Chapter 7
It turned out, Eliza’s room was double-booked, so I had to squeeze her bag into my room and share my bunk beds. Something I hadn’t done since the last time Eliza and I were together as kids in Scotland.
This was not how I’d expected tonight to go. Having Cindy’s constant chatter over dinner had been a blessing as buried feelings about Eliza crashed through the careful barriers I’d built around those memories.
The truth was, I had liked Eliza back then.
Really liked her. But every cold interaction, every eye roll, every moment she’d treated me like an inconvenience in the interim had helped rewrite our history.
I’d told myself I’d simply admired her, looked up to her as someone to emulate.
That when she smiled at me, the butterflies in my stomach had been about wanting her approval, nothing more.
But now, trapped in this tiny train compartment with nowhere to hide, those old feelings flooded back with uncomfortable clarity.
That summer at the lake and her white swimsuit.
The way I used to find excuses to sit near her during family dinners.
How I’d memorised which books she read so I could casually bring them up in conversation.
The devastation I’d felt when she got her first serious girlfriend and suddenly had no time for me.
I’d buried it all so deep that I’d almost believed my own revisionist history.
Almost.
However, even if I was starting to reconsider whether or not Eliza was a totally terrible person, nothing would ever happen.
First, because my aunt and her dad were knocking boots, and I didn’t want to keep things in the family too much.
Second, because the next six months were really important, and I couldn’t afford to be sidetracked by a pretty face.
She’d told me she wanted to help, and she seemed sincere. But it had been 15 years of avoidance. Of slights and knocks. And now? I was lying on the top bunk listening to her pee in our teeny-tiny toilet.
My plan, post dinner, had been to decompress and give Amina a call.
Now, I had Eliza in my face. Not part of the plan.
However, lately my life hadn’t gone fully to plan, had it?
Was this my mother and Gran meddling, getting me to trust Eliza again?
If I believed in the afterlife — which I clearly didn’t — I wouldn’t put it past them.
Eliza eased herself out of the toilet which also served as the shower. She gave me a pained smile, then disappeared from view onto the bottom bunk with a sigh.
“Are you okay up there? You always used to sleep on the bottom when we were kids.”
I blushed, despite myself, then leaned over the top.
“I’ve got more versatile as I’ve got older.”
She grinned. “Good to know.” She held up a card. “Have you seen there’s a gin menu and you can order to the room? What do you say we order in and get comfortable? They’ve got Pringles, too. Sour cream and chives, or salt and vinegar?”
“So long as it’s not barbecue, I don’t mind.”
An attendant named Carlos brought us gin and green Pringles. Eliza told me to come to the bottom bunk, and we both sat with our backs to the wall, the motion of the train making us sway constantly, shoulders and thighs pressing together. It wasn’t entirely unwelcome.
“Is this weird how this doesn’t feel weird?” Eliza rolled her neck.
I smiled. It was like she could read my mind. “I was thinking the same thing at dinner.”
“I guess we’re not starting from scratch.”
“Margot threatened Andrew might shadow me instead of you. He’s been with Voss for life. I’m glad I’m sharing this carriage with you, not him. That could have been a little trickier.”
The thought of that made us both laugh.
“Sitting side by side like this reminds me of sitting up in our old tree house that my granddad built. You remember that?” It had been one of the best birthday presents I’d ever received. My granddad loved building things, and my tree house was a place just for me. Often, just for me and Eliza.
She bumped my shoulder with hers, and when I turned my head, she had a wide grin on her face. I could tell she was picturing being up there, too. The smell of freshly cut grass, the heat of the sun, the annoying midges that always managed to find their way in and never their way out.
“I remember your tree house. It was one of the single greatest things that happened in my childhood. A place to get away from adults. Your tree house is still the holy grail. No internet. No TV. Just a place to sit and talk. This train carriage is copying that vibe.”
For a moment, I glimpsed the Eliza I used to know beneath all the years of careful distance.
“Is Loch Cottage still there?”
I nodded. “I think so. I don’t go that way often when I visit.” There were too many memories in Goldloch, so I’d tied them up and stored them away.
“Maybe we can take a look when we’re there.” Eliza’s face was hopeful.
“Maybe.”
“But also, I was hoping we could get to know each other as who we are now on this trip,” Eliza continued, not looking directly at me. “If we’re going to work together, I want to look forward, not back. It’ll help when we do business.”
I nodded. That made sense. She’d started off saying it was professional, but it was never going to be. Not with our history. “Okay. Tell me about your life. What did you do at the weekend?”
Eliza considered my question. Was she deciding whether to edit for a better story?
“Saturday was tile shopping in Islington with my mum. Sunday, we hit an outlet village hunting for dining chairs.” She held up a hand before I could comment.
“In my defence, I’m doing up a house, and that requires surrendering all recreational time to really boring things. ”
“You moved from where you were?”
Eliza nodded. “Bought a doer-upper. I regret it most days. Especially because I’m back at my dad’s while contractors destroy my sanity and bank balance in equal measure.”
I raised an eyebrow. “I was surprised when Margot told me you moved in with your dad. You never saw eye to eye when we were growing up. A little like me and Mum.”
She nodded. “That’s true, but needs must. He’s got a big house, and I needed somewhere to live.”
“How’s that working out for your social life?”
Something flickered across her face. Amusement, maybe embarrassment. “I’ve become a nun since I broke up with Michelle, so it’s not really an issue.” She leaned forward slightly. “What about you?”
I knew all about people letting you down and leaving. I wrote the book on it.
I held out a hand. “Sister Poppy here, also doing the lord’s work.”
She shook my hand with a laugh that I was thrilled to be the architect of. I don’t know if it was that or her touch, but as she wrapped her fingers around mine, an electric current ran through me with a force I was unprepared for.
When I risked a look at her, I was sure I caught a hint of surprise behind her eyes, too.
She dropped my gaze and cleared her throat. “Lesbian nuns is a thing now, right?” She shook her head softly. “Honestly, after Michelle, I thought about becoming a nun. I wondered if it was really all worth it. We bought a house, we got married, then she buggered off to New York.”
“Ouch. I heard you broke up, but I wasn’t sure of the details.”
Eliza caught my gaze, blushed, then looked away. “It was a classic case of me not paying enough attention. I put work first and didn’t prioritise her enough. Which she told me in no uncertain terms when she walked out.”
“Are you still in touch?”
Her cheeks blushed red. “We see each other when I go to New York on business.” She took a sip of her drink and avoided my gaze. “Anyway, enough of my sad life. Tell me tales of your wild convent years.”
When we were growing up, she used to make me laugh all the time, just like now. I’d never forgotten that.
“There’s not much to tell.” I suddenly wished there was, because Eliza was older and had been married. She was always ahead of me, in every aspect of life.
“You’re not seeing anyone?”
I shook my head. “I’m not a nun, I’ve had dates, but then my job got busy, and it kinda fell by the wayside.”
“Aren’t we a pair?” she replied. “Things have changed for you since the Playgirl Poppy era.”
My whole body stilled. I knew exactly the era she meant. It was the era I was always trying to flee from. “Playgirl Poppy? Is that what you called me?”
Eliza winced. “And there’s me running my big gob off again, just when things were going so well.” She held up an apologetic hand. “Sorry. Forget I said it.” She grimaced a little more, a Pringle held in front of her mouth.
“Who called me Playgirl Poppy?”
She shook her head as she crunched, then swallowed.
“Not me. It was something I heard the last time I was in Les Gets.” She dropped her head. “In that gay club we all go to.”
My stomach churned. I couldn’t quite believe that time in my life had earned me a nickname.
“Right after my mum died? That trip?” I couldn’t look at her.
“I was never Playgirl Poppy. I was sad, angry, vulnerable Poppy. And yes, I partied hard. But if I took any women home, I probably passed out before much happened. That time of my life was anything but playful.”
Eliza took a deep breath, then leaned over and put her gin on the bedside table. She sat up, and took my hand in hers.
I didn’t shake her off.
“Look, I’m really sorry. We said we wanted to get to know each other now, and I brought up the past. I know it was a difficult time for you. It just slipped out.”
A barrage of the past and present ricocheted through me. All at once, I wanted to be enveloped by Eliza, but I also wanted to punch her. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to smooth out my emotions into something more palatable. Our childhood had been easy. Our adult relationship had been anything but.
“Can you forgive me? Otherwise, it’s going to be a really long trip.”
I blew out a long breath and shook my head. “You hit a nerve, you know? I wasn’t in a great place then.”