Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
I have baked myself a cake, to mark my first weekend back in New York. It is a nice cake, chocolate fudge, and it is still warm from the oven.
I push a spoonful around my bowl, but have no appetite.
It’s been the same since Christmas now, but still I persist. I will not fall into the black hole of despair I was in last year, or start stalking Macy’s Santa.
I will treat myself kindly, as much as I can.
That seems to involve making myself good food, and then only eating half of it.
‘I’m sorry, chocolate fudge cake,’ I say out loud. ‘It’s not you, it’s me, I promise.’
It is the second week in January, and I have been back in work for the last five days. It has felt strange, being in my Brooklyn apartment, commuting to the office on the subway, living my little New York life.
I have been walking as much as I can, strolling the magnificent parks and waterfront spaces of the city, but it still feels so enclosed compared to the wild Cornish coast. There is beauty in the city, in its glorious architecture, its history and its vibrant culture, but it is not the same.
For me, it will never be the same. I miss the clifftops and the green fields and the never-ceasing sound of the waves outside my window.
Now, I am trying to readjust to the sound of traffic outside my window, the hum and rattle of the Fourth Avenue Line and the early-morning delivery trucks.
I spent my final evening in the UK with my father in London, as we’d planned. We saw a show, had a late dinner in Chinatown, and talked away the whole night in our hotel room.
‘You know you don’t have to go, don’t you, darling girl?’ he’d asked. ‘You know you could stay.’
‘I know, Dad. I just… it’s time. I need to get back to work. But don’t worry, I won’t leave it so long next time.’
His health has steadily improved, and Sandra has agreed to help out. The sale is still going through, and Sean has also signed on for extra shifts. He will be fine, I tell myself – even though I know he will miss me, he will be fine.
Maggie had her surgery, and was home the day after in a cast. Next it will be an orthopaedic boot, and then hopefully back to normal.
She’s opening the café part-time, with Lucy and Bernadette’s help, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she finds a way to keep her hours down.
‘It’s all been a bit of a wake-up call,’ she told me.
‘I was so tired. There’s more to life than work, my love. ’
My final night in St Tilda was bittersweet, a farewell party held at the inn.
Everyone was there, including Maggie in a wheelchair, and the vast majority of the Byrne family.
All apart from one, obviously. Liam had retreated to Dublin, and much to his sister’s disgust, had decided to stay there.
I never got more of an explanation from him, nor did I ask for one.
Dealing with life’s kicks is one thing – actively seeking them out is another.
Truthfully, by then I was more than ready to leave.
Every corner of St Tilda reminded me of him.
The cliffs he jumped from. The bus stop and the village green.
The beach. Even the inn itself, and that one amazing kiss.
He might have physically left, but for me, he was still absolutely everywhere.
I managed to hide my pain from my dad, I think, and hopefully from everyone else.
I pretended I was fine, that life went on as normal.
I was not fine, though, and life was far from normal. My poor battered heart needed to be away from the memories, from the ghosts of what we had and what we never will have. It will be hard enough to get over it all as it is, but it would be impossible if I stayed there.
Tyler and I have exchanged a couple of messages, but neither of us has suggested meeting up.
I think that is the right thing at the moment.
If he feels even a fraction of the heartbreak that I do, then he needs time away from me like I need time away from St Tilda.
I hope that one day we can be pals, but that will have to happen on his schedule, not mine.
So now, here I am. Celebrating surviving my first week back at work by not eating chocolate fudge cake. I clear the plate, and make myself a mug of tea instead. It is Friday night after all – a girl’s allowed to go crazy.
I take it through to my tiny living room, and try to settle down to watch the TV. Nothing quite captures my interest, though, which is another familiar feeling. I am struggling to focus, to lose myself in a book or a movie like I used to. Every night here so far has felt endless.
Maybe, I think, I should finally stop waiting for someone to get me a puppy, and find one of my own.
My mind immediately trips me up, and loops me into memories of Tyler’s Labradors, and Liam’s Ralph.
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to block them out.
I cannot get a puppy. For a start, my lease does not allow me pets.
Also, I work full-time and it wouldn’t be fair.
Maybe I could sneak in a gerbil or a guinea pig though. Food for thought.
I flick through the channels, avoiding anything related to the news or current affairs, because the state of the world is never going to cheer you up, is it?
My mood is low enough already. In fact, I admit to myself as I sip my tea, I’m miserable.
I have been miserable since Liam left St Tilda, and I am ashamed of myself for being so soft.
When will I finally grow the kind of hard shell you need to survive this life?
My channel hopping takes me to a repeat of The Great British Baking Show, Paul Hollywood both smirking and twinkling as he offers a delighted contestant a handshake. Maybe I should go on Bake Off. It’s the one thing I seem able to do successfully these days.
I’m actually starting to snooze off when there is a knock at my door.
This is unusual, because I don’t know anybody well enough for them to call round to my apartment unannounced.
Which means it is either a neighbour, a sales person, or possibly an evangelical Christian looking to save my soul.
I might invite them in and give them chocolate fudge cake.
I smooth my hair back, and decide that it doesn’t matter if I’m wearing my pyjamas. It’s my own home, and I’ll lounge if I want to.
I keep the little security chain on as I open the door, and when I see who is outside I immediately slam it again. I lean back against the door and consider barricading it with the bookcases. Maybe climbing out the window and down the fire escape into the icy streets below.
‘Ellie! It’s Liam!’ he shouts. I suck in a deep breath, telling myself to calm down.
‘I know who it is!’ I reply. ‘That’s why the door’s still locked – go away!’
I realise that is a childish response. Rude, even.
But I am not feeling quite myself tonight.
I have no clue what ‘feeling myself’ is anymore.
Losing Liam a second time around was even more painful than losing him the first time, and I cannot simply switch that off because he has turned up on my doorstep.
I’m wearing my PJs and look like crap, for a start.
What is it with the men in my life flying across oceans without warning, anyway?
Though of course he probably hasn’t flown across the ocean to see me.
Probably he has an office here, or he’s buying Queens, or he’s engaged to a Manhattan socialite supermodel and he wants to tell me in person.
Ha – I’m definitely not letting him in! He knocks again, and says: ‘I’m not going anywhere until I get to talk to you, Ellie!’
‘Well, you’ll have a long cold night in the hallway then, Liam, and also my neighbour might call the police. I have nothing planned all weekend. I’m staying in here.’
Wow, I think. That made me sound really cool. He is quiet for a few moments, then: ‘Okay. I get it. You’re pissed off with me. How about you at least open the door so I can talk without raising my voice? I feel like a fecking eejit out here! Please, Ellie!’
Against my better judgement, the corner of my mouth quirks into a smile at that one. He sounds frustrated, which I find weirdly satisfying.
‘Okay,’ I eventually reply. ‘I’ll do that. But I’m keeping the chain on, and you’ve only got ten minutes. I’m busy.’
‘I thought you weren’t going anywhere?’
‘I’m not, but I’m still busy. Time is money. Now, what do you want, Liam?’
I open the door, and looking at him properly almost undoes me. His hair is a mess, ploughed into rows by his fingers, and his eyes are… Well, they are intense. I struggle to look away, and fear he may somehow be mind controlling me. I move to the side of the door just in case.
‘I want to apologise. I want to beg your forgiveness. I want to tell you that I was wrong, and I’ve regretted it every single minute since. I want to tell you that I miss you like crazy, Ellie.’
Huh. That’s not a bad start, I think, a rush of emotion running through me. What the hell is happening here? Am I hallucinating? Is this even real? Have I wished for this so often that my subconscious has conjured it up?
‘Are you still there?’ he asks. ‘And, please, can I come in? I’m baring my soul here, Ellie, and it would be so much better if I could do it face to face.’
I don’t know what to do. Part of me is joyous, ecstatic, floating on a cloud of happiness and relief. But the other part of me is more cynical. It has started to grow that hard shell, and it is not sure that Liam deserves a second chance. That he deserves my trust.