters within his heart let themselves be known, gentle swoops warming him from the inside out, spreading joy and love throughout his whole body. A love he only felt when listening to Nick’s voice, a love so strong his entire body felt like combusting. A love so deep, it carried between the land of the living and the dead. He closed his eyes and let the voice lull him into a deep sense of comfort, transporting him back through time and space to memories of moments spent together; from their first kiss to their respective graduations, from the birth of their first daughter to the birth of their last son, from weekends at rugby matches with the kids hanging off Nick’s shoulders to moments of urging their children to study for their finals, from the moment they were empty nesters to the time they welcomed their last dog into their family, from the date nights in their 20s to the date afternoons in their 80s, from the gentle touches, sweet kisses to the heated glances, from the first time they met to the last moment they had together and Charlie had to say goodbye.
He listened to his lover’s voice anytime he missed him, anytime he had something he wanted to share with him, anytime he wanted to be close to him.
Charlie kept returning, week on week, always greeting the staff with a kind smile and wave, before taking his seat on their bench. He kept coming back for years, methodically so. Until one day, Charlie Nelson-Spring didn’t make it to Embankment Underground Station anymore.
Instead, the plaque on their bench had been updated to read following:
In memory of Nicholas and Charles Nelson-Spring, who lived the world’s richest love story. Together. In any universe.
The busy hustle and bustle of the underground kept running, commuters rushing for their connecting trains, and amidst all the chaos, Nick’s strong voice carried over them:
“Mind the Gap”