Time: Modern Day
Location: HereAfter

And there she was, Amelia, the love of his life. His soulmate . . . or so he thought. Was that even true? He was no longer sure of anything. What he was sure of was that Amelia looked cute as a button in her tennis outfit. Just as he remembered her. That little skirt and those legs . . . those legs that gave him so much pleasure and the memory of them that gave him so much pain over the years.

She had chosen to show herself to him as she was before, a year before that day. He looked at her cord and it glowed a golden colour, pure as snow reflecting the sun. It was pulsing . . . and his was too, matching hers, in rhythm and colour.

He knew that he must be reflecting himself at 17 or so. Their auras began to intertwine as they rapidly moved in time towards that fate filled day.

"Remember when I was trying to teach you tennis Peter? I told you that so long as you stayed back at the baseline you could probably play okay but you wouldn't win without taking risks.

"You had to learn to serve properly. Then, after you mastered that, the most important thing was the volley return. You had to learn to attack your opponent. To come into the net at the first opportunity. To take risks . . . otherwise you would tire quickly from returning from the baseline.

"The volley was fraught with danger though. Once at the net your opponent could easily hit the ball straight at you. You had to become good at switching to defending from attack. You had to hit the ball first any way you could . . . it might hit the frame of the racquet. Then it could be a winner as the ball went in at an odd angle, fooling your opponent or it could sail out, over the sideline or baseline, or into the net, losing you the point. It was a gamble, but one you must take many times in a game of tennis if you hope to improve and win. So Peter . . . when are you coming to the net?"

Peter thought for a minute.

"Did you ever love me?" Peter asked finally of her.

Silence . . . was she thinking what to say in response . . . she should be able to say yes or no straight away . . . it's not a hard question . . . she doesn't . . . not now . . . probably never did . . . I've been fooling myself for near on thirty years! What an idiot! She probably hates me . . . and so does her entire family . . .
THIS is my HELL.

Teacher stepped in as umpire.

"So many assumptions, Peter. What have we learnt about assumptions, and the danger of making life changing decisions.

"Decisions that have far reaching and potentially devastating affects on you, and those you love and respect. So what should you do Petros?

"Should you continue with your assumptions? . . . or perhaps just wait for Amelia to answer, in her time, not yours.

"You are being shown so many clues but you choose to ignore them, in your relentless search for punishment. Forgive yourself Peter, until you can do that, do not expect it of other people who don't know you as well as you do . . . Amelia . . . your turn?"

"I do love you Peter." Amelia appeared in the same dress she had on that fateful night, that night, the best night of Peter's life. "I guess I always have."

"But I said I loved you, and all you could do was say 'you'd better.'"

"Did I? I don't remember. I was so happy, but terrified that you might not like the crumbed cutlets . . . or me after we did what I had planned. But it was wonderful . . . but then I started to feel sick I was afraid I was going to spoil everything by chucking up all over you. It was a big deal for me . . . I wasn't so sure it was for you.

"You were over two years older than me. I thought you'd probably done this before . . . maybe many times, maybe even with someone at my school? My mind was racing I don't remember anything I said that day or night."

Peter started crying and so did Amelia . . . even Teacher was shedding a tear? . . . Surely not?

"So you forgive me?" Peter asked incredulously.

"Yes . . . yes Peter . . . I forgive you. If you forgive me for not contacting you for those two years. Not telling you you had a son."

"What about our son? Do you think Carter can ever forgive me? . . . and what about your mother, will she forgive me?"

"I think Mum has already . . . after all she was hardly blameless in all this, was she? In fact until I found out more about the murders I was angrier at her than I was at you.

"That all changed of course . . . I didn't believe you had changed that much since my death. It stunned me to be honest.

"As for your son . . . Carter is on a vendetta as you are no doubt aware now. He will sort it out in time. The rest of the family are coming to grips with it in their own ways.

"Once they finally get here they'll understand as Mum and I have. Uncle Tony, however, he is a different kettle of fish I'm afraid."

Peter dried his eyes but found no tears! "Should we celebrate then? Not sure if it's appropriate up here but I feel like celebrating. A great burden has been lifted off me.I feel euphoric, I guess."

Amelia took both his hands in hers. He stared at the reflections of her beautiful hands. "Perhaps these hands that you wrote a song about can make something for you. How about crumbed cutlets? . . . you fancy a couple of crumbed cutlets?"

"As long as I can hold your hand while you make them . . . I can even help."

Their cords intertwined again and they were gone.

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