the man who

"And then you pour the coffee in like this..." he demonstrates mockingly, his blue eyes laughing. "And voila. Coffee."

He steps back and takes a bow, winks.

"Don't listen to him," the owner comes around the corner, her bangles flashing as she slaps him playfully. "He is a tease."

I am awkward and stiff in my starched shirt and sensible shoes, dismissing the characters in front of me with all the self conscious indifference my 17 year old self can indulge. It is my first day, a Friday night 3 weeks into my graduating year and I am torn with the eagerness of impressing my new boss and the house party already in full swing.

"I'm Paul" he says. "Anything you want to know, just let me know." He resembles a blonde Buddy Holly, tall and slim in his tuxedo shirt and vest. Cocky as I am, I am unprepared for his flirtatious banter, his confidence, his smile. He keeps me on edge, clumsy and unsure of my body and my actions.

Not long after that year passes, he will hold my hand on the shores of a frozen lake, pull a blanket over us and tell me he loves me. He will be responsible for my first orgasm and hold my fragile heart in his hands. He will buy me that print that will need to be reframed and reglassed every time I move until finally I decide to leave it hanging in the house in Kentish Town. He will spend hours choosing the perfect dress he gives me for Christmas which will be worn over and over, and then finally to the funeral of a friend in my 19th year. He will make me soup when I am ill, try to teach me to drive standard on his white Volkswagen, brush the hair out of my eyes, trace my name under his on the pier at White Rock with a pen knife (if you look closely, it is still there). He will bake me a chocolate cake on Valentine's Day, hold my hand against his beating heart and show me how to love.

And then one day he will leave me without explanation; and I, unprepared and naive will act with little dignity, with anger, fear and desperation. I will find solace in my friends' laughter, in cheap beer, drunkeness and cigarettes. And then when I am tired of fighting, of sadness, of that bitter self destruction that keeps my blood warm, he will find his way back into my damaged heart. He will stand outside my window one Christmas Eve exchanging his gift for one small kiss. In return I will be careless with my love, handing him piece by piece of myself. I will love him as if I am using up all the love I will ever have, so that I will never be whole again.

And then suddenly he will leave again; it is less than 9 months after walking away when he will call me with the news that he just got married; perhaps it is only irony that his wedding day was my 21st birthday.

Whatever it was, it is a cruel lesson. It takes almost a decade to see past the hurt for what it was, to see the value in all that I gained in it. That what replaces the hurt is something more beautiful, more powerful, stronger and intense. Yet still I carry him in my heart like a cancer.

He makes another appearance in my life, suddenly last week. Seeking legal advice from a family friend, he speaks of me as if we are old friends. He is opening a bakery in White Rock, he explains, smiling.

Perhaps, now, the signs are all there. That it is now time to exorcise old ghosts and let what I have gained rule, and not the loss of my unsullied heart.