Chapter 23
DELANEY
The funny thing about telling someone to get out and them actually leaving is how quickly relief can turn into regret.
After a night crammed with fitful dreams, I wake with my face smushed into the pillow and a fuzzy head. Releasing a guttural groan, I flip onto my back, my gritty eyes struggling to focus on the ornate ceiling.
It’s as if my insides have been scooped out with a rusty melon baller, dumped on the ground, doused with gasoline, and set alight.
Today, I’m breaking up with Nicholas. And I’m on Capri alone.
Not exactly how I imagined the end of a romantic vacation in Italy.
I’m microseconds from submerging myself in a vat of self-pity when Nick’s face pops into my head, his pained expression a chastening spectre of yesterday’s fight. It will be a long time before I forget the hurt in his eyes.
If I ever do.
But it’s not like I said anything that wasn’t true – he has made some questionable choices. And what else was I supposed to do? It’s not like we could stay here forever, locked away in our Italian love nest, pretending the outside world and everyone in it didn’t exist.
He’s engaged and I have a boyfriend. Well, until I talk to Nicholas, that is.
I glance at my phone to check the time but the screen’s black. Great. I was so preoccupied last night, I forgot to plug it in. Might as well take a shower while it charges. And get coffee. And maybe squeeze in a quick call to Megan. I’m gonna need all the bolstering I can get.
I may want out of this relationship but like the song says, breaking up is hard to do.
I take my time in the shower – stalling – then head down to the little coffee shop near the funicular, drinking my latte at a table outside – also stalling.
While I sip and mindlessly stare at the view, I call Megan, but she doesn’t answer.
Not super surprising – it’s late back home – but this means I’ll have to give myself a pep talk.
Or I could channel my inner Megan. What would she say if she were here?
Laney, you deserve every happiness and you’re not gonna find it with Nicholas. He’s a dick and he has dicked you around long enough. Give the dick the flick.
Wow, inner Megan is brutal – and dick-obsessed.
She’s also right. I need to do this – and now.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I call Nicholas and it only rings once before he answers.
‘Hiya,’ he says in that clipped tone of his.
There was a time when I thought it was charming how English he sounds. Now it propels me into a tailspin and I nearly chicken out. But then I imagine Megan sitting across from me, flapping her hand and telling me to get on with it.
‘Nicholas, we need to talk.’
‘Ooh, that sounds ominous,’ he says, coughing out a wry laugh. ‘Oh, right, I see – you’re not coming to London, are you?’
‘No, I’m not.’
He sighs with frustration. ‘Well, I suppose I could come to LA at some point. Not sure when, though.’
Two years of wanting him to visit me and this is the closest he’s come to offering. Irony can be a real bitch sometimes.
‘Actually, that’s not a good idea,’ I reply.
He laughs again, a whiny sound like fingernails on a chalkboard, making me shiver.
‘Well, like I said, it wouldn’t be any time soon,’ he says. ‘I’ve already wasted a week’s leave on this… this… holiday – if you’d call it that.’
A giant switch flicks in my head, sharpening the edge of my resolve. Nicholas is a total asshole. He probably always has been, but at least I see it now.
‘You’re misunderstanding me. I don’t want you to come to LA – not soon, not ever. This is over. We’re over.’
‘Delaney,’ he says, drowning my name in condescension. ‘You’re just upset. You feel guilty that you got us into this mess. You’re not thinking clearly.’
‘Wow, thanks for explaining that to me, Nicholas. I had no idea what I was feeling.’
‘Hold on – you’re being serious.’
Finally, he gets it.
‘As a heart attack. We’re breaking up.’
There’s a long beat of silence and I draw in a deep breath, exhilaration pumping through my veins. I’ve done it.
‘Well, if that’s what you want. Good luck, Delaney. No doubt you’re going to need it.’
My blood turns to ice and before I can ask what the hell he meant by that, he ends the call.
I take the phone from my ear, my eyes fixed on the water and my mouth hanging open with unspoken retorts.
Good luck? What kind of send-off is that? Did I really give two years of my life to Mr Good Luck?
Yep, Delaney, you did. You moved heaven and earth, pushing shit uphill time and time again for a guy who clearly never gave a fuck about you.
And without another conscious thought, I burst into tears.
I should feel lighter, like I’ve been released from a stranglehold, freed from a relationship that didn’t serve me, but I can’t shake how stupid I’ve been, believing I could make things work with Nicholas. Total moron. Me, that is, not him.
And what did I do when I met a guy who’s decent and thoughtful and funny – one who sees life through a similar lens? I told him to fuck off. And he did.
I cry even harder.
It’s only when the woman from the café rests her hand on my shoulder and sets a pastry in front of me that I return to the here and now.
I snuffle up the snot streaming from my nose and give her a weak smile, then stuff the pastry into my mouth and chew.
I can’t do anything about Nick leaving, but I can make the most of my last day on Capri.
Or try to.
* * *
Nick
I’ve used my key to let myself into Pippa’s house, settling onto her plush sofa, but now I’m second-guessing myself. Will she want to find me here when she gets home from the airport? Maybe not, but I can’t let this go any longer.
It’s like the final scene in When Harry Met Sally, only the opposite: when you realise you don’t want to spend the rest of your life with someone, you want it to be over as soon as possible.
God, I’m an arse.
An arse who’s been racking his brain for the right way to end things with Pippa – during the entire journey to London, all through the night, and every moment since I dragged myself out of bed this morning.
But when someone’s been a constant in your life for a decade and a half – and you care for them – no approach seems right.
As the minutes tick over, my imagination takes hold and I slip into screenplay mode.
INT. PIPPA’S HOUSE – WEYbrIDGE – MORNING
Pippa enters wheeling a large case behind her, her shoulders slumped and eyes red-rimmed. She stops short in the doorway to the lounge.
PIPPA
Nick, what are you doing here? I thought you’d still be in Italy.
NICK
I wanted to be here when you got home. We need to talk.
She enters the lounge and drops onto the sofa opposite Nick.
PIPPA
Is this about the wedding?
NICK
Yes, but how did you—
PIPPA
Dan told me that he told you. Don’t worry, I don’t think we should get married either. It was a mistake planning a surprise wedding and I’m sorry. We should break up.
Without a doubt the worst line of dialogue I’ve ever written and it’s almost a relief when Pippa’s key turns in the lock.
Almost.
I sit up straighter, wishing I could time travel to a week from now when the dust has settled and I’ll no longer feel like the shittiest boyfriend who ever lived. Sorry, fiancé.
‘Nick.’
She looks better than I expected – polished and put together, rather than travel weary and heartbroken. Though there’s every chance I’m about to change that.
I pop up, staying close to the sofa and keeping the coffee table between us.
‘Hi, Pip.’
Our eyes meet and she gives me a terse smile, the laugh lines around her eyes tightening with resignation.
‘Give me a tick?’ she asks and without waiting for a reply, she rolls her case past the doorway, down the hall, and into her bedroom. There are twin thuds on the floor – Pippa kicking off her boots – and soon after, she comes back into the lounge wearing slippers.
‘Cup of tea?’ she asks, gliding past me to the kitchen.
This time I follow, perching on the lone stool by the kitchen bench and watching as she flicks on the kettle and assembles what she needs to make a pot. She even arranges half a packet of chocolate Hobnobs on a plate – my favourite.
The implication is clear – we’re settling in for the duration and, to be honest, the coward inside me is relieved she’s taking the lead.
We don’t say anything while she potters, sitting in a silence that’s both familiar and disquieting. This may be the last time we ever share a pot of tea.
When it’s ready, she loads up a tray and jerks her head towards the lounge. I follow again, my pulse quickening as the time to say my piece looms.
Especially as it’s painfully clear Pippa knows what’s coming.
She pours tea into two mugs, doctoring both with milk, then hands me the one we bought on a holiday in Cornwall a few years ago. I wonder if it’s deliberate, her choosing a souvenir of happier times. Even if it isn’t, it stings.
Pippa sips her tea, her gaze unfocused, and I watch her closely. This is when I should say something but I’m no closer to figuring out what that is than I was ten minutes ago.
‘Nick?’ she says, looking up and meeting my eye. ‘Do you think we were ever really in love?’
Of all the things I’ve imagined her saying, this didn’t even make the top one thousand.
But the answer comes easily.
‘Absolutely.’
She smiles at that, the tension around her eyes giving way to a gentle sadness, tempered with affection.
‘I know you don’t believe in signs or fate or any of that nonsense,’ she says, ‘but we were sent to two different countries and then that bloody volcano erupted.’ She slowly shakes her head. ‘It’s like the universe was trying to tell us something.’
‘I feel like you’re letting me off the hook, Pip.’
‘How so?’
‘I’ve been dragging my heels for ages now. I forced your hand.’
There’s a flash of surprise in her eyes. ‘Oh. You know about the wedding then,’ she says – a statement rather than a question.
‘Yes.’
She nods, then pointedly looks away. ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’ she asks, picking at the seam of the sofa cushion.
‘Why didn’t you, Pip?’ I prod gently.
Her shoulders rise, then fall back into place. ‘I was embarrassed. It was foolish to spring it on you like that. Even Ashley said so and you know Ash.’
I do know Ashley – lovely, but Pippa’s sister tends to make questionable life choices.
‘I’m so sorry, Nick.’
‘Hey, no.’ I set down my mug and lean closer. ‘That’s what I’m trying to say – it’s not you who owes me the apology. If anything, it’s the other way around.’
She looks at me like I’ve grown two heads. ‘Hardly,’ she scoffs.
‘Look, you’ve been beyond patient with me – you didn’t deserve to be strung along like that,’ I say, echoing what Delaney said only two days ago.
When Pippa looks up again, there are tears in her eyes and she sniffs.
I reach for her hand and she lets me take it.
‘I do love you, Pip. You’ve been such a big part of my life and I’ll understand if you say no, but I’m hoping we can remain fr—’
‘Friends?’ she asks, talking over me.
‘Yes, if you’ll have me.’
An unseen hand tightens around my heart as Pippa’s eyes rove my face for an achingly long moment.
‘That’s the one part we’ve always got right, isn’t it? Our friendship,’ she says with a tentative smile. ‘You’re not getting rid of me that easily.’
‘You sure?’ I ask, my voice catching.
She nods, and the vice grip around my heart releases.
‘Maybe one day, this’ll be a funny story we tell,’ she says with a forced smile.
‘Maybe,’ I say, even though it will be a long time before I forgive myself for my part in this, and even longer before I think it’s funny.
Pippa gives my hand a squeeze, then lets go. My eyes search hers – is she really okay? Am I? This is the right thing to do, but I’m not surprised when tears prick my eyes. I look away, blinking them back.
‘Now, tell me all about Capri,’ she says.
And I do, leaving out the parts that matter most.