by Maria Realf
‘Alex, are you there?’
Only the whistle of the wind came back at her, and she knew that once again he had slipped away without saying a word.
After sending a quick text to request an emergency summit, Lizzie rushed straight round to Megan’s flat after work, which proved easier said than done with a giant bouquet on the Tube. Not only did she have to squeeze into the crowded carriage, but the bald man standing beside her seemed to have severe hayfever, and proceeded to sneeze in her direction all the way to Shepherd’s Bush.
‘Need … wine … now,’ she gasped, as the front door finally swung open.
‘What’s going on?’ said Megan. She peered at the huge arrangement. ‘You look like you’ve raided the Chelsea Flower Show. Are these for me?’
‘They are now. Alex sent them.’
‘What the fu …?’
‘I know,’ Lizzie interrupted. ‘Have you got wine?’
Megan stared at her, highlighting the sheer stupidity of the question. ‘Red, white or rosé?’
‘I don’t mind, as long as you make mine a large.’
‘Coming right up. Then you have to tell me everything.’ She eyed the flowers again. ‘I suppose we’d better get these in water, if they even fit through the hallway.’
Lizzie stepped inside the bijoux apartment, noticing that it was pretty tidy these days, or at least a lot better than when the two of them moved in after uni. ‘The old place is looking good,’ she murmured, her mind still boggling from the afternoon’s events.
‘Thanks,’ replied Megan. ‘Lily’s a neat freak, so she’s been spring cleaning again.’ Megan’s cousin, a leggy model, had been renting the other bedroom since Lizzie moved in with Josh. The girl had a wardrobe to die for and was hardly ever around, so most of the time the deal suited Megan perfectly. ‘Sit down and make yourself comfy,’ she continued, taking the flowers through to the compact kitchen. ‘I’ll be with you in a sec. Wine is on the way!’
Lizzie collapsed into the soft, threadbare couch, now tastefully adorned with a scattering of gold cushions. A few seconds later, Megan returned with a bottle of Pinot Grigio and two glasses, and settled down beside her. ‘Right, have some of this and start from the beginning,’ she said, pouring a couple of sizeable servings. ‘When did the flowers turn up?’
‘Today.’
‘What, at home? Did Josh see?’ Her voice began to climb higher and higher.
‘No, at work. But obviously I can’t take them home. Not that I’d want to,’ Lizzie added hastily. She took a large gulp of Pinot, hoping the cool wine would soothe her frazzled nerves.
‘Did you talk to him?’
‘Who, Josh?’
‘No, Alex!’ Megan was dangerously close to soprano territory now.
‘No.’ Lizzie tried to adopt a nonchalant expression, omitting to mention that she had nearly set a new land-speed record trying to sprint down the fire exit.
‘Then how do you know they’re from him?’
‘Because he left a note.’
Megan’s eyes widened. ‘Saying?’
Lizzie put down her glass, retrieved the card from her purse and handed it over. Megan’s mouth flapped about like a fish deprived of water. ‘But … what …’ she paused. ‘He’s got some balls.’
‘I know.’
‘As if you’d want to talk to him!’
‘Exactly.’ Lizzie picked up her wine and necked another large mouthful. Megan sipped hers more slowly, looking deep in thought.
‘I wonder how he knew where you’d be,’ she mused.
‘What?’
‘Well, if he sent flowers to your office, how did he find out where you work?’ She wrinkled her nose suspiciously.
‘I’ve no idea. Maybe someone told him, or he looked me up online or something. You’re the one who’s always telling me you can find anything on the internet.’
Megan mulled this over for a moment. ‘It’s possible, I guess. But he doesn’t seem too into the whole social media thing. He’s not even on Facebook! My 90-year-old gran’s on there poking people, no problem. But Alex? Nothing.’
‘You tried to look him up?’ Now it was Lizzie’s turn to be surprised.
‘Only when I heard he was back. I was just going to check out his pictures, do a bit of harmless reconnaissance.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve never tried to do that?’
Lizzie ducked her gaze. ‘Maybe once or twice,’ she muttered. Not that she’d ever found anything. Alex was very good at going under the radar. In another life, he’d have made an excellent secret agent.
‘If you say so,’ scoffed Megan. ‘Anyway, you’re missing the point. The important thing is what you do next.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Please tell me you didn’t phone him already?’
‘Course not,’ Lizzie spluttered. ‘I can’t read the number anyway. The last two digits are smudged.’
Megan peered at the card, then threw it down on the coffee table. ‘I think it’s a 6 and a 0. Might be an 8. Not that it matters, though. You definitely shouldn’t call.’
‘I won’t.’
‘In that case, I think we should get rid of it,’ she said. ‘Just so you don’t feel tempted to ring him later. You know, once we’ve polished off the Pinot.’ She set down her drink and went into the kitchen, returning with a large ashtray and a box of matches. ‘Here, we can set fire to it. It’ll be like it never existed.’
Like Alex for the past ten years, you mean.
‘You don’t need to mess around with all that, Megan.’ Lizzie shuffled uneasily in her seat.
‘Well, you can’t keep it! What if Josh sees it? How dodgy would that look?’
‘Why would he see it? I was going to bin it.’
‘Good. Because I’d hate to see you screw things up with Josh for that bastard.’ Despite their long-term friendship – or perhaps because of it – Megan still hadn’t learned to keep her opinions to herself.
‘Don’t say that.’
‘Why not?’
Lizzie didn’t have a good answer. It wasn’t like she hadn’t called him that – and worse – since the split. But somehow it sounded different coming from Megan.
‘Never mind. I should probably talk to Josh about all this though, right? Maybe tell him what happened with me and Alex?’ Not that she had much of an explanation. She still didn’t understand how two people could swiftly go from being inseparable to being continents apart.
‘What? Noooooo!’ Megan looked horrified. ‘That’s a terrible idea.’
‘Why? I’m sure he won’t mind. It was a million years ago.’
‘Yeah, I can hear that conversation now: “Hi darling, how was your day? Oh, by the way, the love of my life just waltzed back into town.” He’ll be thrilled about that.’
‘Alex isn’t the love of my life,’ said Lizzie, her head starting to throb from the strain of it all.
‘But still, it doesn’t exactly sound great, does it? And then poor Josh is going to spend the next couple of months worrying that you’re going to call off the wedding.’
‘Why would I call off the wedding?’
‘I’m not saying you would. I’m just saying that I don’t think now’s a good time to dump all of this on your fiancé.’ She raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow. ‘Look, at the end of the day, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.’
I hope not, thought Lizzie. I really hope not. ‘So what do you think I should do?’
Megan picked up the card. ‘I think we should destroy the evidence right now.’
‘You’ve been watching too much CSI: Miami again.’
‘I’m serious. Unless you’re having second thoughts about phoning …’ She shook her head disapprovingly.
‘Fine, you win. Let’s just get rid of it.’
Lizzie watched as her friend scraped the safety match against the coarse surface of the box, the sound grating like nails down a blackboard. The tip sprang to life, its golden head gently kissing the
corner of the card, engulfing it in a sunset-coloured glow before it burned out with exhaustion and everything turned black.
Megan was right. There could be no going back.
6
6 October 2002
Lizzie stepped into the dark cottage, scattering a trail of watery drops as she took off Alex’s jacket, her hands struggling to grip the slippery leather. Her wet hair clung to her neck and shoulders, the rain trickling down her back and tickling her skin.
As her eyes slowly adjusted to the lack of light, she could just about glimpse Alex in the shadows, but then he switched on a table lamp, infusing the living room with a soft glow. The place wasn’t big, but what it lacked in size it made up for in character, with its exposed brick walls and dark wooden beams. It was not your typical student digs, but then she was beginning to realise that he was not your typical student.
‘You must be drenched,’ he said, kicking off his shoes with a thud. ‘That really came out of nowhere.’ His hair had been slicked back by the rain, but a few rogue strands fell forward and she wanted to brush them from his face. She did not move first, though, thrown by the wet and the cold and the sudden realisation that her dress had become almost see-through. Do I look a total mess? Alex had wanted to kiss her on the beach, of that she was sure, but the rain had extinguished the moment and now she felt self-conscious.
‘I’m OK.’
He took the dripping jacket from her. ‘Here, let me get you a towel,’ he said, disappearing for a second before surfacing with a large white one. She wrapped it tightly around herself, feeling the warmth flood back into her body, then bent down to remove her sodden sandals. ‘I’ll see if I can find you something to change into,’ he offered, striding towards what she assumed must be his bedroom.
He did not close the door fully behind him, and she couldn’t help but watch through the gap as he peeled off his T-shirt, revealing a muscular back. As he reached into his wardrobe, she could make out a jagged scar to the right of his torso, silvery and faded but noticeable nonetheless. I know nothing about this guy, she thought suddenly, and yet she wanted to find out more. She pretended to concentrate on towel-drying her hair while she kept one eye firmly fixed in his direction.
He threw on a black jumper and returned brandishing two large shirts in white and blue. ‘I don’t have much that’ll fit you, sorry. But you’re welcome to wear one of these. You can change in my room, if you like.’
‘Sure, thanks.’ She draped the towel over the back of a chair and took the white one from him, her heartbeat accelerating as she closed the bedroom door. Wriggling out of her drenched dress and into the crisp cotton shirt, its length barely skimming her thighs, Lizzie felt almost as exposed as she had a few minutes earlier. Not wanting to seem tarty, she fastened the buttons right to the top, but then that felt stuffy, so she undid the top two. She wished that her boobs were a size or two larger so she could really work the curvaceous angle.
Checking her reflection in the wardrobe mirror, she realised that her eyeliner was running halfway down her right cheek. As she scanned the room for tissues, she noted with relief that it was simple but clean, with a double bed covered in navy linen. The matt-white walls were peppered with posters of music icons – Kurt Cobain, Jimi Hendrix, John Lennon – which were starting to look a little frayed around the edges. There was no sign of food-encrusted plates, like the ones she had to rescue from Gareth’s room, or mounds of dirty student laundry; instead there was just a small pile of magazines and textbooks, a guitar leant lovingly in the corner and a corkboard dotted with photographs.
She leaned in. The same faces cropped up in multiple snaps, including a middle-aged couple who she guessed must be his parents, a guy who looked a lot like Alex and a pretty blonde shaped like a swimwear model. Lizzie peered more closely at her and felt a pang in the pit of her stomach. I hope that’s a relative, she thought, trying to avert her eyes from the blonde’s ample cleavage.
She couldn’t spot any tissues, though, and in the end she had to settle for a lick of saliva on her little finger. Before their date, she had spent over an hour perfecting her outfit and make-up, yet now she was stripped of both. Not the best look, but it’ll have to do. She ran a hand through her damp hair, gave the shirt a final inspection and stepped back into the lounge.
Alex had lit a fire and was pouring two glasses of white wine. He passed one to her then sat down on the crinkled brown leather couch, which was barely big enough for two. Lizzie sank into the adjacent armchair, curling her legs up beside her.
‘This place is beautiful,’ she said, hoping her breezy voice wouldn’t betray her nerves. ‘How long have you been here?’
‘Actually, I’ve been coming here since I was small,’ he said. ‘It used to belong to my grandparents, and when they died my mum couldn’t bear to sell it. Too many memories. I think she’s hoping to bring her own grandkids here someday.’
‘I can totally see why.’ She took a sip of her drink. ‘I wish I’d had grandparents to go and visit.’
Alex leaned forward. ‘You didn’t see any of them?’
‘Not really. My dad’s parents were killed in a car crash before I came along, and my mum’s both died before I turned five, so I don’t remember them much. And I never actually met my real grandparents.’ She stopped, realising she hadn’t told him the full story. ‘I was adopted when I was a baby.’
She waited for him to get that look people got when she told them; that awkward not-sure-what-to-say-now kind of look. But he didn’t. He just looked interested.
‘Are you in touch with your birth family?’
‘No, never.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Mum offered to help me track them down last year when I turned 18. But, honestly, I don’t think I want to any more. As far as I’m concerned, my mum and dad are my real family.’
For a while, during her early teens, she had thought about her birth parents obsessively: what they looked like, where they might be living, whether they lay awake at night and wished they hadn’t given her away. Above all, there was this overriding sense of loss, as though she’d misplaced something but couldn’t remember what. Still, her adopted parents had always made her feel so loved that she refused to regret going to them. It could only have been a trade up, and she couldn’t bear to hurt their feelings by searching for two strangers simply because they shared some DNA.
‘I understand,’ he said, raising his glass to his lips. ‘They sound like great people.’
‘They are.’ She shifted her weight slightly. ‘What about you? What’s your family like?’
‘Can’t complain, I guess. There’s me, the folks, my twin Connor and my sister Andi.’
‘Oh, you have a twin? That must be so cool!’
‘Mostly. He has his moments.’
‘Do you see them much?’
‘As much as I can. They’re up near Windsor – close enough to visit but not so close they can turn up uninvited.’
‘Sounds perfect.’ She smiled. ‘So you live here by yourself?’
‘Yeah. I thought about renting out the spare room once, but I kind of like having my own space.’ He looked around the cosy cottage. ‘At least this way I can mess around on my guitar without disturbing anyone.’
‘Will you play something for me?’
He seemed surprised. ‘Like what?’
‘I don’t mind. Anything.’
‘Oh, I don’t play in front of other people. Trust me, it’s for your own good.’
She put her glass on the wooden floor. ‘Hey, I sang in front of you this week, remember? Not to mention half the uni.’
‘True,’ he smiled. ‘But perhaps we should leave the music to the pros for one night.’ He gestured to a tall, teetering pile of CDs in the corner, which resembled the Leaning Tower of Pisa. ‘I must have something you like. Though I’m pretty sure there’s no Steps.’
She extracted herself from the chair to inspect his collection, discreetly tugging down the shirt to what she hoped was a respectable le
ngth. ‘Alright, let’s have a look. Coldplay, Train – love them – Foo Fighters, Roxette …’ She paused. ‘Really?’
‘What’s wrong with Roxette?’
‘Nothing. I like Roxette. I just didn’t think they’d be your thing.’
‘What can I say? I’ve got eclectic taste. There might even be an S Club single lurking in there somewhere, you know.’
She continued to rifle through the mountain of discs, not quite sure what she was searching for. ‘Travis … The Ramones … ah, Oasis.’ She pulled the CD slowly from the precarious pile, hoping it wouldn’t topple like a giant game of Jenga.
‘Which track?’ he said. ‘Choose wisely.’
‘You’ll see.’ She took the disc out of its plastic casing and switched on his stereo, feeding the flash of silver into the hungry slot. The familiar opening of Wonderwall echoed over the speakers.
‘This is my all-time favourite song, you know,’ said Alex quietly, setting down his wine glass.
She held out a hand. ‘Then dance with me.’
‘What? You can’t dance to this.’
‘You don’t sing, you don’t dance …’ she teased. ‘What do you do?’
As if to answer her question, he rose slowly, strode across the room and kissed her with an intensity that made her knees buckle. She had been kissed before (by 12 different boys, in fact, if you counted those drunken snogs in Fresher’s Week), but this was the kiss to obliterate all others.
She gave into it completely, running her hand through his rain-soaked hair and down to his broad shoulders. He wrapped his strong arms around her back, pulling her in so deeply that she could hardly breathe; his lips were warm, with a faint taste of wine that was intoxicating, his stubble brushing against her skin.
‘Do you want to stay here tonight?’ he whispered.
His question caught her off-guard and she pulled back slightly. She had never done anything like this before – ‘Make ’em wait until at least the third date,’ Megan always said – and the sensible thing to do would be to slow down. She knew that if she didn’t leave in the next 30 seconds, she was going to lose a piece of her heart that could never be reclaimed.
