MY BREAST CANCER charity work is important to me, especially since my mother’s diagnosis. But today I am distracted as I talk with survivors of this common and often devastating disease. I paste on my smile, and pose for the photographs that will launch my new fund-raising lipstick range in collaboration with the charity.
I leave the Breast Cancer Awareness building in central Milan feeling drained and duck into the car. Nick and I made some huge progress yesterday. My head is still fuzzy with everything he confessed. My chest aches for his dreadful and tragic loss. One that I’m sure the passage of time can’t diminish. But stronger still are my feelings for Nick.
Complex feelings.
I care that he’s hurting. I want to hold him until he stops punishing himself. To absorb the blows he thinks he deserves and give him a moment’s reprieve from his pain. I want him to know that I’m here for him, to feel that he’s not alone.
But how can I do that when he’s still holding back? Obviously his physical withdrawal reflects his emotional distance. Can he ever overcome such a long, self-inflicted sentence of punishment? Last night proved that, where I’m open to our deep physical connection, Nick is way behind. Thanks to Dave’s cruel betrayal, I struggle with trust. But Nick clearly doesn’t trust me. If he did, he’d let go, let us happen. He’d see that I’d be there to catch him. That I’m not going to use his vulnerability against him.
I’m silent as Nick pulls into traffic.
‘Are you okay?’ he asks, heading north out of the city. The three-hour drive to Saint Moritz will take us just over the border into Switzerland, one of my favourite places in the world. My parents would hire a lodge every year of my childhood. I have memories of fun and crisp alpine air and cosy hot chocolates...
I nod, aware of this man in whole new ways. His beautiful conker-brown eyes still carry that haunted look of last night. I want to reach out to him, but I’m also wary of my growing emotional entanglement.
I offer him a grateful smile. ‘I’m just feeling a little wobbly. I met a lot of brave women today. Women fighting a horrible illness. Women like my mum.’
He glances sideways, remnants of his former guardedness shielding his expression. ‘Your charity work must be sometimes gruelling. It’s natural for it to take its toll.’
I ache to hold him. To seek out and to offer comfort. Because physically we click, at least for me. But there’s new risk. Our closeness is a brittle and fragile thing. I shake my head to clear the images of Nick’s heartbreak last night when he spoke about the loss of his baby, although my throat aches with trapped feelings. ‘It certainly puts some of the things I worry about into perspective.’
‘Such as?’
I inhale deeply. ‘Sometimes I feel like a fake because I’m always projecting an image. I feel like I’ve been acting my whole life, slipping on the mask the public sees in order to protect myself and my family. When we were little girls my parents would take my sister and I to places they knew there’d be cameras. We’d be excited to dress up, but terrified we’d put a foot wrong and the world would see. Terrified of the wall of lenses and flashing lights. Terrified we’d let our parents down in some way.’
I lean back against the head rest. ‘Days like today make me realise that perhaps I’ve forgotten what’s real and important. What matters.’
People. Loved ones. Him.
‘I can understand how you feel, but there’s nothing fake about you. You’re the most real person I know.’ His hand covers mine in my lap. It’s such a normal yet intimate gesture that, for the first time, I feel like maybe we could have something real when this trip is over.
The thought should bring me contentment. Excitement. Instead my mind throws up roadblocks. Nick has spent years protecting himself from his past pain, avoiding meaningful attachment. The depth of his issues scares me. Yes, we’re similar in some ways, although I haven’t experienced anything like his degree of personal devastation. But we’re both struggling. Me by trying to separate my private life from the media interest I attract for fear of hurting my loved ones. Fear that I’ll misplace my trust and be humiliated and hurt again.
Maybe it’s time for us to stop fighting so hard.
I drag in a shuddering breath. Being emotionally open is terrifying. I know the consequences. I’ve felt the sting of that exposure and I’ve spent the past year recovering from its harshness.
Nick glances my way and then merges onto the motorway that will take us north towards Switzerland. ‘Just because you have parts of your life you don’t share with the world doesn’t mean you’re acting. Everyone is entitled to a private life. And you brought happiness to those women today—laughter and lipstick. That’s a real skill. That relatable connection is your gift.’
That he sees me so deeply and understands what I’m trying to achieve brings tears to my eyes. I blink them away, my mind restless with doubts.
‘I’m sure when you’ve been through something life-changing like those women have, like your mother has,’ he continues, ‘looking and feeling good about yourself again is a vital part of recovery.’
‘Yes, it is. It’s so much more than lipstick.’ A lump settles in my throat. ‘I’m not sure what’s wrong with me today—perhaps I just need to speak to my mum. Hear her voice. Feel her love...’
Perhaps that’s part of the answer for him, too. Perhaps if Nick talked his emotional regrets through with his mother he’d discover that she doesn’t blame him the way he blames himself. Maybe then he could learn to forgive himself. Be open to healing rather than pushing people away because it’s too painful to feel.
‘Can I ask you something?’ I hold my breath. Beyond our physical connection things are delicate. Complicated. Uncertain. But I’m starting to care about him; I realised that the moment I opened my eyes this morning and instinctively reached for him in my empty bed.
We returned from Club Vivace in the early hours and Nick insisted that I needed some quality rest before my busy schedule today. In truth, I think he needed space after his confession. He’s not the big tough guy he projects. Well, he is, but he’s so much more than that cliché.
He’s considerate and loyal and harbours strong regrets that have broken parts of him. Anyone who has that capacity to feel as deeply as he does also has the capacity for deep and lasting commitment. But for my own sake I need to tread carefully. I can’t get ahead of myself. Falling for someone like Nick, or anyone after Dave, is risky. The fact that I haven’t dated in a year tells me I’m still recovering.
‘Sure.’ He shrugs, the wariness back.
‘Have you ever talked about your feelings with your mother?’
His body tenses. ‘No. Why would I remind her of what a disappointment her son is?’
My heart clenches, each beat painful. ‘What if she’s not disappointed? You’re a thoughtful, trustworthy and dedicated man, Nick. You don’t have to punish yourself for ever over one mistake you made as a teenager.’
His mouth flattens into a stubborn line. ‘It’s...complex. My child died,’ he bites out.
‘I know,’ I whisper, because I’m in no way diminishing his past trauma or claiming to understand that kind of loss. ‘And I’m sorry. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.’
I fall silent, so I’m shocked when he volunteers more information.
‘Julia was twenty weeks when the bleeding started. The baby was too young to survive. But the stress I put her through must have contributed.’
He pales, and guilt lances my chest. I’ve taken him back to memories that cause him pain.
‘Before I went inside, we’d made plans. We had a list of names... I hadn’t realised until she told me she was expecting how much I wanted to be a father. To do a good job and always be there for my kid. Always. I never knew my father, so it was important to me that I be the total opposite to my own child.’
His hands grip the wheel so tightly I feel sick for putting him through this.
‘Julia almost died, too. She bled so much... And I wasn’t there—not for her or for my son.’
I’m so choked up I have to grate out the words. ‘That would have been terrifying...distressing for you. Didn’t the prison service give you any dispensation at all?’
He stares at the road ahead, his face grim. ‘I was released in time for the funeral.’
I shouldn’t have brought this up. But he’s punishing himself, and seventeen years is a life sentence. Part of him will always have regrets, but he needs to forgive himself too. He’s a good man who made one bad decision, and he’s paid the ultimate price with his loss.
‘Julia was too devastated to speak to me. Her parents were hostile and blamed me—I could see it on their faces. My mother had also been supporting Julia when I couldn’t, so they were united in their grief. It would have been better for everyone if I hadn’t been there.’
So he felt shut out. Alone. My throat is scratchy with unshed tears. ‘But not better for you,’ I whisper. ‘You had the right to say goodbye too. The right to grieve for what you’d lost. Your feelings are as valid as anyone’s Nick. It’s tragic and painful, and I know these things happen every day. It’s no one’s fault.’ I take a deep breath. ‘I think if you talked about it you might discover that no one else blames you.’
‘It can’t change anything.’ His lips thin.
‘No...but perhaps your mum wanted to be there for you too. It might help you to forgive yourself.’
His expression turns blank. I’ve over-stepped the line. But I can’t stop, after my emotional morning. After last night. After waking with feelings that scare me.
‘I care about you, Nick. I’m not trying to interfere. It’s just that after talking to those breast cancer survivors today, and then thinking about my mum, it confirms that life is short and precious and sometimes there’s little love to be had. Which means we should grab whatever love, whatever human connection, we can and never let go.’ I grow impassioned, my voice urgent with emotion. If I can just help him to see that he deserves good things, maybe he’ll allow someone to be there for him.
‘I guarantee your mother loves you and would welcome the opportunity to tell you that. You think she blames you for the past...but what if she doesn’t?’
He huffs, frustrated. ‘I should have kept my secrets locked away.’
I gasp at the bitterness in his voice. ‘Why? Because confiding in me has forced you to consider the possibility that you’re not as content as you think? That all your precious control does is push people away and anaesthetise you from feeling?’
Nick’s face might as well be carved from granite. ‘Thank you for your concern, but your caring is misplaced. In two days we’ll part ways. Perhaps we should just leave this conversation here before we say something we can’t take back.’
Just like that, any progress I imagined had been made between us disappears. Of course he would shut down after being vulnerable. I understand that. And it’s a timely reminder for me, too. I’m getting close to a man I hardly know because he won’t allow anyone near. Having naively trusted the wrong man before, and ended up with a tattered, exposed heart for all the world to see, I need to keep my guard up. I trust Nick with my safety and my body.
But my heart is another matter entirely...