When “Hot Guy” flashed up continuously throughout my lunch hour the next day, I had to turn my phone over.
“Problem?” asked Maria through a mouthful of ham sandwich.
“Not really,” I said tartly, unable to keep the vitriol I felt from spilling out.
“I can’t believe you’ve still got him stored as ‘Hot Guy’ on your phone,” she laughed, in an attempt to disperse the atmosphere. “Does he know?”
I shrugged and felt tension creeping up from the base of my neck. “I’m seriously thinking of renaming him ‘Dickhead.’”
“Uh-oh,” she sang. “Trouble in paradise. Is this your first lovers’ tiff? What did he do?”
“We rowed about going to his place,” I said. “He made something so simple, so complicated.”
“About going to his place, or not going?” she asked.
“I wanted to go, but he said it wasn’t convenient.” Even as I was saying it, it sounded immature. “So when we got back to mine, I forbade him to come in.”
Maria choked on her sandwich. “That’s a bit extreme, isn’t it?”
“He was an extreme asshole, so the punishment befitted the crime.”
“So, this is him, trying to crawl back into your good books,” said Maria, giving a nod to my phone, still vibrating its way along the staff room coffee table.
“He flew to Spain this morning, so I’m assuming he’s ringing me to say that he got there safely. But he can call all he likes, because I really don’t care.”
Maria rolled her eyes and picked up my phone, which was in danger of buzzing itself off the table.
“Jesus, he’s called twenty-three times,” she said. “I think he’s done his penance, don’t you?” It started ringing again, and she accepted the call before throwing the phone at me.
“Yep,” I barked down the phone, with all the sassiness I could muster.
“It’s me,” he said.
“No shit, Sherlock. What do you want?”
“I’ve had an accident,” he said. “I’m in hospital.”
My blood ran cold and I momentarily lost the ability to focus. “What? Where?” was all I could manage.
Maria instinctively came toward me, her presence a welcome anchor in the stormy sea I’d suddenly been immersed in.
“I’m in Spain,” he said, his voice slow. “I’ve been hit by a car.”
“Oh my God,” I said, bringing my hand up to my mouth. “Are you going to be okay? Where are you? I’ll come over.”
“No, it’s fine,” he said. “I’m fine, just bruised and sore. They’re going to take an X-ray. They suspect I’ve got a broken arm and they’re keeping me in overnight, just as a precaution.”
“What about the car?” I asked, though I don’t know why.
“Well, that’s got a me-shaped dent in it,” he said, attempting to laugh before saying, “Ouch, that hurts.” I wondered how people in pain actually had the wherewithal to say “ouch.”
“I can come out there,” I said, as Maria nodded in agreement, intimating that she’d cover for me. “I can be there later tonight, if I can get a flight. Honestly, I—”
“No,” he said with surprising force, though it was probably the best course of action as I was beginning to babble and struggling not to cry.
“Will you be okay? Have they said when you might be able to fly home?”
“Not yet, but it doesn’t look like I’ll be out of here any time soon. I’m just worried that I’ll not be able to get back to see you before you go off on your trip.”
I fell back onto the staff room sofa. “Listen, about last night—” I started.
“I’m sorry,” he said, cutting across me. “It was a silly argument and I’m sorry that it got out of hand.”
“I’m sorry too,” I said. “I got a bee in my bonnet and was completely unreasonable.”
“You weren’t,” he said. “You’re right about my place. Once we’re both home, why don’t we spend the weekend together? Stay at mine and I’ll show you the delights of Maida Vale.”
Now that he was offering it, it didn’t seem nearly so important. It didn’t matter where we stayed, just as long as we were together. Him having an accident seemed to hammer the point home even more.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come over?” I said.
“No, honestly, I want you to stay where you are. But before you go, I’ve got some good news.”
“Oh?”
“I managed to sell your mum’s wine collection, just before the accident. In fact, it’s why I was on my phone and probably not paying attention when I crossed the road.”
If I didn’t already feel guilty, I certainly did now.
“Guess how much I got?” he went on.
“No, go on,” I said, wondering if it even mattered anymore.
“Seven thousand,” he said, as excitedly as one can sound when they’re probably in traction and being held together with metal pins. I reminded myself of my tendency to overdramatize.
“Wow,” I said, listlessly. “That’s amazing.”
“It means she’ll be able to get cracking with the work,” he said. “It’ll at least tide her over until the big one comes in. That’s if she decides to do it, of course.”
“Let’s talk when you get back,” I said. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come over?”
“Honestly, I’m fine,” he said. “I just wanted to let you know and to say I’m sorry. I’ll call you later, once I have more news.”
“Okay.”
There was a pause before he said, “I love you.”
In that split second I almost knew he was going to say it, yet I still wasn’t ready for it and didn’t know how to respond. Would he think I was weak if I said it back? Would he hate me for not? I wanted to, because it’s how I felt, but my brain was waging a war against itself, weighing up the pros and cons of being honest.
“You too,” was what I eventually came up with, and immediately regretted it. It wasn’t enough—he deserved more.
“See you, then,” he said despondently, and I put the phone down, furious that I’d caused his insecurity all because I wanted to what? Save face? I couldn’t stop a tear from springing onto my cheek.
“Hey, hey…” said Maria, as she carefully lifted a bourbon biscuit out of her tea and ate it whole before coming to sit down next to me. “What’s going on?”
“He said, ‘I love you,’” I blurted out.
She snorted. “And that’s why you’re so upset?”
I nodded. “I didn’t say it back,” I sobbed, and immediately realized how ridiculous I sounded.
To be fair to Maria, she didn’t do what I would have done if I’d been in her shoes. She refrained from slapping me around the cheek and telling me to pull myself together.
“And he’s been in a car accident,” I cried, as if it was secondary to me not telling him how I felt.
“Okay, so now I want to slap you,” she said, making me laugh.
“I’d do it to myself if I could,” I said, sniffing.
“There’s nothing to stop you,” she smiled. “I assume he’s okay, if you’re able to stress about other inconsequential bollocks?”
I nodded, embarrassed.
“So, he’s gone from being a complete dickhead two minutes ago to someone you love so much you can’t tell him?”
“Something like that,” I said, smiling.