Forty-Two
I’m running as I’ve never run before, not even when I was about to miss the bus and be late for my Geography A level (which I subsequently arrived for thirty minutes after it had started, sweaty and tearful. I got a C, in case you’re wondering). I make it around fifteen minutes before I’ve slowed down to a slow jog, and then a fast walk… and then a slow walk. It’s fine, I rationalise, as I catch my breath. Better to arrive and see Ryan for the first time when I’m composed and stunning, rather than the Helena Bonham-Carter as Bellatrix Lestrange creature I currently mirror. I catch sight of myself in a car wing mirror and think I might need a bit of a detour before going to Ryan’s work. My cleavage is glistening with sweat, my eyeliner has smudged under my eyes, making me look like I haven’t slept in days, and my top has a coffee stain. I know Ryan is used to my haphazard appearance, but I feel like our reunion is going to be one of those moments I tell the grandkids about. I’ll probably be expected to show them a selfie or something, so I should take a moment to regroup and at least let my hair get reacquainted with a brush.
Shouldn’t I?
Then I think how ridiculous that is. The grandkids. The selfie. The make-up. That’s the kind of tram tracks my brain always runs away on. To what end? I don’t need the make-up. Ryan either won’t care because he doesn’t care, or he won’t care because he does care.
I ditch the make-up pitstop idea and carry on running.
A text beeps in from Adam: “Are you with him? Are you back together?”
I make an executive decision to ignore him. He knows I’m not a runner, and there’s no way I’d have made it to the Tube station by now, let alone actual Ryan. At last, I head down to Regent’s Park Underground. The stupid Tube is, as ever, like a cross between one of the warmer circles of hell and a neglected gym locker, complete with unloved socks, and I can almost feel its scent oozing onto me. Eau de Tube. Maybe I should have done a quick perfume spritz in Boots.
I take the escalator back to the surface two at a time, tutting impatiently at the gates and clicking my tongue behind a poor elderly woman who is clearly a tourist and is trying to feed her shiny new Oyster Card into the ticket slot. Disregarding all the rules of London, I interact with a stranger on public transport and impatiently explain that she just needs to tap it, so desperate am I to get to Ryan. She smiles gratefully, and I smile indulgently, hoping this can go into my good karma bank. As I get closer to the building Ryan is currently working on, my palms start to get a little sweaty. I haven’t felt this nervous since the time I had to participate in a debate about whether schools should have uniforms or not in primary school. I was assigned to the “For” side, and I was so nervous that everyone would think I agreed with the motion that I threw up on Rachael Jenkins in the first row. So, everyone made fun of me for that instead.
The site looks pretty empty when I get there, and I poke my head around the door, calling Ryan’s name a couple of times. There’s no sign of life, so I wander inside, picking my way through mounds of plans and empty coffee cups. As I make my way up the stairs towards the terrace, I can’t stop thinking about the magical date we had here. My heart is pounding as I round the top of the stairs, and there he is… standing with his back to me, pouring over some plans that have been set up on an easel.
“Ryan…” I murmur.
He turns and looks pretty shocked. “Alex… what are you doing here?”
It was not quite the greeting I had been hoping for. “I… I saw the letter in Ladditude . There’s a new “Alex,” but Adam showed me. I ran here as quickly as I could.”
“Yeah. I figured that when I got the response. Didn’t sound like you.”
“Well?” I look at him, hopefully. “Did you mean what you said?”
He looks down, and my heart plummets. “I did… I did at the time. But the response from the new Alex sort of made sense to me. I don’t know. I just think maybe he has a point.”
“But… but the chapel plans!” I almost wail.
“Yes, I love them. I really, really do. They are so thoughtful. But Alex, I just don’t know. Like the letter said, it’s been three months, and the entire thing was a lie. I don’t even know you, really…”
“You do! You do know me. I was still me, just by another name. Everything meaningful and important about me is true. OK, so I’m not a Russian émigré, but my clumsiness, my love of films and writing, my love for you… that’s all totally true. Even my stupid ex, who, by the way, I met for a drink the other day. I have to tell you that. I was brokenhearted over you and sad and needed something from it. I don’t know what. And all the way through, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. How awful he was, but mostly how amazing you are.”
I pause briefly for breath but don’t want him to cut in and say anything. I want to hold onto this moment where things can still work out. I press on. “I didn’t lie about anything important. I totally get it… I understand why you feel this way… but please, don’t let a stupid letter change your mind.”
I resist tears for once. It isn’t right to make Ryan feel sadder about what’s probably a wise decision on his part. “Anyway, that’s all I had to say. Thanks for listening. I didn’t have a right to expect it.”
I take a deep breath and turn to leave. Dignity. No sobbing. Dignity. No sobbing. I turn the words around in my head like a mantra. But suddenly I feel a hand take mine and turn me around.
He takes my other hand.
“What if I stopped listening to Agony Uncles? And you stopped with crazy stories? And we just spoke to each other instead?”
My eyes glisten. “That would be… good,” I swallow.
“Come here, Alex,” he says gently. He enfolds me in his arms, and as his familiar Ryan scent washes over me, he kisses me softly. I know that even though we have a lot of talking to do, everything is going to be OK.