When I Knew You

by KE Payne

  Nat had loved her once, but now it all seemed like such a long time ago that Ash had forgotten what it felt like to be loved. That feeling had never been bettered but also had never returned after Nat had left her. Looking across the table to Nat now, Ash tried to remember back to a time when they’d told one another they loved each other. When the words just rolled so easily from their mouths. When they both really meant it.

  “The duck here is supposed to be the best this side of the river.” Nat’s words pulled Ash back.

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “And some sides to go with it?” Nat, Ash noted, was deep in concentration, studying the menu.

  “Why not.” Ash took another drink, wishing she could shake the feeling Nat’s earlier words had provoked.

  She watched as Nat turned her head and sought out a waiter. With one effortless rise of her chin and a smile that could charm the birds from the trees, the waiter was instantly at her side. She ordered, not waiting for confirmation from Ash, and it struck Ash that Nat was as comfortable in such a formal dining setting as she was ill at ease.

  “What?” Nat’s smile alerted Ash to the fact she’d been staring at her.

  “Nothing. I—” Ash dropped her gaze. “I was just thinking how at home you look here.” She shook her head and frowned. “I mean, when I feel so tetchy at the primness of it all.”

  “I’ve been here before,” Nat began slowly, “so I guess I’m used to it.” That was a question, Ash assumed, more than a declaration. “I don’t know.” Definitely a question.

  “You’ve been back in London long?” Ash asked. “Livvy said you left Edinburgh when you, you know, finished at medical school. But…” Her words petered out. Did she want to know more about Nat? Her head said no. Her heart, though…

  “It’ll be, let me see”—Nat stared at a spot just past Ash’s shoulder—“nearly ten years now.” She sat back and whistled through her teeth. “Never realized it was that long.”

  “Time flies, huh?”

  “Something like that.” Nat smiled. “And you? How long have you been in Cornwall?”

  “About the same,” Ash replied. “Mm. Maybe a bit longer. Maybe twelve years.” She nodded.

  “You like it there?” Nat sat back.

  “Love it.” Ash looked squarely at Nat. “It’s just…me. It’s everything I am,” she said. “There’s something strangely comforting about being tucked away in the furthest corner of England, in a cottage where my garden practically falls into the sea.” Ash smiled, almost hearing the rush of the sea as she spoke. “Does that make sense?”

  “Perfect sense.”

  “Like I’m sure London is everything you are or want to be,” Ash offered. “After all, you fit very well into a place like this. Whereas me”—she waved her hands up and down in front of her—“I’m more at home in a burger shack on the beach.” She laughed.

  “I think—” Nat paused as the waiter arrived at their table with cutlery.

  An awkward silence settled across the table as the waiter busied himself setting down knives and forks. Ash drained her drink and asked for another, putting the offer to Nat, who declined. Her wine, Ash noted, had hardly been touched.

  “You think…?” Ash prompted once the waiter had left again.

  “I can’t remember.” Nat laughed through her nose. “How silly.” Her face, Ash thought, looked pained.

  “Senior moment?” Ash smiled.

  “I think perhaps London once was my sort of place,” Nat said quickly, almost as though she needed to get the words out before she changed her mind, “but not any more.” She looked at Ash. “Maybe Belfast will be.”

  “Belfast?”

  “The consultant’s post that Judy was talking about at her house,” Nat said, “is at the Royal Victoria Hospital over there. I just have to accept the post and then I’m off. Could be there this time next month.”

  A strange sensation flickered inside Ash. Barely distinguishable, but there all the same.

  “Isn’t that funny?” Ash thought her voice sounded odd. “But for some reason I assumed it would be in London.”

  “Well I was offered a post at St. Bart’s,” Nat said. “Where I am now, you know?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “But”—Nat wrinkled her nose—“I fancied a clean break.” She hesitated. “You know I was married once?”

  “Livvy told me.” Ash caught Nat’s eye. Richard Thornton, senior cardiologist. Two divorces, five kids, nine years Nat’s senior. Numbers, numbers. But all important. The marriage, according to Livvy, had lasted barely a year. Another important number. “Richard, wasn’t it?” His name was out before Ash realized.

  “You know his name?”

  Nat looked distressed, Ash thought.

  “Livvy mentioned it once.” Ash broke eye contact. Livvy had mentioned his name more than once when Nat had been with him.

  “He helped me…get my head around stuff,” Nat said. “After you.”

  “After me?” Ash replied drolly. “Livvy said you met him in your twenties.”

  “I did.”

  “I was long gone by then.” Ash looked up as her beer arrived. She immediately picked it up and drank some back, the liquid choking down some more words she knew were desperate to be spoken.

  “Physically maybe,” Nat said, once the waiter had left. “Emotionally for me? Not so.”

  “You’re expecting me to believe that you married Richard as a way to get over me?” Ash stared at Nat. “After you dumped me? You’re really serious?”

  “I cared about you more than you realized,” Nat said. “When I knew you, I…”

  Her words hit a nerve.

  “When you knew me?” Ash sensed the colour flash across her face. “You think it’s okay to catalogue what I felt for you as just being an association?” She sat back. “You’re priceless.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that.” Nat shook her head. “You misunderstood me. I genuinely cared for you.”

  Her words were like a slap across Ash’s face. “You cared for me so much you were prepared to do that to me?” She leaned forward again and lowered her voice. “The one thing I do understand is the only person you ever cared about was yourself,” Ash said bluntly. “All your life, Nat Braithwaite was your number one priority. So don’t give me that.”

  Ash stared at her, forcing Nat’s gaze away from hers. Ash watched as she fiddled with her hair, picking at some stray strands, and then cleared her throat.

  “I don’t want to argue,” Nat finally said, “I was just trying to make conversation.” Her voice was light and flippant, and Ash knew her point had struck home. Ash’s sense of satisfaction was profound.

  “By telling me that you stumbled into the arms of some man as a way to get over me?” Ash felt her own tension hitch up again at the thought. “The only reason you hooked up with this Richard guy was for your own ends.”

  “Meaning?” Nat’s face hardened.

  “Meaning it would be good for your career,” Ash countered. “Because everything you’ve ever done has been for your own benefit.”

  “That’s rubbish and you know it.” Nat, infuriatingly for Ash, sipped at her wine and looked away, indicating that as far as she was concerned, the matter was over.

  It was far from over for Ash.

  “Like leaving me,” Ash said.

  “Why rake that up now?” Nat asked.

  “Because I’m trying to make a point here.” Ash fought back her annoyance. “You’re sitting there, all holier than thou, pretending you were heartbroken over me and that it took you years to get over everything, when we both know the truth.”

  “The truth,” Nat said, looking evenly at Ash, “is that we were both young, and it would never have lasted through university anyway.”

  “Your parents’ words or yours?” Ash said.

  “Mine.”

  “So, despite knowing I loved you and would have done anything for you, you made the decision to end it,” Ash said. “Just lik
e that.”

  “We wanted different things.” Ash watched Nat stare down into her glass. “We had different mentalities back then.” She looked back up at her. “We were just kids, Ash.”

  They were just lame excuses, Ash knew. Nat was happy to reel out the same old excuses about them needing space, needing time apart. About their relationship being too much too soon. Nat, Ash realized with increasing frustration, was as determined to fight her corner as Ash was to point out her faults. The combination didn’t make the atmosphere across the table particularly comfortable.

  “Did you regret it?” Ash asked. “Us?”

  She watched as Nat circled a finger around the rim of her wine glass, apparently deep in thought. Finally she looked up at Ash.

  “I wish I could tell you I regret us ever being together,” Nat eventually replied. “Like you told me the night we parted.”

  Ash remembered that night, remembered her words and her vitriol. There had been so much anger and hate; Ash’s heart hadn’t meant the things she’d said to Nat, even if her mouth, at the time, had.

  “But I can’t tell you that,” Nat went on, “because I don’t regret any of it, and that’s the truth.”

  “I loved you.” Ash held Nat’s gaze. “But it wasn’t enough for you, was it?”

  “What did we know about love, Ash?” Nat looked away.

  “I knew you were everything to me,” Ash said, “and that I would have done anything for you.”

  Ash shifted back in her chair as their waiter arrived with their plates. Her words hung uneasily between them, and Ash wished she could take them back. Seconds felt like hours as the waiter served them and asked, again, about drinks. Finally, at the shake of their heads, he left.

  “Maybe,” Nat eventually replied. “But—”

  “But it wasn’t going to get in the way of what you—or your parents—wanted?” Ash replied. She picked up her fork and prodded at the small pile of vegetables on her plate, then looked back to Nat, an unwanted sense of guilt sweeping over her at the wounded expression on Nat’s face.

  Ash opened her mouth to speak again, another confrontation forming on her lips, but stopped herself. Instead, she drew in a long, slow breath. Maybe Nat was right, and this really wasn’t the time to rake over the past. “So tell me about Richard,” she said, almost forcing the words out.

  “Richard was a mistake.” Nat looked away.

  “No shit.” Ash raised an eyebrow. “You’re gay, remember?”

  “Yes, I know.”

  Ash bent her head and caught Nat’s eye. “No one can kiss another girl like you did and call themselves straight.” She held her gaze long enough to make Nat look away first.

  “Richard was just…there,” Nat said. “Conveniently put there by my father at a time when I was lost and unhappy.”

  “Your father?” Ash was confused.

  “Richard was a colleague,” Nat explained. “Same department as my father.”

  “And your father orchestrated something?”

  “Didn’t he always?”

  Ash’s mind fell back almost twenty years. Yes, her father had always had a say in Nat’s life. Had preached the importance of success to her until she got to the point where she would comply with his wishes just to get him off her case. But that was then. Somehow, though, Ash thought that by her twenties and living away from home Nat would have had enough of his meddling. Apparently not.

  “Were you happy?” Ash hadn’t meant to ask the question, but the minute it was out she knew it had been inside her, desperate to be asked, for years. “You and Richard?” Images tapped at her as she said his name out loud. Nat with Richard. Richard with Nat. She cut her glance away, annoyed at herself for the jealousy she was feeling.

  “No.” Nat’s face, Ash saw when she turned back to her, was shrouded with misery. “He just made me even unhappier.”

  “So why…?”

  “He wanted a wife,” Nat said. “I wanted a shoulder to cry on at a time when I was vulnerable.” She looked at Ash. “And don’t look at me like that. I already told you why.”

  Ash stared at her, hearing the pain in her voice.

  “You mean you really did regret finishing with me?” she asked.

  “Every day,” Nat said. She picked up her knife and fork and Ash sensed a change of direction for the conversation. “What about you?”

  “Me?”

  “Is there…someone?”

  Ash picked up her glass of beer and swirled it around, watching the liquid eddy inside.

  “No,” she eventually said, “there’s no one.” Ash slowly looked up, sensing, as she always used to, Nat’s gaze on her. “There’s not really been anyone since…”

  “Us?” Nat finished the sentence.

  “Yes. Since us.” Ash held Nat’s gaze. “No one ever really compared.”

  “I really fucked up, didn’t I?”

  Ash slowly drank back her beer, figuring her silence was all the answer Nat needed.

  “And now I only have myself to blame, don’t I?”

  “It’s been a lot of years, Nat.” Ash shrugged. “We’re past all that, surely?” She looked at her, surprised at the pain she saw in Nat’s eyes.

  This was Nat’s way of vindicating her past actions and Ash knew that right now this was merely scratching at the surface of what had happened. What good would arguing even more do? Nat had had years to justify to herself why she’d ended things, and to convince herself that what she’d done was right for both of them. Arguing with her now would just bring all that pain and bitterness to the surface again and leave them strangers to one another once more. Ash was tired of fighting. Tired of hating.

  Now all Ash felt was…what? It was hard for her to separate all the different emotions she was feeling at that moment as Nat sat opposite her. Was it anger? No, she would have expected anger; that would have been fully justified. Instead, there was something stronger dancing around the edges of her consciousness. Relief, perhaps. Or an understanding.

  And none of it made any sense to Ash at all.

  Chapter Nine

  Dearest Flash,

  How’s the weather? Isn’t that how you’re always supposed to start a letter?

  Ash turned her head away and stared at the raindrops pooling, like brimming tears, at the bottom of her window. She blinked slowly, unsure why reading Livvy’s fourth letter made her feel so sad. Maybe dinner with Nat the previous evening had stirred up too many emotions for her to cope with in less than twelve hours. Who knew? All Ash did know was she’d coped with Livvy’s other letters, but for some reason, the start of her next one pinched a sadness in her chest.

  Ash wiped her eyes with her sleeve and read on.

  Anyway, I hope you’re enjoying your time in London and making your way merrily through my list. How’s Chloe? I’m sure she’s having a ball with you pair. Give her a hug from me and tell her I miss her?

  I was lying in bed this morning, thinking back—as you do—to when we were seventeen and your dad gave you £200 for passing your driving test. Do you remember? You got terribly grumpy about it all because you knew he couldn’t afford it, but he wouldn’t take it back because he said you’d worked so hard to pass your test.

  Ash smiled. Of course she remembered. She’d run home, light-headed with relief that she’d passed her test, and her father had pressed two hundred pounds into her hand the second she told him.

  I got it from the bank before you’d even gone to take your test, he’d said. I was that confident.

  She’d refused the money. Her father, out of work for the previous two years, could ill afford to give her ten pounds back then, let alone anything more. Ash’s attention returned to the rain, still slamming against her window. That had been one of the reasons her parents had both upped sticks and headed to New Zealand when she was twenty and already halfway round Europe with no intention of ever returning home herself.

  He wouldn’t take the two hundred pounds back, of course. Pride. He still had buckets
of pride. He told her to treat herself—and her friends—and do something she’d never ordinarily be able to do. They’d come close to it too: a spa day, tea at Claridge’s, a personal shopper at Harrods. Ash’s smile deepened. That last idea had been Livvy’s. But they did none of those things. Instead, Ash bought her parents a bench for their garden, as a thank you to them for everything they’d ever done for her. She’d never have tolerated a personal shopper waggling dresses in her face, anyway.

  Ash shifted in her chair and returned her attention to Livvy’s letter.

  We never did get to have tea at a posh place, did we? Or that massage at Champney’s? You were your usual lovely, gorgeous, generous self and that’s why we all loved you, even though Nat said at the time she didn’t because she’d always wanted to go to Champney’s. She was joking, btw.

  Ash raised an eyebrow.

  So now you can make it up to her! I’ve sent buckets of money to Claridge’s—you know, the terribly posh place in Mayfair?—so you can all go and have afternoon tea there. Just pre-book a time, give them my name, and hey presto! Oh, and Flash? Don’t wear your jeans (I bet you wore them to the theatre, didn’t you?) because you’ll get booted out. And for goodness’ sake make sure Chloe looks smart too. You’re as bad as each other. Ask Nat what to wear if you’re worried—you always used to ask her opinion when you were together, and come on! She was usually right, wasn’t she? Admit it.

  Okay, time for my afternoon nap. I do hope you’ll all enjoy your posh tea. Remember not to slurp, and think of me when you’re there, will you? I’d like that.

  Until the next missive,

  Livvy xxx

  Although this particular letter made her sad, it was, Ash thought, easier to deal with than the others. She couldn’t put her finger on why though. Perhaps it was because she found comfort in it, almost as though Livvy was reading it aloud to her, and that she could clearly hear Livvy scolding her for wearing jeans or glugging down her tea. Ash rested her head back. It had been too long since she’d heard Livvy’s voice.