As the plane began its descent into Schiphol, Fiona looked out over the flat landscape. Never mind the sails she could see spinning below; she must have windmills in her head to come back after so many years. If only she'd had that soothing gin and tonic on the flight after all.
Making her way through passport control, she had a sudden urge to hide herself in the throng of travellers, keep her head down and hope that Jan wouldn't spot her. He'd tracked her down on the internet, but neither of them had offered to send a photo, each perhaps putting off the moment when they would have to swap memories of their youthful romance for the realities of middle age. Maybe they wouldn't recognise each other, Fiona thought, and she could return home to the life she had before his email.
But stepping into the arrivals hall, she found herself looking directly at him. Despite the greying hair and careworn lines, she knew Jan immediately. The hubbub around her melted into recollections of one perfect afternoon by the canal, boats lapping the water behind tresses of weeping willow, air heavy with the scent of crushed grass as she responded to the insistence of his mouth, the weight of his body on hers.
He smiled and Fiona realised that she must always have known him; she saw that same lopsided grin every day. In her pocket, her hand clutched the photograph of a young man as she wondered just how she was going to tell Jan about his son.
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