Chapter 28
28
After my revelations, Sam and I sat on the sofa together in silence for a long time. I was immersed in my memories, and I imagine she was digesting what I’d told her. At some point, Samson had wandered in and curled up between us. It was obvious that neither of us was in the mood to cook, so Sam ordered a pizza for us to pick at and we’re now back on the sofa, nursing two enormous glasses of white wine. She doesn’t seem at all upset about the fact that I’ve lied to her about something so big for all these years, and I’m incredibly grateful for that. I feel raw, and dealing with her hurt and anger would have been very hard on top of everything I’ve shared this evening.
‘Can I ask something controversial?’ she asks, puncturing the silence.
‘You can ask whatever you like. I don’t have anything left to hide.’
‘Do you think it might be an idea to go back into therapy for a bit?’
I’m caught by surprise. ‘Why?’
‘I was just thinking it all through. You’ve ruled out another relationship because you’re scared you’ll lose control again if it all goes wrong, correct?’
‘It’s not that, so much. I’m not that person any more, and I’m not under the same pressures, but I guess I’ve protected myself for so long that it’s become second nature.’
‘But I hope you’d agree that you can’t carry on that way forever. You have so much to give in a relationship, and you deserve to be happy. And this is me talking, by the way. I think we can both agree that I have a master’s degree in failed relationships, so I know my stuff.’
I smile weakly. ‘You do have a strong dickhead count,’ I agree. ‘But now you’ve found Robin, and I think we can agree that I actually hold the top trump card for dickheads, don’t I?’
‘Yes, but here’s the thing. I don’t think it’s the dickheads you’re scared of, not that Cameron is a dickhead. It’s how you re-programme yourself to let your guard back down. That’s why I asked about therapy. It seems to me that your previous therapist helped you to close the door on Olly, and that’s good. But, in the process, you’ve closed the door on everyone, and it’s been closed for so long that the lock has rusted up and you’ve lost the key.’
I take a slurp of my wine. ‘Maybe I’m like Sleeping Beauty. I just need the right prince to cut down the jungle and force open the door.’
‘That’s a shit analogy, because the right prince was here today with his garden shears and you sent him packing. Unfortunately for you, no prince is going to be able to fix this. You have to fix it yourself.’
I sigh. ‘I’m not sure I know how. I may not be that person any more, but the idea of being that vulnerable again still terrifies me.’
‘Which, again, is why I think a therapist might be a good idea. Someone to carefully help you find the key, lubricate the lock and open the door an inch at a time. I’m confident that you’d never go back to the dark place you were in at uni, but it doesn’t matter what I think. Until you believe it, you’re always going to be stuck.’
‘Mm. It’s hard though, because why rock the boat when I’ve survived quite happily for the last seven years?’
‘Because the reality is that, deep down, you want your happy ever after just as much as I do. If you were truly content as you are, you wouldn’t have got in such a mess when Cameron told you he liked you. The fact here, whether you’re ready to hear it or not, is that you like him just as much as he likes you.’
‘I think I shot that particular horse this afternoon, didn’t I?’
She grins. ‘A field sports reference. Interesting.’
‘Stop it, Freud.’
‘OK. I’m not sure you have shot the horse though. I would suggest that Cameron is feeling confused and embarrassed right now. He knew that he was overstepping the boundaries when he told you how he felt about you, and he probably thinks he’s blown it. He might even be having a very similar conversation to ours with his best mate. My question to you is this: If you could fix this, would you? Could you see a future with Cameron? Do you want one?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve never allowed myself to think like that.’
‘Let’s try it the other way around then. The horse you shot is dead and you’re never going to see Cameron again. How does that make you feel?’
‘I hate that idea,’ I tell her. The thought of it makes fresh tears start to fall. I’ve cried so much today, I’m frankly surprised I have anything left.
‘That’s your answer then.’
‘I’m not sure it’s that simple.’
‘It really is. Look, I can’t promise that you and Cameron will end up growing old together. There’s no safety net where love is concerned. It’s not a savings account with a guaranteed return. It’s risky, like riding the stock market. But, like the stock market, people do it because the rewards are immense if you get it right. There’s no “try before you buy” option either; you have to throw yourself in and hope for the best. Do you trust him?’
‘Yes, absolutely. That’s not the problem here. The problem is me letting myself open up to him.’
‘OK, let’s go back to the alternative for a moment. If you reject Cameron, who’s really won here? Is it you or is it Olly? Every time you run away from a chance of happiness, you’re letting Olly control you again. Is that what you want?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘Then change the narrative. Put yourself back at the centre of your story. Olly is past history. He’s a narcissist who did you an immense amount of damage, but he doesn’t get the last chapter. You do.’
‘You make it sound so easy.’
‘It’s not, which is why I suggested a therapist. But if you don’t kick any residual trace of Olly and what he did out of your life, you’re never going to be free to be the person God designed you to be.’
‘Did you just bring God into this?’
She blushes. ‘Sorry. It was something Robin said to me and I liked the image.’
‘And how is the dashing vicar?’
‘Nuh-uh. We’re not changing the subject until we have a plan. What are you going to do?’
‘I guess I need to talk to Cameron.’
‘Yes, you do.’
* * *
I’m lying in bed reflecting on our conversation and trying to think what to say to Cameron when my phone pings with a message. It’s from him and there’s only one word.
Sorry.
I stare at the screen for ages, prodding it to stop it going dark. I’m stupidly pleased to hear from him, but I can’t work out how to respond. I start several messages and delete them before deciding to bite the bullet.
You have nothing to be sorry for.
The ticks go blue immediately and I can see he’s typing.
I overstepped the mark.
And I ran away! Not exactly adult behaviour. I’m sorry too.
I can see he’s read it, but there’s a delay before he types his response.
Can we be friends?
How to reply to that? I know that’s not what he wants, and after my conversation with Sam, I know it’s not what I want either. But this isn’t a conversation we can have via text. I need to explain why I acted the way I did. If he thinks I’m a basket case and runs a mile, then I’ll just have to deal with it, but we can’t go forward unless I’m completely honest with him. Eventually, I type:
When are you next in Margate?
Friday. I’m seeing a man about a 12 bore at 3.
Why don’t you drop by the shop afterwards? We could go for a drink.
OK. See you then.
I review the messages a few times before setting my phone back on the bedside table. I feel better now that I’m back in contact with Cameron and I know I’m going to have a chance to try to set things right. I think Sam will be pleased with me too.
* * *
I was right about Sam being pleased. Despite her continued assertions that I’d do well to book a therapist to work some stuff out, she’s been happy enough to role play various scenarios with me, and I’m starting to get some clarity about how I want to approach things when Cameron arrives later this afternoon. We’ve agreed what I will tell him about Olly, sticking to the bare bones and leaving out the whole breakdown bit. We’ve also tested various ways things might move forward, from him declaring his feelings again (and me being a little more encouraging), to me having to bring it up. What this time has shown, if it were in any doubt, is that I do feel more than friendship towards him, and the idea of not having him in my life is not one I really want to contemplate. I just have to find a way to let go of seven years of learned behaviour, allow myself to open up and trust him.
The downside of him visiting today is that I won’t have Sam on hand for a debrief later, as she’s hotfooting it straight from work to spend her first weekend with Robin. She’s tried to play down how excited she is out of sensitivity to me, but I can tell she’s positively fizzing. When we haven’t been working on my issues, we’ve been raiding her wardrobe to choose things for her to wear. The hardest one proved to be her Sunday outfit. I thought she looked smart in dark blue jeans with a jacket, but she fretted that jeans were too casual for church and Robin’s parishioners would look down on her. We both felt that a full-on dress was too formal so, after trying a few skirt and blouse combos, we settled on a pair of fitted chinos with a white shirt and a dark blue jacket. Sexy but elegant.
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ Jono asks as I glance anxiously at the clock again. ‘I’ve never seen you with such a bad case of the fidgets. He’s just a man, we’re nothing special.’
I’ve told Jono about Cameron’s visit, but not given him any details. I’ve just told him that we had a spot of miscommunication and he was coming over to sort it out.
‘I’m fine, thank you, Jono,’ I reply, a little more tersely than I meant to, and I see a brief look of surprise cross his face.
‘If you say so. He’d better be worth it,’ he retorts before retreating back behind the coffee bar.
Is he worth it? In moments like this the doubts still creep in, but I hastily start repeating the mantra that Sam and I put together in my head.
He’s not Olly. He thinks the world of you. He’s a good man. Trust him.
It does succeed in soothing me, and I manage to focus on my work until the bell rings to announce that another customer has entered the shop. It’s only when Samson leaps down from his chair and swaggers over to greet the newcomer that I lift my eyes and see him.
Cameron is wearing a simple white shirt and blue jeans, with brown brogues underneath. His expression is uncertain, which makes him look curiously vulnerable. I’m aware of Jono sizing him up from the other side of the shop, but for once I’m not interested in what Jono thinks. My heart fills as I look at him and my final doubts vanish.
Yes, Olly did a phenomenal amount of damage and I have a list of trust issues as long as my arm because of it. But this isn’t Olly; it’s Cameron, the man who has had my back without fail since I met him. The man who caused frankly obscene reactions within me with a simple back massage. The man who remembered my favourite Disney song and had it ready to play when he picked me up. And, I’m reminded as Samson weaves affectionately round his ankles, the man my cat took an instant liking to.
As I step out from behind the counter to greet him, I can feel my face breaking into a smile. Being careful not to tread on a furiously purring Samson, I wrap my arms around him and pull him close.
‘It’s so good to see you,’ I tell him.
‘You too,’ he replies.
Sam’s right. Why should I let Olly set the narrative any more? I want this. I want Cameron. Time to step out from the shadows into the light and set myself free.