Chapter 11
DAYNA
It’s ironic really. Four years ago, I didn’t intend to fall in love.
But I did. Hard. Fast. I loved him with every part of me.
Back then, I would have given anything for him to feel the same.
Now, he tells me he loves me and I’m on my knees, crying into my hands with Rachel’s arm around me, because he only thinks he loves me.
That isn’t what he said but it’s what I know to be the truth.
Today, those three words kill me more than if he’d never said them.
Love can’t undo the past. Maybe that’s what my tears are over now: the past. It certainly feels like it.
That same crippling agony, striking me in my head, my chest, my heart.
It flows with my blood, searching for its source, the one wound that can be clotted and plugged.
But there’s more than one wound; there are too many to heal.
Rachel pulls me to her and holds me. I’ve hidden the true depth of my scars from everyone except Dr Holland for so long. Now, in less than twelve hours, I’ve cried on two people I lo?—
I shake my head, killing that dangerous thought.
‘Okay?’ Rachel asks, sitting me up and rubbing her thumbs under my eyes as I start to calm.
‘I’m sorry. This is ridiculous.’
‘Do you want to talk about it now?’
I rub the wet patch I’ve made on the shoulder of her silk pyjamas and let out a short, miserable laugh. ‘I really don’t.’
‘All right then, let’s get some breakfast, and I’ll tell you how good Spencer is in bed.’
I gasp as she holds out a hand to help me stand. ‘You didn’t.’
She shrugs and leans her head to one side.
‘You did. Cougar!’
‘I’m not that much older than him.’ She laughs, nudging into my side as we head downstairs. ‘And please, it wasn’t me who was banging down the walls all night. I mean, really, did you two get any sleep?’
I wince. ‘Too soon, Rach.’
‘You know, I thought that as the words were leaving my mouth.’
We find everyone in the kitchen, though I try to avoid eye contact, knowing our little soap opera probably woke them up.
‘Coffee?’ Teddy asks.
I see the two now-cold cups Clark had made sitting on the side, one of which was supposed to be mine. ‘Please.’ My need for caffeine just went up tenfold.
As Teddy sets about pouring me a drink, I see Clark through the lounge window, sitting on a chair on the porch, legs wide, elbows on his knees, raking a hand through his hair and holding his phone in the other. Connie.
I have no one but myself to blame for feeling like I’ve been torn apart, again.
* * *
Clark was on the phone for so long that Teddy and Matty read, then swapped, the Sunday papers that were delivered to the chalet.
Amy and Tim have headed upstairs to get dressed – they seem to be feeling the after-effects of too much booze less than everyone else and they want to hit the slopes early.
Spencer’s playing Candy Crush, lying back on one of the sofas, his legs across Rachel, who’s talking to Yvette about the difficulty of finding knee-high boots that don’t gape around the calf.
Meanwhile, I’m pretending to watch, and have been for some time, a Sunday morning food-cum-talk show, while trying not to keep looking at Clark.
He’s off the phone now, but he’s still on the porch staring into the distance.
I wish I knew what he was thinking.
I have to stop this. I’ve got work to do, especially if I’m going to pull an alternative bid for the well into some kind of a plan that might actually work and submit it by Friday.
‘Rach, did you change my Dubai flight?’ I ask. I know she’ll have done it right after I asked her to yesterday, but I’m feeling a little apprehensive and a lot like I need my new plan to come off.
She nods. ‘I pre-booked your seat, but I’ll check you in online shortly.’
‘Thank you.’
Unfolding my legs, I realise I’m still wearing Clark’s clothes. The front door opens and closes, then Clark is standing opposite me. He drops his phone onto the kitchen island between us.
He looks tired.
‘Okay?’ I ask.
He leans back, just looking at me. I have no idea what’s going through his mind. ‘Close enough,’ he says eventually.
I bite the inside of my cheek. ‘I’m sorry.’
For a moment, he doesn’t move. There’s a silence between us that should be filled.
There are so many things that could be said, but it’s like we don’t have any words left.
I wish there weren’t four years, an explosion, a suicide, a heart that can’t be mended, an engagement and two completely different versions of ourselves hanging between us.
But those things are between us.
I still love him. But maybe love isn’t enough.
I think he reads my thoughts. Or shares them.
He moves in front of me and tucks my hair back behind my ear.
‘Don’t be sorry,’ he whispers and presses his lips to my forehead.
A gesture so tender that it makes me want to stay here, this close to him, forever.
He brings his hands to my face. ‘None of this is your fault. None of it.’
I close my eyes to take my focus from his mouth and he pulls away from me.
‘Anyone for hair of the dog?’ he asks to the room.
‘Urgh, God, no,’ Rachel says.
I pull myself together and away from the kitchen side I’ve been gripping tightly. ‘He makes a mean Bloody Mary, Rach. You might want to reconsider,’ I tell her, receiving a subtle smile from Clark. A smile I’m happy to reciprocate.
Then I help him make a round of Bloody Marys, just like we used to.