As Christmas approached, I was in Matt’s room helping him put up some tinsel and fairy lights. Soft music played and the room was bathed with warm light from his bedside lamp. Torrential rain battered the windows and the wind whistled through a gap in the window frame. Matt had made me a mug of hot chocolate with marshmallows melting on the top and, as I sipped the warm liquid, I felt surprisingly relaxed despite the hideous amount of coursework I knew I should be doing. Matt told me I had a lovely smile. I laughed and called him a charmer. The next moment, he kissed me. I found myself responding. I wasn’t sure how it happened or who made the move but we ended up lying on his bed locked in a passionate embrace.
I murmured his name as I ran my fingers through his hair. He stopped abruptly and jumped off me as if he’d been burnt. ‘You just called me Andy,’ he accused.
‘No I didn’t,’ I said, moving to a sitting position. But I knew I had; I’d been picturing Andy the whole time. With their similar looks, it wasn’t hard.
‘Oh my God, you fancy Andy.’ Matt’s face was contorted with anger.
‘I don’t… I…’ I hadn’t acknowledged my feelings before but there was no denying them to Matt. Or to myself.
‘Yes you do and he fancies you too. I don’t believe it.’
My cheeks flushed deeply. I wanted to know more. Did Andy really fancy me? I’d been worried my feelings may ruin our friendship but if Andy felt the same…? One look at Matt’s face told me it wasn’t a good time to explore this further. Muttering another apology, I fled back to my room and paced the floor wondering what to do. I realised I needed to speak to Andy. Now.
I ran up the two flights of stairs to his room but he was still out at the library. Roughly every fifteen minutes I tried his room again. No answer. Locked. At eleven p.m., I scribbled a note on the sheet of A4 paper on his door: Please come and find me when you get back — whatever the time, Sarah. I hesitated then added two kisses after my name.
Sprawled on my bed half an hour later, reading and re-reading the same paragraph in one of my textbooks, I had the sensation of being watched. I looked up to see Andy leaning against my doorframe, dark hair plastered to his head from the rain. I sat up, heart racing at the sight of him.
‘You wanted me?’ It was such a loaded question.
‘Where’ve you been?’
‘The library.’
‘It shuts at ten.’
‘Wandering around campus.’
‘For an hour-and-a-half? In the rain?’ I was aware that my voice sounded much higher than usual.
‘I needed to think.’
‘About what?’
‘Stuff.’
‘What sort of stuff?’
He made his way into my room and sat on the foot of the bed, facing me. ‘How was your evening with Matt?’ he asked, a gentle smile on his lips.
‘Strange.’
‘In what way?’
I took a deep breath; might as well be honest as he’d find out sooner or later. ‘Matt kissed me.’
‘Oh. And how did you feel about that?’
‘It was unexpected and… unusual.’
‘Unusual?’ Andy raised an eyebrow.
‘I called him “Andy”.’
‘Did you now?’
‘Yes. Not one of my finest moments.’
‘Why do you think you did that?’
‘Why do you think?’ I fixed my eyes squarely on his.
‘Oh.’
Silence. ‘Is that all you’re going to say?’ I needed to know how he felt about me. Had Matt been lying in a moment of anger?
‘That stuff I needed to think about,’ Andy said gently. ‘It was about you and Matt and me. I’ve known for ages how Matt feels about you; he told me a few days after we all met. The two of you got on so well that I began to convince myself that you felt the same way. He told me that he was going to make his move tonight. He figured that it’s nearly the end of term and, if you felt the same, you could be his date for the Christmas Ball and, if you didn’t, the Christmas break would give him time to get over you. He also said he knew how I felt about you and he respected me for not making a move. I protested and claimed you and I were just friends but I don’t think he believed me. I couldn’t hang around and watch the two of you get together, Sarah. It would have been too painful.’ He paused. ‘Did you really say my name?’
‘Yes.’
‘I know you’ve hinted at this but I need to hear it straight before I make a fool of myself. Why did you say my name?’
‘Because I wanted him to be you.’
I hesitated before I opened Andy’s email message. What if the news was that he’d finally proposed to Kelly after a two-year on-off relationship or he was going to be a daddy? My hand shook slightly as I clicked on the message.
Hi Sarah
Sorry it’s been a few months. How’s it going? How’s work? How’s Jason? Just a quickie to ask whether you’re free any time mid-December. My contract in Dubai is finally at an end and I return to the UK for good around then. Would be great to take you out for drinks or a meal and have a catch-up. Let me know a date that suits you around all the office Christmas parties etc. and I’ll make sure I’m back for then!
All the best
Andy xx
Hmm. No mention of Kelly or impending fatherhood. Phew!
Hi Andy
Good to hear from you. Great news about your return to the UK. Is Kelly coming back too? No work Christmas parties for me — I’ve left work! But I’ve also left London. I’m living back home and have taken over Auntie Kay’s shop. I’m re-opening it at the end of this month so I’m expecting December to fly by in a blur. Won’t be able to go out in London, but if you ever fancy a trip to North Yorkshire…
Sarah xx
From Andy:
Here was me thinking I was about to go through a major upheaval leaving Dubai after five years but I think you’ve just trumped me! Kelly’s staying in Dubai. Has Jason moved with you?
To Andy:
Jason and I have split up
From Andy:
Sorry to hear that. Hope you’re not too upset. Good luck with the shop opening. I’ll drop you an email when I’m back. Will find a way to catch up properly. Take care x
I smiled as I logged off my PC. I always felt warm and fuzzy with nostalgia after hearing from Andy, even if it was only a brief email exchange. I reached behind my desk to draw the curtains, pausing to stare for a moment into the inky blackness. The wind had picked up while I’d been online. Over my music I hadn’t noticed it, but now the sounds of the approaching storm echoed round my bedroom: a garden gate crashing, a dog barking, trees creaking. I shivered. Storms weren’t my friend. They transported me immediately back to Uncle Alan’s flat and the flash of lightning that revealed his decomposed body. Another storm had raged on the night of his funeral. I could vividly remember backing myself into a corner of my room, clutching onto Mr Pink, and sobbing for Uncle Alan’s lonely soul.
I shuddered. Why had Mum and Dad gone out tonight of all nights? I didn’t want to be alone! I leapt as a burst of rain pelted the window. Or was it hail? I wasn’t going to wait and find out. I yanked the curtains shut then dived under the duvet, fully dressed. I grabbed Mr Pink and hugged him tightly as I curled up in a foetus position, willing it to be over.
Think nice thoughts. Think about Andy and the good times we had. But all I could think about was the rain and the wind and the last time I’d hidden under the duvet in this very room, clinging onto Mr Pink while a storm raged outside. It had been eight years ago and the exchange I’d had with Andy back then hadn’t been quite so friendly.
After getting together at the end of our first term at university, Andy and I became inseparable and had an incredibly strong relationship. He was my first in every sense of the word and I really believed I’d found The One. After gra
duation, we’d jetted off for a week’s holiday in Rhodes. It had been an incredibly romantic week, but also a very emotional one as we prepared to face our toughest challenge yet: embarking on our new careers two hundred miles apart. I’d secured a job in Manchester but Andy was joining a Japanese communications company in London. We knew it wouldn’t be easy but we’d already experienced the challenges of a distance relationship each university holiday when I returned home to North Yorkshire and Andy went to his parents’ in Bournemouth. Having survived that greater distance, we were confident London to Manchester wouldn’t tear us apart. Naïve fools!
The first few weeks were fine. We’d already decided we wouldn’t meet up as we had new homes and jobs to settle into and new friends to make. We spoke regularly on the phone and talked about how much we loved and missed each other.
Then things changed. Instead of sounding pleased to hear from me, Andy sounded irritated each time I phoned. He only managed the occasional one-sentence email in reply to the reams I’d write to him, saying he was too busy with work to write more. We made arrangements to meet on three occasions and, each time, he cancelled.
I started to wonder if he’d met someone else. Once the idea popped into my head, I couldn’t shake it. After the third cancelled weekend, I caught the train to London anyway. I phoned Andy from outside his office, desperately hoping he was there and not out with my replacement. It was half eight on a Friday evening but he was still at the office. Feeling relieved — but scared as he didn’t sound at all pleased to hear that I was outside — I asked him to come down for ten minutes. The cold look he gave me as he burst through the revolving doors was a far cry from the emotional reunion I’d imagined on the train down. I’d naively thought that, if I could just see him, everything would slot into place.
I asked if we could go for a meal and talk. He refused. I suggested a drink. He refused that too.
‘I told you I was busy, Sarah, so I don’t know what you’re playing at by coming here and making a scene.’
‘I’m not making a scene,’ I protested. ‘I was worried about you.’ I reached out to take his hand but he took a step back.
I saw his eyes flick to the overnight bag beside me on the step. He sighed then reached in his pocket, pulled out his keys, and dangled them in front of me. ‘I hope you’ve got a good book in there because you’re going to have to entertain yourself all weekend. I told you I was busy. I’m working. We’re at a critical stage in this project. It’s more important than…’
It would have killed me to hear the end of the sentence. I remember staring at the keys then at the face of the man I’d thought I’d be with forever. As he stared back at me, dark eyes flashing with what seemed to be contempt, I couldn’t see anything of the Andy I loved. I gently pushed the keys away, shook my head then said, ‘And here was me thinking I was the most important thing in your life.’
‘My career’s important,’ he snarled. ‘I told you not to come. Why didn’t you listen?’
‘I did listen. But I stupidly thought you might be missing me as much as I was missing you.’ I swallowed on the lump in my throat as I desperately willed him to take me in his arms and say, ‘Of course I miss you. I’m glad you came really.’ Instead, he just put his keys back in his pocket then looked at his watch and tutted. The sound pierced through my heart.
‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘I won’t waste any more of your precious work time. If you haven’t got the time to see me or speak to me then what’s the point in being together anymore?’ I paused, hoping he’d say something to convince me there was still hope for us but he just stared back, frowning. I picked up my bag. ‘I’ll be off, then. I hope you and your career will be very happy together.’ It was a stupid line but it was the only thing I could think of at the time. ‘Goodbye, Andy.’ I paused again, my eyes pleading with him to recover this. Silence. With shaky legs, I walked back towards the underground, head held high, tears streaming.
My resolve crumbled within about ten paces. I stopped and turned round, half expecting to see Andy slumped on the steps, crumpling with regret, or — even better — chasing after me and begging me to take him back. Instead, he’d gone inside, presumably back to his ‘important’ work. The knife twisted deeper. In a daze, I’d caught the tube to King’s Cross and boarded the next train to York, anxious to be surrounded by people who really did care about me. I was too late for a connection to Whitsborough Bay, but my parents drove through to York to collect me. Mum sat in the back and cuddled me like a child while I sobbed all the way home.
It had taken two years with nothing but generic cards at Christmas and birthdays before I felt strong enough to compose an email to Andy. I’d been at a loose end one weekend and had decided to sort through a box of photos and put them in albums. I came across the one of Andy and me in Rhodes that I used to have stuck on the fridge. Tanned and radiating with happiness, I’d thought it was only a matter of time before he proposed. I figured we’d both need to settle into our new jobs then he’d definitely ask me to marry him. Maybe our three-year anniversary in December? Or Christmas? Or New Year? I’d never have predicted that we’d have split up by the end of November.
Looking at the photo, I realised I didn’t feel angry or hurt anymore. Instead, I felt happy with nostalgia. I logged on to my computer and tapped in a quick ‘hi-how-are-you?’ message. Andy replied immediately saying it was good to hear from me. Messages got longer and more regular and the friendship was gradually restored, our messages even becoming quite flirty. I was convinced that we’d get back together one day, when the timing was right.
It was a year before we broached the subject of meeting up for a drink, but by the time we finally co-ordinated our diaries, I’d met someone else and he’d been offered a secondment overseas. And so began the pattern of it never being the right time to try again.
‘And now he’s finally coming back to the UK for good and I’m single,’ I whispered into Mr Pink’s fur, ‘but I don’t know if he’s single or still with Kelly. Or someone else. And, even if he’s single, I’m not exactly local for trying again.’
I reluctantly peeled back the duvet, quickly undressed, pulled on my PJs and jumped back into bed. Even if he was single, was it too late to try again after all these years? Eight years was a hell of a lot of water under the bridge.
I reached out and switched off my bedside lamp. ‘Location isn’t the only problem,’ I whispered to Mr Pink. ‘He isn’t called Steven.’
Chapter 13
I had a fitful night’s sleep and was wide awake shortly before half six. My head felt hangover-fuzzy yet I hadn’t touched a drop. I’d dreamed that my stargazer lilies fantasy happened, but Andy was the customer placing the order. When I asked him his name, he said it was Stephanie. I’d jumped up and down clapping and squealing, ‘Stephanie! It’s nearly the same as Stephen spelt with a “ph”. I’d never thought about searching for Stephanies before.’
The dream then became a movie-style montage of dates with men who called themselves Stephanie. They flicked their long hair, puckered their red lips and ran their hands provocatively up hairy stocking-clad legs. One of them looked like my old Geography teacher, Mr Kellerman. I shook my head vigorously, trying to dislodge the disturbing image of him in fishnets and a basque begging me to call him Stephanie and spank him for being a naughty girl. Freud would have had a field-day with that dream!
I padded to the windows and drew back the curtains. It was still dark, but from the tranquillity I knew the storm had passed… for now. The sun would be rising within the hour: a stunning spectacle. There was nothing I loved more than being on the beach when the sun peeped over the horizon then steadily rose into the sky behind Lighthouse Point. It was a sight that was way overdue for me.
Twenty minutes later, I steered Mum’s car down the approach road to the beach. The gradually lightening sky was speckled with pink and orange in stark contrast with the silhouette of the lighthous
e and harbour. To top off the picture-perfect scene, lights twinkled around the curve of the bay. Absolutely beautiful. How come I’d traded this for Manchester and London for so many years?
I parked the car on the seafront and headed down a few steps onto the sand. Seaweed and driftwood strewn across the beach and promenade hinted at the storm that had raged just hours earlier, but all other signs were gone as the gentle waves lapped onto the sand a few hundred metres out. I perched myself on the edge of the beach wall and inhaled the salty air.
Ten minutes later, I was treated to an orange arc peeping over the horizon, casting a welcoming glow across the calm sea. Sunrise on the beach: stunning. Absolutely stunning. And suddenly I had an overwhelming compulsion to run. Me. The person who’d shunned exercise for a year. It was going to hurt but I wanted to do it.
I had the beach almost to myself as I jogged slowly along the hard sand, dodging round lumps of seaweed. I could make out the silhouettes of a couple of people walking dogs and two more runners in the distance. The tranquillity gave me time to think and, by the time I’d made it back to my starting point, I’d reached a decision. I was definitely going to give Internet dating a try. Targeted Internet dating as Clare suggested: just Stevens. Andy returning to the UK may have meant something if I’d still been in London, but my present circumstances made it a non-starter. So we’d just continue as friends who occasionally emailed each other and I’d bury any thoughts of it finally being the right timing for us — since it clearly still wasn’t. If I was ever in London, I’d look him up, but with a business to run and weekends committed to doing that, me being in London was a very unlikely scenario.
I bent over, hands on my thighs, gulping in deep breaths of cold air while my heartbeat steadied. I sat down on the cold sand and smiled as I drank in the blazing ball of fire behind the old lighthouse. With another deep breath, I lay back on the sand, eyes closed, feeling trickles of sweat run down my hairline and into my ears. Ew! How very attractive! I hoped none of the joggers or dog-walkers were Stevens since sweaty, beetroot-red, and breathless wasn’t the most alluring of looks. I lay there for a few minutes just listening to the distant waves, cry of gulls and the slowing of my heartbeat. Despite the physical exertion, I felt incredibly relaxed.
Searching for Steven (Whitsborough Bay Trilogy Book 1) Page 11
