I’d been putting it off for quite some time, the way you put off making a dental appointment, despite a nagging toothache, because you just know that despite the dentist’s best assurances, it is going to hurt. But I had finally run out of excuses. It was time to clear the last vestiges of my presence from Richard’s flat.
Monique clearly applauded this decision, providing me with an extended lunch break and an enormous cardboard box to transport my belongings out of Richard’s life. ‘It is time you close the door on this chapter of your life, Emma,’ she advised with charmingly mixed metaphors.
‘I know. But every time I try, Richard just keeps jamming it open with his foot.’
‘Then you must stamp on it,’ she suggested, tempering the words with a disingenuous smile, ‘then it will close.’
I did the familiar drive to Richard’s flat on autopilot, wondering as I turned into the residents’ car park if this was the last time I would ever visit this place. Probably. I pulled into Richard’s empty parking bay and hefted the cardboard box out from the back seat. Working on muscle memory my fingers automatically punched in the code on the keypad at the entrance. The block was quiet; the residents were mainly young professionals who were most likely at work at this time of day. That was good; I didn’t really want to bump into any of Richard’s neighbours while I was severing these final ties. My footsteps echoed hollowly on the linoleum-covered stairs as I climbed up to the third floor. I slid the door key into the lock, reminding myself that I must remember to remove it from my keyring before I left, and leave it behind.
There was a vague musty smell in the air as I opened the front door and stepped into the flat’s small hall. I sniffed and my nose wrinkled at the combined odours of leftover takeaways and a room which hadn’t seen an open window in quite a while. I glanced into the kitchen and grimaced at the dirty plates stacked on the worktop, despite the fact that there was a perfectly good dishwasher just below them. Richard hadn’t entirely reverted to student living, but he wasn’t far off. Not my problem. Not any more. I resolutely turned away from the dirty crockery. I positioned the cardboard box more securely on my hip and headed for the bedroom. I had only taken a few steps when I heard it. I froze like a startled fawn and turned my head slowly in the direction of the sound, as though if I moved too fast even the bones in my neck might give my presence away. A second later I heard it again, and this time I could tell precisely where the noise was coming from. Richard’s bedroom. There was someone here in the flat with me, someone who had even less business being there than I did. Too late I remembered the fliers that the local police had circulated some months before, warning residents about the spate of daytime burglaries in the area.
I felt my heart begin to race and my mouth went instantly dry in panic. Any moment now the bedroom door could burst open and whoever it was who had broken in would find me. I heard a scraping sound of something moving across the wooden floor in Richard’s bedroom. Were they coming? Did I have time to reach for my phone and call the police? No, of course I didn’t. I had to get out of there. Run, my brain told my unresponsive legs, which were frozen in fear where I stood. No, they’d hear me too easily and would be upon me before I got halfway to the front door. I had to creep out silently and hope the noise of the opening door wouldn’t be heard. I took one slow tentative step backwards and knocked into a framed poster Richard had hung in the hall. It fell from its flimsy nail and crashed to the floor in a cacophony of breaking glass.
Shit! Run! I told myself, just as a voice cried out from behind the bedroom door.
‘Who’s there?’
My heart was still pounding crazily when Richard threw open the door, wildly brandishing a tennis racquet.
‘Christ, Emma, I thought you were a bloody burglar.’
‘Likewise,’ I replied, my voice still shaky, even though the threat of danger was gone. ‘And what were you planning on doing with that?’ I asked. ‘Challenge them to a match?’
He looked down at the racquet in his hand and shook his head, before throwing the inadequate weapon into the lounge. It landed with a small thump on the patterned rug, right beside Richard’s jacket and bag which appeared to have been carelessly discarded on the floor.
‘What are you doing here anyway?’ I challenged, not pausing to recognise that I was the person who didn’t belong there, not him. Amazingly, it was only then that I noticed something that should have been glaringly obvious. Richard was wearing just a faded old T-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts, and the room he’d just emerged from was in total darkness, with the heavy blinds drawn shut to keep out the spring sunshine.
I reached out and flicked on the hall light, stepping closer towards him as I noted the unhealthy pallor of his face and the thin layer of perspiration on his brow. He squinted in the light and I immediately snapped it off. ‘Sorry. Have you got another migraine?’ I asked. He nodded dully, as he reached out to hold on to the door frame for support. ‘You should be in bed,’ I advised solemnly.
‘I was in bloody bed, until I was woken up by someone trying to ransack the place,’ he said. His eye fell to the large cardboard box which I had dropped on to the hall floor. ‘But I see you weren’t here to take my possessions, just yours.’ His voice sounded pained, which could have just been the headache, or maybe not.
‘Look, I’ll just go,’ I said, bending to retrieve my box. ‘I only came during the day because I thought this would be easier – for both of us – when you weren’t home.’ A thought suddenly occurred to me. ‘Where’s your car anyway? I wouldn’t have come in if I’d seen it outside.’
‘I left it at the school,’ he replied, and I saw the effort it was costing him to stand and talk to me. He really did look terrible. ‘One of the guys at work dropped me back, my vision was going weird and I didn’t think I should drive.’
I knew Richard’s migraines; he’d suffered with them for years. They were largely manageable, as long as he took his medication at the first signs. Only rarely were they severe enough to disturb his eyesight and force him to take to his bed. This was clearly a bad one. The worse ones were usually brought on by stress. Perhaps it was hardly surprising that he had one now.
‘Go back to bed,’ I said firmly. ‘I’ll let myself out. I’ll come back another time.’
He turned back gratefully in the direction of his darkened room. ‘You might as well get whatever it is you’ve come for,’ he said bitterly as he walked jerkily to the double bed, as though even the movement of his limbs caused pain in his pounding head.
‘You’re really bad, aren’t you?’ I questioned, scarcely noticing that I had followed him into the bedroom as he slowly lowered himself back down on to the mattress. There was something about the way he was sitting there on the side of the bed with his throbbing head in his hands that made it impossible for me to leave. ‘Did you take your pills?’ I questioned.
He shook his head, and then winced as though he really regretted having done that. ‘No. I just wanted to get straight into a darkened room and see if I could sleep it off.’
I gave an exasperated sigh, and sounded entirely like a girlfriend as I said, ‘Why on earth not? You know you can never shake these off without the pills.’ I turned on my heel and headed for the bathroom. ‘I’ll get them.’
Nothing had changed or been moved in the bathroom since the last time I had been there. The shelf of my shampoo, conditioner, face cream and body lotion was exactly as I had left it. My spare dressing gown was hanging on the back of the door and a couple of my hairclips sat on the edge of his bathtub. I was everywhere. No wonder he was doing such a terrible job of letting me go.
I pulled open the mirror-fronted medicine cabinet and reached automatically for the shelf where he kept his migraine medication. The box was there, but when I pulled out the foil blister sheet, all the holes in it had already been punctured and it was empty. With the box in hand I returned to the bedroom.
‘There are none left. Where’s your new packet? You did get your last prescription filled, didn’t you?’ It was surprising how easily I was managing to slip back into the role of nagging girlfriend.
Richard had laid back on the crumpled pillows during my absence, his face pretty much the same shade as the white bed linen. ‘No. I kept meaning to, but I never got around to it.’
‘Richard,’ I said, my voice rising slightly in irritated exasperation.
He flinched at the increase in decibels. ‘Yeah, well, I’ve had other things on my mind lately.’
I may have hesitated for a second or two, but not for much longer. I didn’t really have an option here, did I? Without waiting for permission, I opened the top drawer of the bedside cabinet where I knew I’d find the prescription. I plucked the small green sheet from Richard’s belongings.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked, his aching head clearly not firing on all cylinders.
‘Filling your bloody prescription for you,’ I replied, preparing to go. He turned his head slowly on the pillow to look at me, carefully, as though his neck was lying on a surface of broken glass.
‘Thank you,’ he said weakly.
I didn’t know what to say or how I felt about seeing him like this, so sick and vulnerable. I think that’s what made my voice so unnaturally brusque. ‘Go back to sleep. I won’t be long.’
There was an annoyingly long queue in the pharmacy, and by the time I let myself back into the flat I knew Richard’s headache was probably a roaring giant beating a club on the inside of his skull to get out. I managed to find a clean glass in the kitchen, no small achievement, and filled it with icy cold water before returning to his bedroom. To keep the light from bothering him, I had shut the bedroom door when I left, and I hesitated now on the threshold, not sure if I should knock and risk disturbing him, or walk right in. It was ridiculous, because despite our break-up, this place still felt very much like my second home. I curled my hand around the door handle and pushed it slowly down. Richard was asleep, but not in a peaceful, relaxed kind of way. In his restlessness he had thrown off the covers, and they were now twisted into a tangled origami knot beneath his legs. Even in the darkened room I could see a glistening sheen on his exposed torso, for he’d discarded the T-shirt which was now lying on the floor in a damp and unpleasant ball. I didn’t know what to do for the best: leave him sleeping or try to get him to swallow the pills? His head was moving restlessly from side to side and occasionally a spasm of pain crossed his face. Pills, I decided.
‘Richard, I’m back.’
He made no reply, but his brow furrowed as though he’d heard my voice.
‘Richard, open your eyes. You need to take these.’ I pressed out two of the pills into my palm, but there was still no sign from the bed that he’d heard me.
‘Richard, it’s me. Can you hear me? Wake up and take your pills.’
I know he recognised my voice then, because his expression changed and he mumbled something which may very well have been my name, if it had been spoken underwater, with a mouth full of cotton wool. I put both the pills and drinking glass on to the bedside table and crouched down beside the bed. If anyone had told me that I would be here, in Richard’s flat, looking after him like this, I’d have called them crazy. But what was I supposed to do? Just leave him suffering and walk out?
I slid my hand beneath his neck and gently raised his head off the pillows. With my free hand I picked up the two small white tablets. His lips felt hot and dry as I gently parted them with my fingers and slipped both pills on to his tongue. I had touched those lips a thousand times, I’d felt them on practically every inch of my body, but the intimacy of this moment made me so uncomfortable I could actually feel my face begin to flush. This felt beyond inappropriate, especially given the way things were between us. I reached for the glass of water and held it to his mouth.
‘Swallow, Richard.’ Obediently, still more asleep than awake, he did as I asked. When I was sure the pills were gone, I tilted the glass once more to his parched lips. ‘Drink some more,’ I requested and obligingly he took several small mouthfuls of the refreshing liquid. Suddenly his hand came up and covered mine, so unexpectedly that I almost dropped the entire glass of icy water all over him. That would have been one sure way to wake him up, I guess. His fingers moved across the back of my hand in a slow caressing movement. He’s asleep. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, I told myself as I removed the glass before trying to slowly slide my hand out from under his.
‘Don’t go, Emma.’ His voice was thick and muzzy, spoken from the depths of a dream. I lowered our conjoined hands until they rested on the wall of his chest before I finally managed to inch my own away from his without waking him. I stood for a long moment with just my fingertips left resting on his upper body before finally breaking our contact.
‘Shhhhh…’ I said, my voice sounding like I was soothing a toddler. ‘Go back to sleep.’
He did.
I cleared the flat, of me. I went systematically from room to room removing every last trace of everything I had unthinkingly left behind over the last twelve months. When I had collected everything except the clothes inside his closet, I cleaned the flat. I told myself I was just doing it to pass the time, not because I cared about how the place looked or how its occupant chose to live within it. By the time I was done, the kitchen surfaces were once more clear and the dishwasher was thrumming through its cycle. The late afternoon shadows had lengthened and I had no real reason to remain. Yet it felt wrong to just walk out and leave.
When Richard still showed no signs of stirring, I eventually decided I would have to risk waking him by retrieving the final items left behind in his bedroom. I tiptoed into the darkened room, and eased open the wardrobe doors. I worked quickly in the semi darkness, using just the light coming from the hall, as I plucked my few items of clothing from their hangers and slid open the dresser to remove the small collection of underwear I had kept there.
When the bedside light behind me was suddenly switched on, I almost dropped the well-laden cardboard box I was carrying from his room. I had no idea he was awake or how long he had been watching me. Richard levered himself up into a sitting position, resting against the pillows.
‘How are you feeling?’ I asked.
He ran a hand through his hair, making it look even more dishevelled than all his tossing and turning had done.
‘Better,’ he said, then his eyes went from me to the large box that I was holding. ‘Worse.’ There was no point in pretending I didn’t know what he meant.
‘I’ve made you a sandwich and there’s fresh water in the jug,’ I said, nodding at the tray I had left beside the bed.
‘I thought…’ he said, his voice trailing away.
I shook my head. ‘No, Richard. Nothing has changed.’
‘But you stayed.’
‘Just until you woke up. I’m going now,’ I said, moving toward the door as I spoke.
‘Is this about that American—’
My sigh was weary. ‘He’s not the issue.’
‘But you still care about me, Emma. I know you do.’
I looked at him sadly. His headache might have improved, but he still looked far from well. But I couldn’t afford to let him think that what had happened today was anything more than just basic humanity.
‘Not enough, Richard. Nowhere near enough.’
I saw him looking sadly at the overflowing box in my arms. ‘You’re really not coming back?’
I could feel unexpected tears thickening my voice. ‘No, I’m not.’
He turned his head away from me, and I think we were both glad of the dim light that kept our faces in shadow.
‘I’ve just been fooling myself all this time, haven’t I? I kept thinking that if I proved to you how incredibly sorry I was, if I could make you understand how much I love you, that you’d give me another chance. I know I don’t deserve it, but it’s the only thing that’s kept me going.’
I could think of nothing to say that we hadn’t already been over far too many times before. I waited until I reached the door before I turned back to face him.
‘I honestly don’t know if I could have forgiven you for cheating on me, if things had turned out differently, if the accident hadn’t happened,’ I admitted, with an honesty that surprised me as much as him. ‘But what I can’t forgive you for, is what you’ve taken from me.’
His look of total bewilderment confirmed he had no idea what I was talking about.
‘Amy,’ I said quietly.
He jerked and I saw his throat move convulsively at her name.
‘You took Amy from me with what you did. You took her memory from me.’ My tears were falling now, and I didn’t give a damn if he saw them or not. ‘I should be grieving for my best friend but, thanks to you and what you did, I can’t. I can’t think of her at all without seeing the two of you together, kissing… touching…’ I shuddered and Richard looked ripped raw at my reaction. ‘Because of you, I can’t mourn her or even think about her without getting angry, without feeling betrayed. And I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive you for that.’
It felt more like an ending than our actual break-up had done. And, as I drove home with the box of my life with Richard jiggling and rattling on the seat beside me, I had finally believed Richard’s parting words: ‘I won’t put pressure on you any more, Emma. I’m not going to keep trying to win you back, or get you to change your mind.’ I had nodded gratefully, feeling both the freedom of a huge weight being lifted from me, yet strangely a simultaneous sensation of panic as the door to our story clanged shut with noisy finality. ‘But just know one thing: when you change your mind – and you will change your mind – I am going to be right here waiting for you.’
My parents were both out when I got home, for which I was grateful, because I really didn’t want to have to explain the box I carried in my arms like a miniature casket. It didn’t take long to slip my belongings back where they belonged, back into my life and out of Richard’s. I was about to shut the wardrobe doors when my eye fell on something tucked away in the back. There was still one last thing that needed to be done.
I reached for the shoebox and dragged it out on to the bedroom carpet. I released the elastic band holding the lid in place, and there it was. Waiting for me. I hadn’t been ready before, it had been too soon. But now I was.
I sat down on the floor, my back against the divan of the bed, and picked up the small white oblong. My heart started to pound and my fingers were shaking as I turned the envelope over and broke the seal. It was time to let her speak, for the very last time. The time had finally come to read Amy’s letter.
Dear Emma,
That sounds weirdly formal, doesn’t it? But then this whole thing is really strange. Here I am writing you this letter, knowing all the while that I am never, ever going to give it to you. Crazy, huh? I’m certain you wouldn’t want to read it anyway. If you don’t want to talk about it, then the last thing you want is to see it set out on paper in black and white (blue and white actually, as I don’t have a black pen!).
But I have to write this down, I have to get it all out of my head and on to paper, maybe then I can lock the memories (and this letter too) in some secret place and actually begin to move on.
I don’t know how you do it, I really don’t. I look at you sometimes when you’re smiling at me, or hugging me goodbye, and I search your face and your eyes for a trace, a hint… anything… of what I’m sure you must be feeling. But there’s nothing to be seen, nothing at all. You are either the world’s very best actress (“… and the Oscar goes to Emma Marshall…”) or (and I suspect this is probably the case), you are the best, kindest and most forgiving person in the entire universe. An angel… no, more than that, a saint. Well, some sort of celestial being, anyway. No one else could have found whatever it is you drew upon when you decided not to a) have me stoned in Hallingford High Street, b) hire a hit man to take me out, or c) (worst of all options) shut me out of your life and never speak to me again.
Let me just say one thing from the very start, I deserve all of the above – and more. Don’t think I don’t know that, because I do. I don’t know why you don’t hate me. I hate me. Anyone who ever hears what I’ve done (although I hope to God no one ever will) would surely think I am the most despicable creature to ever crawl out of a pit and walk among decent people. People who know how you’re meant to act and behave in this world. People who know that you should absolutely, categorically, never, ever, ever sleep with your best friend’s fiancé. Okay, so he was only your boyfriend at the time, I know that, but I don’t think I can get off on a technicality. What I did was terrible. Horrible. I am a horrible, horrible person, whose only redeeming feature is that I happen to be best friends with someone so truly great that she will forgive me for making the biggest mistake of my whole stupid life and allow me to hold on to a title of which I am no longer worthy. And if the only thing you ask is that I never mention it, not once, not ever, then I have to respect that. I guess that’s the only way you can move past it, if it’s never voiced out loud.
I can see that works for you, because – from the outside at least – everything looks great between you and Richard. Thank God. And I really, really mean that. I want you to be happy. Blissfully, joyfully, laughing all day and night, and they-lived-happily-ever-after happy. You deserve that. Both of you do. And – not that this in any way excuses me for my betrayal – I don’t think that you’ve always felt that way since you came home. I know how hard it must have been for you to put your career and whole life on hold, and come back here to help your dad look after your mum. See, that’s another example of just what a good person you are. I’d like to think I would do the same thing for my own parents, but if I’m honest (and I promised myself I would be here), then I don’t think that I would.
Sometimes, even recently, I thought I could see something on your face that looked, I don’t know… kind of lost or… overwhelmed by everything. Caroline thinks you have pre-wedding jitters, but I’m not so sure. I thought you looked that way even before you got engaged. Now, with hindsight, I don’t know if I allowed myself to think that some of that uncertainty and confusion was about Richard. Did I do that? Was I that stupid? Probably. If there is one thing that this whole miserable situation has taught me, it’s that you must really and truly love him (and me too) to forgive us for hurting you so deeply.
I guess Richard told you everything that happened that night? You obviously know that what we did was not in any way at all premeditated or planned. It was nothing we wanted to happen. There! I’ve gone and done it again. I’ve lied, and I’d promised myself there would be none of that in this letter. Let me clarify. Richard one hundred per cent never wanted or planned for it to happen. Give me a stack of Bibles and I will swear to that. But me… well, there was a time… when you were living abroad, and we’d lost touch with you… well, there’s no way to dress this up. I started to let myself think that… maybe, just maybe, Richard and I might… you know. But it was me, just me, getting things all mixed up and confused (as usual). It was only in my head that he had those sorts of feelings for me. Just me living out some stupid silly little fantasy that I should never ever have allowed to grow. In reality I know the truth, I always have; Richard has never loved anyone but you.
He cried, did he tell you that? The very moment we had finished… you know… he started to cry – hey, who knew I was that bad at it? Sorry. It’s nothing to joke about. I’ve never seen a man cry like that before. I’ve never seen someone so torn apart with guilt and shame, but then I think I came a pretty close second on both of those emotions.
I’ve done some stupid, thoughtless and irresponsible things in my life (I don’t have to list them – you witnessed most of them over the years!). But this thing… this sin, crime, betrayal, is the worst of them all, and if we live to be little grey-haired old ladies sitting in our rocking chairs in the retirement home, I still don’t think I will ever be able to understand how you let us get past this.
I love you, Emma, with all my heart. I am beyond sorry that I took something so precious as our friendship and almost destroyed it. Thank you for saving it, for saving me. I promise you this: I will never, ever do anything to hurt you again for the rest of my life. You have my word.
Friends for ever, Amy xxxxxxxxxxx
‘Do you prefer this one?’
I pulled back the curtain and studied Caroline in the dress she had just tried on. I pulled a face and shook my head. ‘Not as much as the others. Try the blue one on again,’ I suggested, lifting it from the pile draped over my arm and passing it to her.
It was Saturday morning, the shops were crowded and the music in the changing rooms was giving me a headache. Girly shopping trips together were more a feature of our teenage years, but Caroline had been surprisingly persistent in persuading me to join her.
‘Please, Emma. I need to get a really special dress for my birthday, and I don’t want to shop alone,’ she had pleaded over the phone.
‘Take Nick,’ I’d suggested, knowing he would probably be just as enthusiastic at the prospect as I was.
‘I can’t,’ she’d whispered down the phone, which I guess meant he must have been within earshot.
‘Why not?’
There were shuffling sounds as she moved to a position that offered her more privacy. ‘He’s been dropping hints for days now, about making it a big celebration evening. And I really think this is going to be the night.’
‘The night for what?’
Her voice fell to an excited whisper. ‘I think he’s going to propose, Emma, on my birthday. We always said we’d wait, save up more money, but since Amy… well I think it’s made him rethink. So you see why you have to come, I need you to help me pick out something fabulous to wear.’ Of course I’d said yes, and tried really hard to ignore the small stab of jealousy that had slid between my ribs at her words. I had no right to begrudge her the excitement of something she’d been wanting and waiting for almost her entire adult life. Just because my own engagement and wedding plans had ended in disaster, I could never be so selfish as to deny her this. We’d both been through a terrible time; Caroline deserved this happiness.
The curtains rattled and she stood before me in the blue dress. Her hair was dishevelled from the many outfits that had passed over it, she was shoeless and was wearing stripy woollen socks, perfect under her jeans and boots, but not really suited for the silky strapless dress, which fitted her slender frame as though it was custom made. She looked stunning.
‘That’s the one,’ I told her with assurance. She smiled broadly, looked back into the mirror and nodded happily. ‘If Nick doesn’t propose to you in that dress, then I’ll marry you myself.’
Our hunt for the perfect dress had kept us focused for the morning, but as I stood beside her in the queue for the checkout, Caroline raised the subject of my own plans for later in the day. I should have known that she would.
‘Are you still going to see Jack this afternoon?’
I shuffled forwards as the queue crept closer to the tills. ‘I think so,’ I replied.
‘You don’t sound sure.’
I shrugged, trying to feign a nonchalance I didn’t feel. ‘No. It’s not that. It’s just going to be weird, that’s all. It’s going to be my last chance to say goodbye to him.’
‘It’s probably going to be your last chance to do… anything else… with him too,’ Caroline advised solemnly, as she extracted her credit card and passed it to the assistant.
‘God, not that again. You’re obsessed. It’s not going to happen, and especially not if he’s about to disappear out of my life in just a few days.’
‘Maybe he’ll change his mind and stay longer,’ Caroline suggested, wincing slightly as the price of her purchase appeared on the small display on the till.
‘I don’t think so. He said something about only having had a three-month option on the lease to the house.’
Caroline watched as the assistant carefully folded her dress in tissue paper, before pulling a large glossy bag from beneath the counter. You got the good stuff rather than the plastic carrier bags when you spent as much as she just had. ‘I could always check the other estate agents in town on Monday,’ she suggested, ‘see who’s handling the property and if the lease can be extended.’
I shook my head. ‘There’s no point. He’s going back to the States, and he’s not going to change his mind. Just leave it.’
By the time I had fought my way out of the multi-storey car park and driven back to Hallingford I was ready to call it a day, but Caroline was unusually insistent about stopping for a quick drink and a sandwich before we went our separate ways.
‘My treat,’ she promised. ‘It’s my way of saying thank you for dragging you around the shops all morning.’
She’d phrased it so artlessly, I didn’t even see through her ploy. We had ordered our sandwiches and were already sipping our drinks when she looked up and exclaimed, ‘Oh my goodness, look who just walked in.’
It was like the hammiest acting from a second-rate amateur dramatic production. I looked up and saw that Nick and Richard had just entered the pub. Coincidence? I don’t think so. I turned to Caroline with a glower, all good humour gone.
‘Caroline McAdam…’
‘What?’ she replied, with feigned innocence. ‘I didn’t know they were coming here. They were playing squash at the Sports Centre, the last I heard.’
I saw Nick do a very poor version of a double-take as he pretended to be surprised to see his girlfriend at the exact same pub he had ‘randomly’ selected. He took hold of Richard’s arm and nodded in our direction. I saw Richard’s face pale and his mouth tighten. I knew him well enough to recognise that his reaction, at least, was genuine. If it was a set-up (and could that really be in any doubt?) he certainly wasn’t part of it.
Nick said something, to which Richard shook his head, but despite that Nick began to head towards us, leaving Richard very little option but to follow.
‘Well, this is a surprise,’ said Caroline, still in absolutely no danger of ever getting nominated for any type of acting award.
‘I had no idea you were going to be here,’ her boyfriend said, and I just knew that they’d rehearsed those words several times earlier, to make sure they said them just right. And yet still they came out all wrong.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Richard, looking genuinely uncomfortable as his eyes met mine. ‘I meant what I said the other day. I didn’t know anything about this.’ Him, I believed. ‘I’ll go,’ he volunteered, already turning to the door.
I saw the look of frustration that passed between our two matchmaking friends. Clearly they hadn’t factored on Richard actually being the bigger person here. And then, before I realised I was going to do it, I stopped him.
‘Richard, no, don’t go.’ All three of them looked shocked at my words, but no more so than I was myself. ‘There’s no need. It’s a small town, we’re not going to be able to keep avoiding each other. Our paths are bound to cross… accidentally,’ I looked pointedly at Caroline as I said that. ‘We can at least be grown-up and civil when they do.’
There was truth in what I said, but I think my softening was more down to the promise Richard had made me at his flat than to Caroline’s meddling. If Richard had finally realised and accepted that I needed space, I could at least be reasonable.
It wasn’t the most comfortable half-hour the four of us had ever spent, and I don’t think Richard and I directed a single comment to each other, but spoke instead through Caroline and Nick, as though they were United Nations interpreters, fluent in the language of awkward ex-lovers. I chewed my sandwich and swallowed my drink fast enough to give me indigestion, but at least Richard and I had been able to spend thirty minutes in the same room without either of us sniping, yelling or hurling recriminations at each other. It was quite a milestone. Caroline certainly thought so, as she walked me to my parked car.
‘See,’ she said, linking her arm through mine, ‘that wasn’t so bad, was it?’
I was still quietly simmering. If it wasn’t my parents, then it was her and Nick that we had to contend with. At this rate I would have to spend my entire free time with Monique, because she was the only person left who didn’t want Richard and me to get back together. Then I realised that wasn’t entirely true, there was one other person who wasn’t on board with the plan. Jack. But he was going to leave in five days, so he didn’t count.
‘Don’t do that again, Caroline,’ I said earnestly, after kissing her briefly on the cheek. ‘I know you mean well, but we just need everyone to butt out of our lives.’
‘I’m sorry. It’s just that I want you guys to get back together so badly. There’s been so much awful in our lives, I just want there to be a happy ending.’
‘Maybe this story just doesn’t have one,’ I said sadly. ‘You can’t force me to change my mind about Richard, or forgive him, or trust him again. Nor can you thrust me into a one-night stand, hoping it will make me appreciate everything I once had. I know what I had, and I also know that for now, those feelings have gone.’
‘But not for ever, surely? In time …’
I reached for the car door and opened it. ‘Richard isn’t a bad man,’ I said, finally acknowledging the truth that had been following me around like a shadow for days, ‘he’s a good man who did a very, very bad thing.’
I was nervous as I drove, which if I stopped to think about it was kind of ridiculous. The meeting was my idea; it was long overdue and important things had to be said. The choice of venue… well, that one wasn’t down to me.
I parked my car in the small car park, glancing around at the numerous empty bays surrounding me. Good. No one else was here. At least we could talk undisturbed. I pulled on a warm jacket and wound a long soft scarf around my neck before getting out of my car. It was late April, but still cool.
My feet crunched noisily on the gravel path. There were rows of bright red tulips lining the path, standing and swaying in the slight breeze like a military guard of honour marking my route. I smiled a little at the fanciful notion and then sobered as I rounded the corner and saw that I was almost there. My heart began to beat faster and my mouth suddenly felt way too dry to summon even a greeting, much less speak of all the things I knew would have to be said today.
I left the path and watched my boots instantly disappear from view in the grass which, even this early in the season, had begun to grow. I walked on, keeping my eyes firmly fixed on my feet slicing through the brilliant green blades, rather than on my destination. I drew to a halt and finally raised my eyes. I reached into the deep pocket of my jacket, allowing my fingers to fold around the item I had placed there before leaving home. I pulled it out and finally, I spoke.
‘Hi, Amy. I got your letter.’
The breeze fluttered the single sheet in my hand, like a white flag of surrender. It was a good analogy. I took a step closer to the headstone and brushed away a smudge of dirt that was marring the pristine perfection of the white marble. Not that Amy would have worried. Housekeeping had never been her forte. The thought made me smile and relax in a way I had believed it would be impossible to do in this place.
‘Do you mind if I sit down?’ I asked Amy, as I dropped to the ground beside her final resting place. The grass was a little damp and I could already feel it seeping through the denim of my jeans. But a little discomfort was a small price to pay.
The flowers Caroline had laid here on her last visit had withered and died, and I reached out to remove them from the place where our friend lay.
‘So, I bet you’re surprised to see me here today? I don’t blame you. A few weeks ago this would have been the last place on earth I wanted to be.’ The wind swirled in a small restless eddy, blowing the hair from my face. ‘I guess you probably think the same thing,’ I added, smiling slightly. I had to believe that in this world or the next Amy would have retained her sense of humour. It was one of the things I had always loved most about her. The thought pulled me up short, like a match being struck in the darkness, allowing me a brief glimpse of the truth before it fizzled out. I did love Amy. Alive. Dead. Friend. Confidante. Bridesmaid and Betrayer. I loved her regardless. I always had done, and I always would.
I smoothed out her letter, laying it over my crossed legs. Random words and snatches of sentences caught my eye as my fingers swept over the page, flattening out the creases. … beyond sorry… biggest mistake… forgive us… I stared down silently at Amy’s last message to me. I didn’t need to read it again, I’d already memorised every word.
‘It’s a good letter,’ I said, directing my comment to the ground below the marble plinth. ‘A couple of spelling mistakes here and there… but I can forgive you those,’ I joked. Amy’s grasp of grammar and spelling had always been somewhat haphazard and creative. I slid my fingers across the grass until they grazed against the gravestone marking her existence and departure from the world. ‘That’s not all I forgive you for, Amy.’
I paused for a long moment, desperate to hear more than just the rustling leaves or my own breathing. I didn’t believe in ghosts, or the hereafter, but I would have given anything at that moment to see her, hear her and touch her. I closed my eyes and saw her face in my mind; she was smiling and her beautiful blue eyes were alight with laughter and life.
‘Oh Amy, I miss you so much.’
Amy waited patiently for me to hunt for a tissue in my bag before I felt able to continue. I blew my nose noisily, and then crazily apologised out loud to my lost friend and her neighbours. No one seemed to mind.
‘So, I came here today to tell you it’s okay. It really is. I know you thought I already knew about… about what happened with you and Richard. But I guess you probably know now that he never told me anything. You can see everything from… over there… can’t you?’ I was stretching my own beliefs to the absolute limit here, but for myself as much as Amy, I had to trust that somehow and somewhere she could hear my words.
‘Things are much clearer now, now I’ve had time to think them through. I know you never for a moment intended to hurt me… or Richard… in any way. You’d never do that to me, I know that. But it happened, and I think I know why. You loved him, didn’t you? You loved him too.’ Somewhere I imagined the spirit of Amy gasping at my revelation. ‘Perhaps I always knew there was something… just a hint maybe, that you liked him. Well, maybe more than liked. Not that you ever acted on it when we were dating. But when I left, when I told Richard that I thought we’d reached the end of our story. Well… I can’t blame you. And I was gone for so many years. Years he spent waiting for me, and all the time you were waiting for him.’ A small sob escaped me, sounding raw and broken. ‘God what a waste. What a mess we made of everything.’
Amy didn’t argue.
‘And then, after all that time, he finally saw you. The real you. How did that feel, Amy? Did you feel guilty because of me? You shouldn’t have. I’d told him I was never coming back. I never wanted him to wait for me. But he did, didn’t he? I wish you’d had someone to share it with. But you couldn’t speak of it to anyone, could you? Not even Caroline.’
A magpie swept down from the sky, startling me when it landed on the grass beside me. One magpie, just one: one for sorrow. The black-and-white intruder fixed me with a long and knowing stare, and just for a second I imagined it understood everything I was saying. Stupid. I shivered and the spooked bird took to the sky once more before disappearing into the trees on silent sweeping wings.
‘And then I came back. I hadn’t wanted to, I think we all knew that. But Mum needed me… and Dad needed me more. And Richard was there, and it was all so easy, and comfortable, to slide right back into things all over again. That must have really killed you, mustn’t it—’ I gasped in shock as I realised what I’d said.
‘Sorry,’ I apologised to my friend and those in the surrounding plots. ‘Terrible choice of words. But I know now how much it must have hurt you. You were so close, so almost where you wanted to be, with the person you always wanted to be with. And then, it was all gone. Snatched away from you.’
I paused, wondering if I should continue with what I was about to say. Amy had always been a good listener, and these days her ability to keep a secret wasn’t even in question.
‘I know mistakes can happen when you follow your heart, like they did that night with you and Richard. I understand that… because it’s happening to me too. Well, not exactly the same thing, of course, but I’ve got myself tangled up in something that’s not going to end well. It can’t. And now I understand a little of what you must have been feeling. Being close enough to touch the thing you want, and knowing all the while that it’s never going to be yours.
‘I don’t suppose you’ve got any advice for me on this one, have you?’ I asked her sadly, as a single tear trickled down my cheek and landed with an audible plop on Amy’s letter. The solitary sparkling jewel of moisture had settled, of all places, squarely over her looping familiar signature. It felt like a sign, but if it was, I didn’t know what it meant.
I smiled sadly. ‘Guess I have to figure this one out on my own, huh?’ I asked my silent friend.
Slowly I unfurled my legs and rose to a crouch beside Amy’s marble headstone. I reached out and gently traced the gold edged carving of each letter of her name with my fingers, as though I was saying goodbye in Braille. I leaned in and laid my lips against the cool marble of her name, feeling closer to her at that moment than I had done since the night when we’d lost her.
‘Everything is all right with you and me, Amy. There’s absolutely nothing you need to worry about. Sleep peacefully my beautiful friend.’