by Dani Atkins
‘I’ve made you a sandwich and there’s fresh water in the jug,’ I said, nodding at the tray I had left beside the bed.
‘I thought…’ he said, his voice trailing away.
I shook my head. ‘No, Richard. Nothing has changed.’
‘But you stayed.’
‘Just until you woke up. I’m going now,’ I said, moving toward the door as I spoke.
‘Is this about that American—’
My sigh was weary. ‘He’s not the issue.’
‘But you still care about me, Emma. I know you do.’
I looked at him sadly. His headache might have improved, but he still looked far from well. But I couldn’t afford to let him think that what had happened today was anything more than just basic humanity.
‘Not enough, Richard. Nowhere near enough.’
I saw him looking sadly at the overflowing box in my arms. ‘You’re really not coming back?’
I could feel unexpected tears thickening my voice. ‘No, I’m not.’
He turned his head away from me, and I think we were both glad of the dim light that kept our faces in shadow.
‘I’ve just been fooling myself all this time, haven’t I? I kept thinking that if I proved to you how incredibly sorry I was, if I could make you understand how much I love you, that you’d give me another chance. I know I don’t deserve it, but it’s the only thing that’s kept me going.’
I could think of nothing to say that we hadn’t already been over far too many times before. I waited until I reached the door before I turned back to face him.
‘I honestly don’t know if I could have forgiven you for cheating on me, if things had turned out differently, if the accident hadn’t happened,’ I admitted, with an honesty that surprised me as much as him. ‘But what I can’t forgive you for, is what you’ve taken from me.’
His look of total bewilderment confirmed he had no idea what I was talking about.
‘Amy,’ I said quietly.
He jerked and I saw his throat move convulsively at her name.
‘You took Amy from me with what you did. You took her memory from me.’ My tears were falling now, and I didn’t give a damn if he saw them or not. ‘I should be grieving for my best friend but, thanks to you and what you did, I can’t. I can’t think of her at all without seeing the two of you together, kissing… touching…’ I shuddered and Richard looked ripped raw at my reaction. ‘Because of you, I can’t mourn her or even think about her without getting angry, without feeling betrayed. And I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive you for that.’
It felt more like an ending than our actual break-up had done. And, as I drove home with the box of my life with Richard jiggling and rattling on the seat beside me, I had finally believed Richard’s parting words: ‘I won’t put pressure on you any more, Emma. I’m not going to keep trying to win you back, or get you to change your mind.’ I had nodded gratefully, feeling both the freedom of a huge weight being lifted from me, yet strangely a simultaneous sensation of panic as the door to our story clanged shut with noisy finality. ‘But just know one thing: when you change your mind – and you will change your mind – I am going to be right here waiting for you.’
My parents were both out when I got home, for which I was grateful, because I really didn’t want to have to explain the box I carried in my arms like a miniature casket. It didn’t take long to slip my belongings back where they belonged, back into my life and out of Richard’s. I was about to shut the wardrobe doors when my eye fell on something tucked away in the back. There was still one last thing that needed to be done.
I reached for the shoebox and dragged it out on to the bedroom carpet. I released the elastic band holding the lid in place, and there it was. Waiting for me. I hadn’t been ready before, it had been too soon. But now I was.
I sat down on the floor, my back against the divan of the bed, and picked up the small white oblong. My heart started to pound and my fingers were shaking as I turned the envelope over and broke the seal. It was time to let her speak, for the very last time. The time had finally come to read Amy’s letter.
Dear Emma,
That sounds weirdly formal, doesn’t it? But then this whole thing is really strange. Here I am writing you this letter, knowing all the while that I am never, ever going to give it to you. Crazy, huh? I’m certain you wouldn’t want to read it anyway. If you don’t want to talk about it, then the last thing you want is to see it set out on paper in black and white (blue and white actually, as I don’t have a black pen!).
But I have to write this down, I have to get it all out of my head and on to paper, maybe then I can lock the memories (and this letter too) in some secret place and actually begin to move on.
I don’t know how you do it, I really don’t. I look at you sometimes when you’re smiling at me, or hugging me goodbye, and I search your face and your eyes for a trace, a hint… anything… of what I’m sure you must be feeling. But there’s nothing to be seen, nothing at all. You are either the world’s very best actress (“… and the Oscar goes to Emma Marshall…”) or (and I suspect this is probably the case), you are the best, kindest and most forgiving person in the entire universe. An angel… no, more than that, a saint. Well, some sort of celestial being, anyway. No one else could have found whatever it is you drew upon when you decided not to a) have me stoned in Hallingford High Street, b) hire a hit man to take me out, or c) (worst of all options) shut me out of your life and never speak to me again.
Let me just say one thing from the very start, I deserve all of the above – and more. Don’t think I don’t know that, because I do. I don’t know why you don’t hate me. I hate me. Anyone who ever hears what I’ve done (although I hope to God no one ever will) would surely think I am the most despicable creature to ever crawl out of a pit and walk among decent people. People who know how you’re meant to act and behave in this world. People who know that you should absolutely, categorically, never, ever, ever sleep with your best friend’s fiancé. Okay, so he was only your boyfriend at the time, I know that, but I don’t think I can get off on a technicality. What I did was terrible. Horrible. I am a horrible, horrible person, whose only redeeming feature is that I happen to be best friends with someone so truly great that she will forgive me for making the biggest mistake of my whole stupid life and allow me to hold on to a title of which I am no longer worthy. And if the only thing you ask is that I never mention it, not once, not ever, then I have to respect that. I guess that’s the only way you can move past it, if it’s never voiced out loud.
I can see that works for you, because – from the outside at least – everything looks great between you and Richard. Thank God. And I really, really mean that. I want you to be happy. Blissfully, joyfully, laughing all day and night, and they-lived-happily-ever-after happy. You deserve that. Both of you do. And – not that this in any way excuses me for my betrayal – I don’t think that you’ve always felt that way since you came home. I know how hard it must have been for you to put your career and whole life on hold, and come back here to help your dad look after your mum. See, that’s another example of just what a good person you are. I’d like to think I would do the same thing for my own parents, but if I’m honest (and I promised myself I would be here), then I don’t think that I would.
Sometimes, even recently, I thought I could see something on your face that looked, I don’t know… kind of lost or… overwhelmed by everything. Caroline thinks you have pre-wedding jitters, but I’m not so sure. I thought you looked that way even before you got engaged. Now, with hindsight, I don’t know if I allowed myself to think that some of that uncertainty and confusion was about Richard. Did I do that? Was I that stupid? Probably. If there is one thing that this whole miserable situation has taught me, it’s that you must really and truly love him (and me too) to forgive us for hurting you so deeply.
I guess Richard told you everything that happened that night? You obviously know that what we did was not in any way at all premeditated or plan
ned. It was nothing we wanted to happen. There! I’ve gone and done it again. I’ve lied, and I’d promised myself there would be none of that in this letter. Let me clarify. Richard one hundred per cent never wanted or planned for it to happen. Give me a stack of Bibles and I will swear to that. But me… well, there was a time… when you were living abroad, and we’d lost touch with you… well, there’s no way to dress this up. I started to let myself think that… maybe, just maybe, Richard and I might… you know. But it was me, just me, getting things all mixed up and confused (as usual). It was only in my head that he had those sorts of feelings for me. Just me living out some stupid silly little fantasy that I should never ever have allowed to grow. In reality I know the truth, I always have; Richard has never loved anyone but you.
He cried, did he tell you that? The very moment we had finished… you know… he started to cry – hey, who knew I was that bad at it? Sorry. It’s nothing to joke about. I’ve never seen a man cry like that before. I’ve never seen someone so torn apart with guilt and shame, but then I think I came a pretty close second on both of those emotions.
I’ve done some stupid, thoughtless and irresponsible things in my life (I don’t have to list them – you witnessed most of them over the years!). But this thing… this sin, crime, betrayal, is the worst of them all, and if we live to be little grey-haired old ladies sitting in our rocking chairs in the retirement home, I still don’t think I will ever be able to understand how you let us get past this.
I love you, Emma, with all my heart. I am beyond sorry that I took something so precious as our friendship and almost destroyed it. Thank you for saving it, for saving me. I promise you this: I will never, ever do anything to hurt you again for the rest of my life. You have my word.
Friends for ever, Amy xxxxxxxxxxx
‘Do you prefer this one?’
I pulled back the curtain and studied Caroline in the dress she had just tried on. I pulled a face and shook my head. ‘Not as much as the others. Try the blue one on again,’ I suggested, lifting it from the pile draped over my arm and passing it to her.
It was Saturday morning, the shops were crowded and the music in the changing rooms was giving me a headache. Girly shopping trips together were more a feature of our teenage years, but Caroline had been surprisingly persistent in persuading me to join her.
‘Please, Emma. I need to get a really special dress for my birthday, and I don’t want to shop alone,’ she had pleaded over the phone.
‘Take Nick,’ I’d suggested, knowing he would probably be just as enthusiastic at the prospect as I was.
‘I can’t,’ she’d whispered down the phone, which I guess meant he must have been within earshot.
‘Why not?’
There were shuffling sounds as she moved to a position that offered her more privacy. ‘He’s been dropping hints for days now, about making it a big celebration evening. And I really think this is going to be the night.’
‘The night for what?’
Her voice fell to an excited whisper. ‘I think he’s going to propose, Emma, on my birthday. We always said we’d wait, save up more money, but since Amy… well I think it’s made him rethink. So you see why you have to come, I need you to help me pick out something fabulous to wear.’ Of course I’d said yes, and tried really hard to ignore the small stab of jealousy that had slid between my ribs at her words. I had no right to begrudge her the excitement of something she’d been wanting and waiting for almost her entire adult life. Just because my own engagement and wedding plans had ended in disaster, I could never be so selfish as to deny her this. We’d both been through a terrible time; Caroline deserved this happiness.
The curtains rattled and she stood before me in the blue dress. Her hair was dishevelled from the many outfits that had passed over it, she was shoeless and was wearing stripy woollen socks, perfect under her jeans and boots, but not really suited for the silky strapless dress, which fitted her slender frame as though it was custom made. She looked stunning.
‘That’s the one,’ I told her with assurance. She smiled broadly, looked back into the mirror and nodded happily. ‘If Nick doesn’t propose to you in that dress, then I’ll marry you myself.’
Our hunt for the perfect dress had kept us focused for the morning, but as I stood beside her in the queue for the checkout, Caroline raised the subject of my own plans for later in the day. I should have known that she would.
‘Are you still going to see Jack this afternoon?’
I shuffled forwards as the queue crept closer to the tills. ‘I think so,’ I replied.
‘You don’t sound sure.’
I shrugged, trying to feign a nonchalance I didn’t feel. ‘No. It’s not that. It’s just going to be weird, that’s all. It’s going to be my last chance to say goodbye to him.’
‘It’s probably going to be your last chance to do… anything else… with him too,’ Caroline advised solemnly, as she extracted her credit card and passed it to the assistant.
‘God, not that again. You’re obsessed. It’s not going to happen, and especially not if he’s about to disappear out of my life in just a few days.’
‘Maybe he’ll change his mind and stay longer,’ Caroline suggested, wincing slightly as the price of her purchase appeared on the small display on the till.
‘I don’t think so. He said something about only having had a three-month option on the lease to the house.’
Caroline watched as the assistant carefully folded her dress in tissue paper, before pulling a large glossy bag from beneath the counter. You got the good stuff rather than the plastic carrier bags when you spent as much as she just had. ‘I could always check the other estate agents in town on Monday,’ she suggested, ‘see who’s handling the property and if the lease can be extended.’
I shook my head. ‘There’s no point. He’s going back to the States, and he’s not going to change his mind. Just leave it.’
By the time I had fought my way out of the multi-storey car park and driven back to Hallingford I was ready to call it a day, but Caroline was unusually insistent about stopping for a quick drink and a sandwich before we went our separate ways.
‘My treat,’ she promised. ‘It’s my way of saying thank you for dragging you around the shops all morning.’
She’d phrased it so artlessly, I didn’t even see through her ploy. We had ordered our sandwiches and were already sipping our drinks when she looked up and exclaimed, ‘Oh my goodness, look who just walked in.’
It was like the hammiest acting from a second-rate amateur dramatic production. I looked up and saw that Nick and Richard had just entered the pub. Coincidence? I don’t think so. I turned to Caroline with a glower, all good humour gone.
‘Caroline McAdam…’
‘What?’ she replied, with feigned innocence. ‘I didn’t know they were coming here. They were playing squash at the Sports Centre, the last I heard.’
I saw Nick do a very poor version of a double-take as he pretended to be surprised to see his girlfriend at the exact same pub he had ‘randomly’ selected. He took hold of Richard’s arm and nodded in our direction. I saw Richard’s face pale and his mouth tighten. I knew him well enough to recognise that his reaction, at least, was genuine. If it was a set-up (and could that really be in any doubt?) he certainly wasn’t part of it.
Nick said something, to which Richard shook his head, but despite that Nick began to head towards us, leaving Richard very little option but to follow.
‘Well, this is a surprise,’ said Caroline, still in absolutely no danger of ever getting nominated for any type of acting award.
‘I had no idea you were going to be here,’ her boyfriend said, and I just knew that they’d rehearsed those words several times earlier, to make sure they said them just right. And yet still they came out all wrong.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Richard, looking genuinely uncomfortable as his eyes met mine. ‘I meant what I said the other day. I didn’t know anything about this.’ Him, I
believed. ‘I’ll go,’ he volunteered, already turning to the door.
I saw the look of frustration that passed between our two matchmaking friends. Clearly they hadn’t factored on Richard actually being the bigger person here. And then, before I realised I was going to do it, I stopped him.
‘Richard, no, don’t go.’ All three of them looked shocked at my words, but no more so than I was myself. ‘There’s no need. It’s a small town, we’re not going to be able to keep avoiding each other. Our paths are bound to cross… accidentally,’ I looked pointedly at Caroline as I said that. ‘We can at least be grown-up and civil when they do.’
There was truth in what I said, but I think my softening was more down to the promise Richard had made me at his flat than to Caroline’s meddling. If Richard had finally realised and accepted that I needed space, I could at least be reasonable.
It wasn’t the most comfortable half-hour the four of us had ever spent, and I don’t think Richard and I directed a single comment to each other, but spoke instead through Caroline and Nick, as though they were United Nations interpreters, fluent in the language of awkward ex-lovers. I chewed my sandwich and swallowed my drink fast enough to give me indigestion, but at least Richard and I had been able to spend thirty minutes in the same room without either of us sniping, yelling or hurling recriminations at each other. It was quite a milestone. Caroline certainly thought so, as she walked me to my parked car.
‘See,’ she said, linking her arm through mine, ‘that wasn’t so bad, was it?’
I was still quietly simmering. If it wasn’t my parents, then it was her and Nick that we had to contend with. At this rate I would have to spend my entire free time with Monique, because she was the only person left who didn’t want Richard and me to get back together. Then I realised that wasn’t entirely true, there was one other person who wasn’t on board with the plan. Jack. But he was going to leave in five days, so he didn’t count.
‘Don’t do that again, Caroline,’ I said earnestly, after kissing her briefly on the cheek. ‘I know you mean well, but we just need everyone to butt out of our lives.’
