Chapter 45 Twenty-five years old Kath
Twenty-five years old
Kath
Sam’s coming over to spend the day together.
He ended up arriving back in London at the start of September, which gave me a month to overthink every angle of the pair of us meeting up.
I’ve now received pep talks from multiple people: a long lecture from Claire about not being a pushover, a chat from Tom about his willingness to inflict bodily harm.
A few texts from Austin about how much Sam has been struggling over the last few years, and another set of messages from my dad that are mainly strings of emojis which I can’t decode.
I doubt he knows what half of them mean.
All of it helped, in its own way. The warnings, concern and threats of violence, but none of those conversations made the decision for me.
Instead, I mulled it over for weeks on my early morning runs across the Heath, letting my thoughts settle.
It was panting at the top of one of the hills that I realised I’m not fully ready to forgive him, but I am ready to see him.
Holding a grudge would be easier, but it would also keep me stuck in the past. I can only lie to myself for so long that I don’t care about him.
Neither of us have ever been any good at pretending we don’t matter to each other.
But I’m not a hurt twenty-one-year-old girl anymore. I know where the boundaries of my love and friendship lie, and I know how to tell when they’re being crossed.
When Sam arrives at the door, he looks drained but happier than when I last saw him on FaceTime. He’s in scuffed shoes and a faded blue UF T-shirt that matches his eyes.
“Hi, Kath.” He gives an awkward half-wave, and then flushes.
“Hi,” I mumble.
We both stand in the door for a moment.
“You look nice.” He gestures at my flowery sundress.
“You look… um. Nice cap?” I don’t think my brain has caught up with my words. I try to calm the rush of adrenaline brought on by seeing my friend, or ex-friend, or maybe ex-situationship? Who knows?
He pulls off the navy cap self-consciously, running a hand through his hair before putting it back on.
“I know it seems ridiculous, but sometimes I get recognised and I wanted to just spend the day together without the outside noise. I’ve never really been to North London.
” He gives a crooked smile. “I’m excited to do some exploring with you. ”
“There are some great coffee shops here. We can go to the Heath if you like?”
The surface-level conversation goes some of the way to calming my pulse. But not fully. I duck back to my room to grab a hat and my bag before heading out together.
As we begin a circuit of Hampstead Heath, I’m reminded of the walks we did when we were younger, and how we used that time to talk about everything from the most mundane issues to breakups and grief.
But the conversation now feels more difficult, trapped behind my wariness at his presence in my life again.
Grey clouds drag low across the sky, and the wind carries that damp, earthy smell that always comes before rain. I guess I didn’t need those sunglasses, but I have stubborn British optimism about the weather.
Only one person recognises Sam, so maybe he was right about the cap. I hadn’t thought he’d need it but after seeing the slightly hysterical reaction from the forty-year-old man we bumped into, I now understand it more.
“Did this happen on the plane on the way back?” I ask.
“Yep,” he says. “It’s fun but also slightly strange.
Like I love hearing that I’ve inspired someone to do exercise or that they found watching me enjoyable.
But it’s also odd that they can remember things from interviews that I often can’t recall saying.
Or they know some random fact about my childhood because it was once mentioned in some commentary. ”
I nod. The fan had been so excited when he thought we were going to swim in the ponds on the Heath, then the moment he realised we weren’t, he started trying to persuade Sam to train locally.
It was endearing, but I can also see why Sam puts so much pressure on himself.
It’s hard not to when people are coming up to you to tell you to keep going and to win more medals.
When we get back, I put The Lord of the Rings on for old times’ sake, and we each grab a bowl of ice cream before sitting on the sofa. Though unlike when we were younger, we’re sitting in opposite corners.
We quote all the same lines at each other, but this time they’re murmured rather than shouted.
We still laugh at the same parts, but this time they’re more like chuckles and not belly laughs.
It almost feels like being fourteen again, but we aren’t, because now there’s a decade of emotional scars between us.
The closing credits are rolling across when Sam turns to me, nudging my feet where I’ve stretched them out across the sofa.
I curse my body for still getting goosebumps when he touches me.
For still having that muscle memory. Stupid chemicals and neural pathways that I should have managed to rewire by now.
I pull my legs away. I haven’t forgiven him for ruining our friendship yet, let alone when he threw my declaration of love back in my face.
“I’m really sorry, Kath,” he says. “I know you wanted to wait until after the Games to talk about everything, and whenever you want to I’m ready.”
I hug my knees to my chest. “The Games are over, but I’m sure you still have a lot of upcoming celebrations. We can stay focussed on you.” I know it’s a non-answer.
“Maybe.” He smiles. “But you’ve done things that should be celebrated too.
I’m done making it about me. I want to make things right with you.
I owe you an apology. A lifetime of apologies really.
You were right, after Rio. I wasn’t in a good place, and I haven’t been for a long time.
I’m still not in an amazing place, but I’m taking steps to be better.
I know that none of this is an excuse, and I don’t expect your forgiveness right away.
Maybe ever. I certainly don’t deserve it.
” He sucks in a deep breath. “But, if you’ll let me, I want to show you that I mean what I’m saying instead of just telling you I do.
I’m just… I’m so sorry I pushed you away instead of opening up.
I know it sounds stupid, but I thought it was the right thing. ”
“Why?” I ask. I can feel my heart rate increasing.
“Why what?” he says gently.
“Why did you push me away? Why did you think it was the right thing?” I want to know whether he can finally own these feelings, rather than leaving me to deal with their aftermath. If he can’t, then I won’t ever be able to fully let my guard down around him again.
He sighs. “It started with Mum. You know that it’s always been hard for me to talk about her with anyone.
I thought I’d let her down by not being there when she needed me.
I didn’t exercise good judgment with prioritising what was most important.
I lost time with her, Kath, and then I felt like I had to prove it was worth it.
And that was on me. I just didn’t want to…
I couldn’t let down someone else I loved.
” He blanches. “I mean, I didn’t want to hold anyone back.
And I felt that I was holding you back. Making you wait on someone who put a sport above any relationship they’d ever had.
It felt like the right thing to do was to cut people out before I hurt them more. ”
I take in his words. It’s a lot to digest.
“Part of me gets it,” I tell him. “But I just wished I could have been involved in the decision. The ironic thing is that I never felt let down by you. I knew you. And I liked you, Sam. All your versions.”
If he notices I said it in the past tense, he doesn’t comment.
“I know.” He grimaces. “I fucked up. I practised what I was going to say to you on the plane, and it just doesn’t feel like enough. I want to fix my mistakes, Kath.” He pauses. “Do you think… Would you let me show you I’m sincere?”
I look down. “I want to say yes, I do. But I’m still really hurt. And I think I need some time to process all of this first.”
Sam nods, looking forlorn. “There’s one more thing. I, um, need to talk to you properly about the end of Rio. Not just the end of our friendship, but everything else too. But I want to be respectful of you and Theo.”
My stomach drops and my palms feel clammy. Firstly, how does he know about Theo? And secondly, I guess no one told him we broke up.
“Can we give that one a bit more time?” I ask. “I’m not ready for that conversation yet. I just want to get used to having you here again and maybe working on our friendship. I have a lot going on at work, and I’m not in a place where I can relive that right now.”
I pause, wondering if I should tell him the truth about the end of my relationship. He doesn’t deserve to know anything about my personal life, but then again, I’m sick of all the lies and omissions, so I decide to be honest.
“And, uh, Theo isn’t in the picture anymore. We broke up a year or so ago actually.”
His eyes widen and his lips part, before he quickly schools the surprise on his face and gives me a small nod.
Sam has no idea how lonely I’ve been. Nobody does. Living alone, working long hours, having no one to really understand or talk to about any of this. All of my friends have their own things going on, and I’ve never been one to bother anyone with my own problems.
Not entirely true, my brain echoes. I used to tell Sam everything, but then he abandoned me.
“You can talk to me about work, you know,” he tells me as he starts clearing up our bowls. “I’ve been thinking a lot about that, your job, what the pandemic must’ve been like. I can imagine it was really tough for you, and when you’re ready to talk about it, I’m here for you.”
“How do you know it was tough for me?”
His gaze softens. “I know you, Kath, and what your work ethic is like. Your desire to help everyone, no matter the cost to yourself. I kept up with the news in the UK because I knew you would be working through it.”
“It was tough for lots of people.” I settle on saying, because I know if I say anything more Sam will see too much.
He puts the bowls into the dishwasher and opens his mouth to say something, but I cut him off.
“Who have you seen since you’ve been back?”
“Nobody yet,” he says. “Maybe we could have a small reunion with some school people. I was texting Josh, and he says he hasn’t seen you in ages.”
I give a non-committal sound. An unintended side effect of the pandemic restrictions are that I no longer feel like I know how to talk to people outside work. And they’ve been a good excuse to become a bit of a recluse.
“Maybe.” My voice comes out monotone. “I haven’t really seen people for a while, probably since the second wave.”
He looks at me with concern. “Kath, are you sure you’re OK? The start of the second wave was months ago.”
I blink at him. I know it was months ago, but it feels like years. My eyes start to sting, and a rogue tear escapes. I angrily brush it away.
“I’m being ridiculous. I don’t know why I’m crying.”
“Hey. Pirates can cry. Didn’t you know? That’s the fourth rule of the code.”
“It’s not,” I tell him around a watery laugh.
“It’s an addendum. I just added it in. Parliament approved it.”
This time when he reaches towards me for a hug, I don’t pull away.
“I’ve got you now,” he tells me.
And, for the first time in a while, I know that he does.