Hugo
“It suits you,” Margaret says, giving him a kiss on the cheek. She’s wearing a dress he’s always loved—a pale blue that matches her eyes—and her perfume is so familiar that it gives him a jolt.
“What does?”
She winks at him. “Travel.”
“Better you than me,” Margaret says. “I looked up the compartments, and I reckon I would’ve felt like a hen in a chicken coop in those beds.”
“I suspect there’s a joke in there about pecking me to death,” Hugo says.
She laughs. “No pecking before coffee.”
Once they’ve ordered, they carry their mugs to one of the tables outside. It’s still early, and the street is mostly empty, just a few people out running or walking their dogs.
“When did you get here?” Hugo asks, warming his hands on the mug.
“A couple of days ago. Turns out it’s pretty quick by plane.”
“I’ve heard that.”
“So how was it?”
“Honestly?” Hugo says. “You would’ve hated it.”
“But you loved it. I can tell.” She blows on her mug, scattering the steam, and Hugo flicks his eyes away.
It feels so intimate, watching her lips form a perfect o like that, a reminder of how many times he’s kissed them.
There’s a part of him that still wants to, though whether out of love or sadness, longing or nostalgia, it’s hard to be sure.
She takes a sip, then looks up at him. “What about her?”
“Who?” he asks, then immediately hates himself for it. Margaret was part of his life for a long time; she knows when he’s hedging. Besides, they’re broken up now. It’s not against the rules to have feelings for someone else. So why does it feel that way?
She gives him a disappointed look. “Hugo.”
“Yeah, okay. Was it Poppy or Isla?”
“Neither. It was Alfie. I ran into him at Tesco before I left.”
“Should’ve guessed,” Hugo says with a sigh. “He’s always had the biggest mouth. I suppose I should just be grateful he’s managed not to let it slip to Mum and Dad.”
“They don’t still think that I’m—?” she asks, looking uncomfortable.
“No,” Hugo says quickly. “It’s just—you know how they are. They weren’t too keen on this trip in the first place. And once I realized about the ticket—”
“What about it?”
“The package was booked under your name, and they wouldn’t let me change it. So I needed someone else to come or I wouldn’t have been able to go at all.”
“Wait,” she says, and her face darkens. “Does that mean you had some girl pretend to be me?”
“No, of course not.”
“So what, then?”
Hugo swallows hard, realizing how bad this will sound. But he doesn’t have a choice. “I, uh…I found another Margaret Campbell.”
“You what?”
“I really wanted to go,” he says helplessly. “And they wouldn’t change it. So I didn’t really have a choice, did I? Alfie and George helped me write up—hold on.” He stops short. “Did you think I just invited along some random girl a couple weeks after we broke up?”
She’s looking at him like he’s a complete idiot. “Well, didn’t you?”
“No—not like that. I needed someone with the same name. It was just for the tickets and the hotel reservations and all that. I picked someone who wasn’t—I found this eighty-four-year-old from Florida called Margaret Campbell.”
Her eyes widen. “You’re in love with an eighty-four-year-old?”
“No,” Hugo says so loudly that the two women at a nearby table turn around. He lowers his voice. “No. She got bunions.”
Margaret looks like she’s not sure whether to laugh or cry. “So you found a younger version?”
“Yes. No. Not like that. It was just about the name,” he says again. “It wasn’t supposed to be—” He pauses, frowning at her. “Wait. Who said anything about love?”
“Alfie.”
“I’m not in love with her.”
“Alfie said, and I quote, ‘Can you believe our man Hugo is gallivanting around America with some new bird he’s in love with?’ ”
Hugo puts his face in his hands and groans. “I’m so sorry. You know he’s a complete git. He was probably just trying to make you jealous.”
“Well,” Margaret says, giving him a level look, “it worked.”
He blinks at her, taken aback, though he knows he shouldn’t be. This, of course, is where they were headed all along. The problem is that he still doesn’t know how to feel about it.
Margaret starts to reach for his hand across the table, then changes her mind and rests it on the handle of her mug instead.
“Look, I have no idea who this girl is. Do I think it’s a bit odd that you’ve gotten involved with someone who has my same name?
Yes. Very. But that’s neither here nor there right now.
The point is that I’ve been thinking about us a lot these last few weeks.
And when I heard you were taking a gap year—”
“I’m not.”
She frowns. “But Alfie said—”
“Alfie says a lot of things,” he tells her with a smile.
“Well, when I heard that, I thought maybe you were coming out here for more than just a few days. I thought you were coming to stay.” She shakes her head.
“It’s silly, I know. We’re broken up, and you were with another girl anyway, but I just—I suppose I just wondered if there might be a second chance for us. ”
“Margaret.”
“We let things slip. I know that. But you’re the only one I’ve ever loved, Hugo. And maybe it’s because of all these big changes, or maybe it was just knowing you were so far away this week, but I missed you.”
Once again she moves as if to take his hand, then realizes what she’s doing and stops.
But this time, Hugo meets her halfway. He doesn’t know what he’s thinking.
The truth is, he’s not, really. It’s more habit than anything else.
For so long, she was home to him. And now he doesn’t know what she is.
“There’s no gap year,” he says gently. “I’m heading home tomorrow, so nothing has really changed.”
This isn’t true. At least not for Hugo. Everything has changed. Just not in the way that Margaret was hoping. But he doesn’t tell her that.
“What happened to make you go back?”
Hugo twists his coffee mug in circles on the table. “It was too complicated with the scholarship.”
“Ah,” she says, understanding immediately. “They want all six of you. That’s rubbish, Hugo. I’m sorry.”
“It’s probably for the best,” he says, and then he looks up at her with a sheepish grin. “I lost my wallet somewhere around Chicago.”
She laughs. “Of course you did. But you would’ve been fine. You’re not as hopeless as you think you are. It’s just that you’ve never had to manage by yourself before.”
“That’s not—”
“You have a dad who’s used to shepherding seven-year-olds, and a mum who literally records every move you make, and five brothers and sisters to follow around. And you had me. You’ve never really had to look after yourself before. But that doesn’t mean you couldn’t do it.”
He smiles at her. “Thanks.”
“Honestly, I’m impressed you were even thinking about it. I never would’ve expected you to—”
“What?”
“Go after what you want,” she says, looking almost apologetic, and Hugo stares down at his mug with a pang of guilt. Because he hasn’t done that. Not really. “What changed?”
Mae, he thinks, though he doesn’t say it. But they know each other too well for this, and he can see the flicker of hurt in her eyes.
“Ah,” she says. “Right.”
“I’m really sorry, Margaret.”
There are twin spots of pink on her cheeks, which is what happens when she’s trying not to cry. But she lifts her chin anyway. “It’s okay. I’m glad you’re happy.”
“I don’t know if I am,” he says. “But I’m working on it.”
“Well, you seem different now,” she says. “It’s like some sort of spark has been lit.” He can tell how much it pains her to say this, how much it costs her. She pushes back her chair and stands up. “Don’t let it go out, okay?”
He stands, too, then walks around the table to give her a hug.
They stay like that for ages, her nose pressed into his shoulder, his chin against the top of her head.
His heart aches, not because he loves her—he hasn’t for a long time now—but because he loved her once, and that’s something that never completely leaves you.
“Let’s not be dramatic about this,” she says eventually, stepping back and wiping at her eyes. “We already split up once. No need for a second round.”
Hugo laughs. “Okay.”
“So what happens next?”
“With us?”
“With you,” she says. “What will you do now?”
“Now?” Hugo says with a smile. “I’ve got a letter to write.”