The Runaway Ex

by Shani Struthers

  “To your mum’s?”

  Layla nodded. “For a while anyway.”

  “Does Joseph know?”

  A cynical smile made Layla look even more tragic. “He hasn’t asked, so, no, he doesn’t know.”

  “But what about your job, your clothes, your stuff?”

  “Penny, I don’t care about stuff right now, okay?”

  “Okay, okay.” Penny let go of Layla’s hands and held her own up in appeasement.

  “It can all be sorted out later. Stefania’s a good friend. She’ll understand.”

  “Yeah, no, I’m sure. Oh, Layla…” Penny wanted to hug her.

  As if sensing this, Layla took a step back. “I’m busy, Penny. Let me go.”

  Balking at Layla’s choice of words, Penny could only watch as she turned away and began engrossing herself once again in the business of plates.

  So frustrated she thought she might explode, she went in search of Joseph next. Again, she bypassed Richard.

  “How long now?” It was not a question; it was a definite plea. Scarlett was in his arms by now and not looking particularly happy about that either.

  “Another five minutes,” Penny promised, hurrying past.

  Thankfully, Richard was deterred from protesting further as a group of young women appeared out of nowhere and surrounded him, cooing and pointing at the less-than-impressed bundle in his arms. The babe, it seemed, was a babe magnet.

  Joseph was talking to a man Penny hadn’t seen before.

  She went marching up to them and without pause took hold of Joseph’s arm and said, “We need to speak.”

  His partner in conversation looked taken aback, but, Penny reasoned, explanations could be given later.

  “What is it?” Joseph said, hastily disentangling his arm from hers.

  “Like you don’t know,” Penny retorted.

  Repeating almost exactly the same words as Layla, he said, “Penny, this is not the time or the place.”

  “What are you? Cosmic twins?” she replied, shaking her head in disbelief.

  “Cosmic what?”

  “Oh, never mind. We have to talk now. You’re leaving tomorrow.”

  “Because I have to work,” Joseph reminded her.

  “And that takes precedence over everything else, does it? Everyone else.”

  “Yes,” he responded simply. “It does.”

  “You’re making a mistake.”

  “I told you; I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

  She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “The biggest mistake of your life—”

  “Penny…”

  “—if you walk away, if you get on that plane.”

  “It’s none of your business.”

  None of her business? She could swipe him! “You’re a coward.”

  His jaw tightened. “And how do you make that out?”

  “Because you’re blaming Layla entirely for what’s happened. You won’t accept that you were unreasonable too. What you asked of her, it was too much.”

  “To trust me?” he replied, still stone-faced.

  Penny held firm. “Under the circumstances, yes.”

  “Maybe for some people, but I thought better of her.”

  “Well, now you know. You shouldn’t put people on pedestals. Layla, she’s human; she gets it wrong, just like me, just like Richard, oh…and, guess what, just like you.”

  He faltered. Was she getting through to him?

  “I thought we had more than we did,” he said at last.

  “What you have is more than enough.”

  Again he hesitated. Seizing the moment, she begged. “Talk to her, please. Sort this mess out.”

  “Penny.” She had to concede, he sounded as frustrated as she felt. “I’ve been here all day, since early morning, the same as her. She hasn’t even looked at me.”

  “Stop making excuses,” she growled.

  “I’m not,” he said. “I’ve made no secret of where I’m staying either, at Mick’s.”

  Penny was the one to falter now. He was right. Layla had known his whereabouts at all times.

  “You told her to stay away,” she replied, determined to carry on the defense.

  “I didn’t.”

  Seriously? She thought back to the night they had argued—he had told her to stay away. He must have done. But there were so many words that night, being flung like tennis balls, she had to admit she didn’t know for sure. She had just presumed.

  Still she persisted. “You should fight for her.”

  He seemed to consider this, the sadness that drowned out the light in his eyes almost unbearable. Finally he replied. “And maybe she should fight for me.”

  His reply nearly sent her over the edge. She could scream! How could they do this to each other? How could two people so obviously in love let go so easily? But the sad fact was it happened all the time. It had nearly happened to her and Richard, and not just the once, either. She was about to say more, but as Layla had done earlier, he turned his back on her and walked away, disappearing within seconds.

  Sighing heavily, she made her way back to Tara, avoiding Richard astutely this time. Coming up beside her, Penny gestured she needed a word. Quickly, Tara made her excuses, and together they found a quiet space beside the wedding table.

  “I’ve just spoken to both Joseph and Layla,” Penny confided.

  “And?” Tara said eagerly.

  “Words aren’t enough. This Plan B of yours, what’s it all about?”

  Her comrade in arms leaned forward and whispered in her ear.

  As Tara spoke, Penny smiled. “I see what you mean now about Mohammed and the mountain,” she said. “When do we implement it?”

  Tara looked at her watch.

  “Wait just a bit longer—the sun will be setting soon. We’ll do it then.”

  “Going for maximum romantic impact?”

  “Pulling out all the stops,” Tara agreed.

  Holding up her wrist, Penny said, “Okay, let’s synchronize watches.”

  As they did so, Tara reiterated, “In half an hour, I’ll make the announcement.”

  “But what if Plan B isn’t enough either? What then?”

  Tara looked away briefly as though she were busy contemplating. As she did so, Penny could hardly catch her breath. This had to work. Time was running out. They had no more aces to play. When Tara looked back at her, Penny was amazed to note she didn’t look troubled at all by the prospect of failure.

  “Penny,” she said, flashing that thousand-watt smile of hers. “Have a little faith.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  A FEW PEOPLE, those who had far to travel, had already said their good-byes to Tara and Aiden. It was getting late, and the sun would be setting soon, bringing the party to a natural end. Discreetly, Layla, as well as several others, continued to clear away debris as well as filling boots of cars with plates, cutlery, bottles, and glasses that were no longer needed. The gazebo would be taken down at the last minute and the porta-potties collected in the morning by the supplier. The beach would belong to no one but itself again.

  As she continued to work diligently, Layla thought back to the last truly happy day she’d had—the morning before Joseph had come home to tell her he had met Tara again. She had made him late for work, but he hadn’t minded one bit, their bodies melding and their minds too. She had never been happier. She had perhaps never been so blind either to the needs of those around her. Everything that had happened since, perhaps she deserved it.

  She shivered. The April skies had been bright, but as the sun faded, so did its warmth. Crazy-Boy and Del had taken it upon themselves to build a bonfire, collecting bits of driftwood from all around and piling them high. After several attempts, the fire had caught light, and clusters of people were huddled around it, suffused in a golden glow. There’d be fireworks later too, the final celebration.

  How she wished she’d brought a jacket. If she was with Joseph, she would have borrowed his and wrap
ped it round her. Heck, she would have wrapped him round her. That would have kept her warm, guaranteed. Again, she wondered where he had gotten the suit he was wearing today. She knew he hadn’t brought it with him. Most likely he had borrowed it from Jim—it was a charcoal-gray linen suit, and he had worn it with an open-necked white shirt. He had never looked so handsome.

  She had to stop what she was doing momentarily and collect herself. All day she had coped by chasing thoughts of him from her mind, by not even making eye contact. Even so, she had felt his close proximity acutely, known where he was with every minute that had passed. How was that possible, against a backdrop of so many people? A beautiful day for everyone, it had been torture for her. She only hoped she had hidden it well. Tonight, in no time at all, he would be leaving for Mick’s, and in the morning for Florence. When she might see him again, she didn’t know. Panic seized her, but she batted it away.

  She checked her watch. The day would be over soon—not long now until she could find sanctuary in Hannah’s spare bedroom, give rein, albeit silent rein, to the feelings crashing about inside her, until she could stop pretending to be happy.

  The high-pitched squeal of a whistle interrupted her thoughts. Momentarily confused, she looked around. It was Tara, obviously about to make an announcement. She must have borrowed the whistle from Hannah, who had been using it at pivotal moments all day—to herald the toast, the speech, when the food was ready. It was certainly an effective attention-grabber. Stopping what she was doing, she stepped forward along with others to hear what Tara was about to say.

  “Ladies and gents, I want to say thank you all again so much for coming today. You are what’s made our day special, every one of you.”

  Someone piped up, “No, Tara, thank you. It’s been magical.” Strong murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd.

  “It has been magical,” Tara replied. “And I want the magic to continue. No…” She shook her head and laughed as a few double entendres were thrown her way. “I don’t mean just for me and Aiden; I mean for all of us. I don’t want anyone to go away with a sad heart today. I want your hearts to be like ours, bursting with love.”

  Impossible, thought Layla, her expression deliberately sanguine.

  “I know some guests have had to leave already, but those of you who are still here, please bear with me for a bit longer. I can’t let you go just yet. You see, we’ve had the first dance, but to round the day off, there has to be a last dance too.”

  Mystified looks and queries were exchanged. The Last Dance—what was that?

  “But we’re not going to be the ones to see you out,” Tara continued. “Aiden and I—we need to save our energy for later.” And this time she did wink lasciviously, to everyone’s delight. “Instead, I’d like two of our friends to do the honors for us.”

  People started looking round—who could she possibly mean?

  “Penny…” Tara started, and Layla felt relief rush through her. It was Penny and Richard who would take the last dance, a good choice. “…could you get everyone to form a circle?”

  What?

  “Jim…”

  Oh, okay, it was to be Jim and Hannah. Just as good.

  “Take up position, please, with Curtis and Ryan.”

  Take up position?

  Mystified, Layla watched as all three band members shuffled back toward their instruments. She then looked around her. Who else did Tara have in mind?

  The guitars started up first and then the drums. Layla recognized the tune straightaway. It was the first few chords to 96 Tears’ most popular song, “Jagged Shore.” She had wondered earlier why they hadn’t played it, had meant to ask.

  Tara started to speak again.

  “Joseph…”

  Joseph? What the hell?

  “Layla…”

  No, she wouldn’t. She knew the situation, what had happened between them.

  “Take it away.”

  At the mention of both their names, Layla’s heart stopped beating; she was absolutely certain of it. At the same time, she felt hot and cold wash over her in alternate waves. Her stomach heaved; she was going to be sick, right here and now, in front of everyone. How awful! She mustn’t be sick; she must stay in control. But how? Her arms, her legs, her entire body started shaking like a pneumatic drill.

  Where was he? Where was Joseph? When the crowd had formed a circle, she had temporarily lost sight of him. Frantically, her eyes sought him out. There he was, being pushed forward by Penny—a smug-looking Penny, if she wasn’t mistaken, smug as well as something else. Determined. Layla’s eyes locked with his, just for a moment before she had to look away again, but it was time enough to register the effect the Last Dance was having on him. He was as horror-struck as she was.

  Jim started singing the first verse—soft, sweet words about finding love and then losing it. Ryan was playing the harmonica too, such a haunting sound. She had loved this song from the minute she had first heard it—it had been her favorite on the album—but not once did she think she would be able to apply its sentiment so keenly to herself. His voice, those words, seemed to bounce off the granite rocks surrounding them and fly straight back at her, increasing in amplification as they did so, taunting her—although Jim, she knew, would never taunt anyone. In contrast, the crowd had hushed entirely. She was the center of attention now, she and Joseph.

  If it wasn’t for Tara, she would have turned and walked away. She knew without a doubt that Joseph would have done the same. As excruciating as this was for her, it must be even more so for him. He liked to keep his private life exactly that, private. Tara was well aware what he was like, so why had she done this? Humiliate them both so publicly, compound their pain? Why take the knife and drive it farther in?

  She couldn’t move forward; she just couldn’t.

  “Guys,” nudged Tara.

  But she had to. She couldn’t refuse the bride on her wedding day. Neither could Joseph. Her wish was quite literally their command. She had to be brave enough to enter the space between them—a space as forbidding as no man’s land.

  Forcing one foot in front of the other, it seemed Joseph mirrored her actions—slow, measured, and reluctant—until gradually the distance between them lessened. The lyrics that accompanied such movement were beautiful and poignant, sung with a plaintive edge, a pleading almost. Such a shame that plea would fall on deaf ears.

  There was barely even a foot between them now. What should she do? This was supposed to be a dance; she couldn’t just stand there. She had to reach out to him, hold him in some way. That’s what you did when you danced with someone; you held them. Tentatively, she raised both hands and placed them on either side of his waist, cringing as she did so, expecting him to brush her off and to do so none too gently either. Thankfully he didn’t. Like her, he seemed resigned to continuing this ridiculous charade and placed both his hands on her hips.

  As her own body had felt strange to her earlier, now his did too. How was that so? They knew every inch of each other, had taken time to explore at leisure. She knew his smell—subtle, male, and addictive. She knew his taste—divine. He shouldn’t feel like a stranger.

  She attempted to sway—she couldn’t just stand there—but her movements were imperceptible, she knew. In contrast, he didn’t move at all, but she could feel his eyes bore into her, although she wasn’t brave enough to lift her head, to meet his gaze.

  Jim had reached the chorus.

  Drift back to shore,

  This jagged shore.

  Don’t leave me standing here alone,

  Baby, come back to me.

  It was sound advice to follow, perhaps, if the shore was in sight. But in such a short space of time, she seemed to have lost sight of everything, of what had even anchored her in the first place. And still she drifted, from the friends who surrounded her, the bride and the groom, the beach itself. They faded to nothing around her. She thought she was drifting alone—she fully expected to be—and was surprised to find she
wasn’t. With a start, she realized Joseph was drifting beside her, the two of them together, his hands still on her hips, hers still about his waist. This feeling, of being the only two in the universe, she had experienced it before—on the first night of her runaway year.

  Should she allow herself to remember it? It seemed she had no choice. Joseph had walked her home after she had spent the evening with him and Hannah and Jim at the Trecastle Inn. She remembered she had been slightly tipsy, fumbling for the key to the door of her new home—The Outlook. Finally locating it, she had swung round to say good-bye to the man waiting patiently behind her. And that’s when it had happened, when the world had melted like butter around them.

  The first time they had made love, the world had stopped too. She hadn’t intended to bed him on that long-ago night. They had been friends—good friends—and he had come over for dinner, not an unusual occurrence. He lived next door, and they regularly ate together. But on that spring evening, with the promise of summer in the air, desire had hit from nowhere and consumed her—consumed him too. He had moved not just inside her body but in her soul, because that’s what he was—her soul mate, and she was his. How could she have doubted that when it was clear he never had? Instead, she had allowed past hurts to destroy her future and readily so.

  There was no way she could suppress anymore the emotions she’d been suppressing all week—the despair, the disappointment, in herself, not him, the shame and self-loathing that had kept her from his door—from begging for a forgiveness she felt she didn’t deserve. Every single feeling surged to the surface, but in among such bleakness was something else, something stronger, more determined. This couldn’t be their Last Dance. There had to be a way back, no matter how tenuous. This man in front of her, she could live without him if she had to; she had lived alone before. But it would be an empty life, a scarred one, a life in which she’d only ever go through the motions, depthless. She welcomed the new emotion, let it take hold, become the most powerful of them all.

  “Joseph…” she started, determined to make him understand that she loved him, would spend her lifetime loving him if he would let her, and not only that, but trusting him, because that’s what he deserved, nothing less. And in her head, she was explaining, her words delivered in a neat and orderly fashion, packing quite a punch, actually. So, how come she could hear no sound other than Jim and his band?