Anyway, back to the other man in my life, Ryan, and how, against the odds, he eventually managed to win me back.
Having not seen him for months, I bumped into him in a supermarket, of all places, in the August before I started my third and final year in Sheffield. I’d been at home less than usual that summer, having spent a chunk of it on a trip to Spain with Dad to visit Nana. I’d also visited the family homes of some of my best uni friends, including a guy called Simon from my course, who was the closest I’d had to an actual boyfriend since Ryan, although we were ‘keeping things casual’ and ‘avoiding labels’. I can’t believe how pretentious that sounds now, although, I’m embarrassed to admit, it was all my doing. Poor Simon was head over heels in love with me, while I was still working through my commitment issues.
Ryan and I were both alone when we bumped into each other looking at pizzas late one afternoon in the chilled foods aisle. We got chatting and, neither of us having plans, we didn’t stop. We finished our shopping alongside each other, kept chatting in the car park and agreed we might as well enjoy our pizzas together. So I went back to Ryan’s parents’ house, where he was still living at the time. We had the place to ourselves, since his mum and dad were on holiday in France. It was weird as hell to be back there with the boy who’d broken my heart, but it also felt nice.
Having spent so long apart, we talked nonstop. Over our pizzas and a glass of white wine, followed by ice cream and coffee, we caught up on each other’s lives while also reliving some of the highlights of when we were together.
I didn’t totally lower my guard, playing up my relationship with Simon, for instance, by calling him my boyfriend and pretending I was really into him. This was important not only for my pride, so Ryan knew I’d moved on, but also for the practical purpose of making it clear there was nothing but friendship on the cards. A little voice in the back of my head warned me that Ryan might have other ideas. I possibly even wanted him to, so I could have the satisfaction of shutting him down and saying no. But it didn’t happen, even though he was single at that point. It wasn’t like that. We just had a nice time together as old friends.
We were both in a good place: me enjoying the holidays and enthusiastic to resume my studies; Ryan well on track to becoming a fully-fledged electrician, already looking forward to getting his own place and setting up his own business.
Later he offered to give me back some of the things he still had of mine from when we were together.
‘What is there? It’s been so long; I can hardly remember.’
‘Um, a few T-shirts, a hoodie, a toothbrush and some toiletries.’
‘Wow, that’s very precise. How do you—’
‘I have them in a box in my room. I dug it out when I popped upstairs earlier. I wasn’t sure if, er—’
‘I’ll take them. Thanks for keeping them for me. I wish I could say the same about what you left in my bedroom, but …’ I winced as I continued. ‘I’m afraid I threw it all in the bin in a fit of rage.’
Ryan took this in good humour. ‘Fair enough. I deserved that.’
I didn’t join him when he disappeared upstairs to get the box. It didn’t feel appropriate, so I waited in the lounge, privately reminiscing about the enjoyable evenings I’d spent there with him and his parents. To my surprise, there was still a framed photo on the mantelpiece of the four of us, taken when we went to a fancy steak restaurant in Manchester to celebrate Ryan’s eighteenth birthday. He and I both looked so young and happy: me surprising him with a kiss on the cheek as the photo was snapped by the waiter. It was looking at that simple picture, I think, on the back of our impromptu meal together, that I first felt the timid reawakening of feelings I’d long considered dead and buried.
I turned my back on the picture as I heard him coming down the stairs. Shaking my head to clear it, as if from a daydream, I swatted those feelings away. They terrified me.
‘Ah, there you are,’ he said, handing over the box. ‘Everything all right? You look a bit—’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Hang on. That reminds me. Back in a sec.’ He ran up the stairs and returned almost immediately with two paperback books: J.D. Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye and Life of Pi by Yann Martel.
‘These are yours too, right?’ he said. ‘I think you wanted me to try reading them.’
‘And did you?’ I asked. ‘They were meant as gifts, not loans.’
‘Oh, right. That’s awkward. Sorry, Rose.’ He shrugged. ‘You know I’m not much of a reader. If you’d rather someone else had them – this Simon, perhaps – that’s absolutely fine.’
‘No. They’re yours. Keep hold of them. If you gave reading for pleasure a chance, I still think you’d enjoy them. Besides, Simon has plenty of other things to read.’
Ryan smirked. ‘Unlike me, you mean?’
‘Am I wrong?’
‘Fine, but don’t hold your breath.’ He winked. ‘There’s a lot of good stuff on the telly these days. It’s hard enough to keep up with that.’
We didn’t specifically discuss our breakup until I was leaving, picking up the bits of shopping I’d kept cool in his fridge. He touched my shoulder from behind, making me jump, fearful he had got the wrong idea after all. Then he came out with this apology I hadn’t been expecting. ‘Rose,’ he said. ‘I know we’ve not discussed what happened – what I did to you. I’ve wanted to all evening, but … I didn’t want to spoil things or upset you. I can’t not say anything, though, especially after such a nice catch-up.’
I felt short of breath and panicky. Tears were waiting in the wings, but I really didn’t want to get upset in front of him. I put the last bit of shopping in my bag, shut the fridge and said: ‘Sorry, Ryan, but I really need to go now. The past is the past. Let’s leave it alone.’
‘Fine, I’ll stop. Whatever you want, Rose. I owe you that and a lot more on top.’
‘You don’t owe me anything,’ I snapped without thinking. ‘We’re not anything to each other any longer.’
His face fell. ‘Not even friends? After tonight, I thought—’
‘I didn’t mean that,’ I said, my head all over the place, awash with opposing thoughts and feelings.
‘I’m glad. I miss you so much, Rose. Every day.’ He held up his hands defensively as he added: ‘I don’t expect anything from you. I understand it’s all my fault and that you’ve moved on. But it’s been so great to see you properly again. And, I know I said I wouldn’t, but I have to tell you this while I can: I’m truly sorry for what I did to you, Rose. It was the worst mistake of my life. You’re a wonderful person and Simon is a lucky man to have you. I hope he realises that.’
It took all of my inner strength not to cry as he said this. But I managed somehow. I couldn’t stay, though, or answer him properly. All I said, in a tiny, barely steady voice, was: ‘I have to go now. Goodbye.’
And that was it. I left and didn’t see him again until Christmas.
CHAPTER 16
‘There you are,’ Cassie says from across the changing room. ‘How were your treatments?’
‘Wonderful,’ Rose replies. ‘So relaxing. I had the hot-stone massage first, which was super chilled, and then the facial; I actually fell asleep during that. Can you believe it? The therapist had to wake me up when the time came to remove the minerals. I was mortified.’
‘Oh, you shouldn’t be. I’m sure it happens a lot. They’ll be used to it.’
Cassie is busy towel-drying her short hair, having already had a shower; Rose still needs to go for one.
‘How was your massage?’ Rose asks. ‘Deep tissue, wasn’t it?’
‘That’s right. It was great. I feel quite limber after that and all the spa facilities we used beforehand.’ She chuckles. ‘I didn’t get any opportunity to nod off like you did, though. It was rather intense.’
‘Really?’ Rose wrinkles her nose. ‘I had a massage in Spain once, when I was out there visiting my nana, and that was really, um, vigorous. Quite uncomfortable
at times. I did feel rejuvenated the next day, so I guess it was worth it.’ She runs her hands gently down her cheeks and chin.
‘Is your skin really soft now?’ Cassie asks.
Rose giggles. ‘Like a baby’s bottom.’
‘I thought so. You’re literally glowing, you beautiful thing. Oh, to be young again!’
‘Stop it,’ Rose says. ‘I can only hope I look as amazing as you do when I’m older.’
Cassie grins. ‘Flattery will get you everywhere in life, my dear, even if it’s not true. Anyway, I’m itching to hear the rest of your story – how you and Ryan got back to where you are now. It was cruel to leave me hanging like you did. Are we still on for meeting in forty-five minutes?’
‘Absolutely,’ Rose replies. ‘I’m not letting you go now when I’m finally so close to passing on the baton and hearing your story.’
‘So I’ll see you at the bar where we had the G&T earlier, after you’ve showered and so on?’
‘Yes.’
‘What drink should I order for you?’
‘No, it’s my round next.’
‘Nonsense. You’ve done all the talking so far and that’s thirsty work. Another G&T?’
‘Go on, you’ve twisted my arm. Thank you.’
‘Not a problem. Oh and one more thing: what are your dinner plans this evening?’
‘I don’t really have any,’ Rose says. ‘Did you have something in mind?’
‘Well, since we’re both here alone and I still have a story to tell, I thought perhaps it might be nice for us to dine in the restaurant together. Only if you want to. No pressure. If you’d rather have room service, or—’
‘No, that sounds nice. Let’s do it. Now I think about it, Cara and I did have a table booked for eight o’clock, which I haven’t altered. We could use that, if the time suits.’
‘Perfect.’
‘Are you planning to dress up for dinner? What’s the etiquette? You ate here last night, right?’
‘They’re pretty chilled about that, as most of the guests are in and out of the spa. Some were a little dressed up yesterday, others definitely weren’t. Whatever you fancy, really. I’ll be keeping things casual.’
‘Suits me.’
‘Great. They’re lovely monsoon showers here, by the way. Enjoy!’
Rose wonders what Cassie meant by a monsoon shower as she walks through to the cubicles. Once she gets in, it’s obvious. There’s a dinnerplate-sized showerhead fixed to the ceiling as well as jets from the wall on either side. It’s the perfect end to her tranquillity tour, which leaves her feeling thoroughly clean and refreshed.
How lucky that she met Cassie here today, she thinks, walking back to her locker wrapped in a large towel, damp feet squelching in her flipflops. It wouldn’t have been half as much fun on her own. It’s so strange how comfortable she feels in the company of someone she didn’t even know a few hours earlier. Will they somehow remain friends after today, keeping in touch online perhaps? More likely they’ll go their separate ways, never to see each other again. That’s a weird thought, considering everything she’s already told this woman.
She’s looking forward to hearing Cassie’s story now, having almost reached the end of her own. Despite the older woman’s apparent interest in what she’s recounted, part of Rose still fears her own life will feel dull and insignificant in comparison. People who’ve travelled a lot, as Cassie clearly has, usually have plenty to tell. And Rose is dying to know what it is from her past that’s brought her back to Lancashire.
First, though, she’d like to speak to Cara. After agreeing to have dinner with Cassie, it occurred to Rose that there was a small chance her maid of honour might return. She wants to touch base with her to check this, as well as making sure she’s okay.
If Cara was to come back now, it would make things a little tricky, but they’d find a way for it to work. The three of them could always eat together.
Conscious of the time and her drinks appointment with Cassie, she hurries up to her room, where she tries to call her best friend but gets no answer.
She messages her instead: How’s it going? Hope not too bad. Thinking of you and missing you. Any chance you’ll be back for dinner? X
Meanwhile, she dries and brushes her hair before picking out a skirt and top to wear, going for a smart-casual look. She’s just finished applying eyeliner when her mobile pings with a response from Cara: Can’t make it back. So sorry! Bit complicated, but no need to worry. Forget about me. Let your hair down. Chat tomorrow? Love you. X
Rose replies to say that’s fine and reaches for her lip gloss. As she’s applying it, she wonders again about Cara’s mysterious family emergency. It’s good she says not to worry, and yet it’s unlike her not to answer a phone call, even just to say a couple of quick words. What if something really bad has happened and Cara’s covering it up for her sake, so as not to spoil her break?
‘Stop overthinking things,’ she tells her reflection in the mirror, resisting the urge to make another call. ‘You’ve been over this before, after she first left. Drop it now. Tomorrow will come around soon enough.’
Time to go. She slides a thin shrug over her top. Taking a deep breath, she pops her mobile on silent, sticks it in her handbag and, throwing that over one shoulder, heads down to meet Cassie at the bar.
‘So, come on,’ Cassie says once they’ve each had a few sips from their large, delicious G&Ts, made this time with strips of cucumber folded through the middle of their glasses and garnished with lemon wedges. ‘I’m absolutely dying to know how Ryan won you back and got you to agree to marry him.’
Rose smiles, admiring how effortlessly elegant her companion looks now she’s dressed for dinner, wearing light blue linen trousers, a cream short-sleeved blouse and a turquoise crew-neck cardigan. ‘It was very romantic.’
Cassie runs a hand through her short, neatly groomed hair. She’s fresh-faced with only a light hint of makeup to emphasise her natural gifts. ‘I should hope so.’
Rose wonders for a moment whether Cassie might be the kind of woman her dad would go for. She must be around his age and she’s undeniably attractive. A chic, sophisticated woman.
‘Do you read much?’ Rose finds herself asking.
‘I do enjoy a good novel,’ Cassie replies, ‘although it’s not always easy to find as much reading time as I’d like to these days. Sometimes I turn to poetry instead. I’ve been enjoying Yeats recently. It’s a good fit, I suppose, living in Ireland as I do now, although I liked his work before that.’
‘I know a little Yeats from university. I remember enjoying “Byzantium”, I think it was called. Is that right?’
‘Absolutely. Did Ryan do something inspired by literature to win your heart? That would sound out of character from how you’ve described him so far, but—’
‘No, not at all. I’m not sure why I asked you that. My mind flew off at a tangent. No, Ryan will never be a literary type. He probably still hasn’t read those two books I left at his house. It was incredibly sweet what he arranged, though, and jaw-droppingly memorable. It was the kind of grand gesture I wouldn’t usually expect from him. Something truly special.’
‘Are you going to tell me what it was?’ Cassie says with a wink. ‘I’m on tenterhooks.’
‘Sorry, I’ll get on with the story …’
CHAPTER 17
During my teenage years, I went through a period of listening to old music. Not really old, but things my dad used to enjoy when he was younger, probably with the volume turned up far too loud, knowing what he’s like. He wasn’t cool enough to have a vinyl collection, but he did buy loads of CDs, which he still to this day keeps in pride of place on a huge rack in the lounge.
Not that he listens to any of them. He uses a streaming service, like most other people. I think he likes how the CDs look, reminding him of the old days.
He’s the same with books. Although he reads a lot of ebooks nowadays, he has stacks of paperbacks and hardbacks slotted into vari
ous shelves and bookcases all over the house. And thank goodness for that, as I’ve taken great pleasure in reading many pieces from our home library and I intend to do so for a long time to come.
Anyhow, when I went through my phase of listening to Dad’s old CDs, it was on an ancient portable player of his with a built-in speaker, which I commandeered for my room. I particularly enjoyed listening to whole albums. I’d pick one and play it in its entirety, again and again, until it became like an old friend. It made a nice change from singles and playlists.
Listening to these albums, which varied from R.E.M. and Radiohead to Björk and Daft Punk, was something I shared with Ryan whenever he came to visit. Our tastes weren’t always exactly the same, but the one album we both grew to love, to the point where it pretty much became ‘our album’, was The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill from 1998.
I adore the whole album. However, my favourite song of all – my favourite Lauryn Hill song, full stop, which I’ve sung along to so often I know every beat – wasn’t originally on the official track listing. It appeared as the first of two hidden songs at the end of the record.
Why am I telling you this? It’s important: a teaser of what’s to come.
First, let’s return to how Ryan and I got back together. By the time the Christmas holidays came around in my third year at uni, he was back on my mind a great deal. We hadn’t met up again since our impromptu reunion at his parents’ place in August. Nor had we even spoken on the phone. However, we had messaged loads. It started really gradually, here and there. I can’t even remember who sent the first one. But by December we were messaging back and forth numerous times a day – and getting along famously. I was busy as hell with my final year uni work and going out a lot less than I had previously. I’d used this as an excuse to end things with Simon in October and, since then, no one else in Sheffield had piqued my interest romantically.
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