Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
WREN
‘Wren. Wren, are you in there?’
She came to as if she’d had a dose of smelling salts, blinking fast. ‘Sorry, I was in another world.’ Almost literally. Now that she was back at her desk at the Echo , Italy seemed to be a million miles away. And Nick too.
After he’d walked off down the path from Minarolla she’d, at first, wanted to give him the space that he needed. The urge to chase after him had been so strong, she’d had to remind herself that in spite of the few days they’d spent together, he barely knew her. She could completely understand why he needed to process things alone. But then, after an afternoon of sightseeing with her dad – which was mercifully free of lighthouses or shoals of sea bream – she’d waited at the hotel for him to come and see her. He never did. Not that evening, or any of the days that followed before they’d flown home. She berated herself for never getting his number; she couldn’t believe she’d felt so coy about asking in the first place, and after everything that had happened, the opportunity had passed them by.
‘I didn’t think you could get jetlag from a flight from Italy,’ said Derek. ‘Or did you overdo it on the Prosecco?’
‘Ha, something like that,’ she said, turning studiously back to her computer screen.
Her desk had become a mountain of trash again, with Post-its surrounding the screen like a lion’s mane and several musty coffee cups strewn around. She liked it though. Something about the break-up with Alex had done more than separate her from the man himself. She realised how much she’d been trying to live up to his standards all this time. Just like Alan had hoped, she had come home from Italy several pounds heavier, and she still hadn’t washed the contents of her suitcase.
Her thoughts drifted back to Italy – and Nick. Why had they played that stupid game of guessing about each other? Cursing that awful waiter, she remembered that she’d missed a chance to find out where he lived too. Without any useful information about him, not even his job, no amount of journalistic research skills were going to help. He was simply… gone.
She hadn’t spoken to Libby about him. Even though she was her best friend, and she wasn’t particularly prudish, Wren felt weirdly guilty about sleeping with someone so soon after the break-up with Alex. The fact that it was on a holiday she and Alex had booked, not to mention in the bed they would have been sharing, almost made it feel like she’d been cheating. So she’d kept Nick safely in her head, where the two of them couldn’t be judged, and where she could remember him in this frustratingly bittersweet way.
Her mind kept flashing back to the night they’d tumbled into her bed, after all the adrenaline of their strange few days together had come to a head. Would she have slept with him if it hadn’t been such a wild adventure? If she hadn’t felt like she was living in the moment for the first time in ages? She felt her cheeks go pink.
Derek was looking at her with a suspicious expression on his face, but before she could pretend she was just feeling a bit warm, the main door to the office opened.
Erica on the reception desk was looking up at two men in suits, one holding a briefcase, the other with a leather zip folder under his arm. They were smiling placidly down at Erica as she dialled Zara’s office line and stared at them with wide eyes. Within seconds of the call connecting, Zara sprang from her office, smoothly extending a hand to the two men and inviting them into her office, closing the door firmly behind them.
‘That… does not look good,’ said Derek, staring at Zara’s closed door.
Gary looked between Derek and Wren with a frown. ‘No. It doesn’t, does it?’ he said.
‘It’s happening,’ said Derek. ‘And I was the last in. And closest to retirement age.’ He loosened his tie and slumped back in his chair.
‘That doesn’t mean anything. If they’re making cuts, then it could be anybody,’ said Gary, then he leaned in and lowered his voice. ‘I mean, what about Erica? Her sickness record is shocking.’
‘Gary, settle down,’ hissed Wren. ‘The last thing we need is you making a shortlist for the suits. I think we should just stay calm. No news is good news.’
‘Wren, for fuck’s sake, I don’t think you should be using puns like that at a time like this.’ Gary crossed his arms, nostrils flaring.
She rolled her eyes then made a show of settling back to her work like any sensible person should do. Setting an example. But her heart was fluttering, and she kept throwing nervous glances at Zara’s closed door.
After a session of writing her review of a new brasserie in Corbridge, waxing lyrical about sourdough and avocado while her teeth remained tightly gritted, she glanced around at the general atmosphere of skittishness. Gary was pacing up and down, refilling a cup from the water cooler on repeat. Derek was staring into space. Erica was talking on her mobile, peeking furtively over the top of her cubby. Paranoia really was infectious. She pulled out her phone and started to type in Journalism jobs . She’d been scrolling for some time when a shadow passed over her desk and someone coughed. She looked up and dropped her phone.
‘What are you doing here?’ she spluttered.
‘I’ve come to take you to lunch.’
Wren stirred her cup of tea, wanting something to do with her hands even though the milk was well and truly blended. Alex sat opposite with a plate of superfood salad. Wren had declined to eat – this wasn’t the kind of encounter that spurred on her appetite. The cafe was quiet since it was only eleven thirty, far too early for lunch, but here they were.
‘You look well,’ he said. ‘Picked up a bit of a tan in Sorrento.’ There was no trace of spite, and he seemed to be trying to keep his tone light.
‘Thanks. It was just what I needed. A bit of sun and some time to think. And don’t worry, I’ll pay you back for your share of the holiday.’
He waved his hand magnanimously. ‘Don’t worry about it. It’s fine.’ He then looked her in the eye, seeming more sheepish than usual. Almost meek. ‘So you said you’d had time to think.’
‘I did…’
‘Because I’ve had time to think too,’ he rushed on. ‘I want us to talk. About having another go at things. These last weeks, with the arguing and the tension, and then you suddenly being gone, I’ve realised what I’m missing, and I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, Wren.’
‘Sorry for what specifically?’ she asked.
‘You know. The text and the… checking up on you. I think a lot of how I’ve been acting is because I’m terrified of losing you. I’ve had time to think, and I understand a bit more about where it’s coming from. I’m insecure.’
What was happening? Had Alex had some kind of epiphany while she was away or even a full personality transplant? This Alex, who thought humility was for losers? She was still lost for words, but it didn’t seem to matter as he was talking enough for two. She stared at him, remembering what Edie had said. Had he stopped trusting her because he hadn’t been able to trust himself?
‘And I realise I’ve no right to ask for another chance, but I promise I’ll learn from this. Wren, I need you so much.’
Wren deflated, not realising she’d been holding her breath. ‘But why? Why would you feel insecure? I’ve always told you I love you. And showed you, or so I’d thought.’
‘I don’t know why. But I’m working on myself. And I want to show you that I can be a better man.’
Wren said nothing. What had begun as a seemingly genuine apology, even if it was more than a little overdone, was now sounding so far from the Alex she knew that she could tell he was pulling this crap from some place other than his own brain. It smacked of Instagram quotes. Maybe he’d stumbled across them while posting yet another picture of his abs.
He picked up her hand and went to kiss it, and she flinched, pulling her hand away. He paled and diverted his empty hand to his glass.
Her mind flickered to her most recent kiss, and her cheeks grew hot. A few days ago, she’d been single, her past behind her and a thousand miles away. She’d lain in bed with a man who wasn’t Alex, and it had felt like she was another person. It was like her body had woken up. But was that only because she’d felt so deprived? Had this dark time with Alex just made her ache for physical contact from anybody? If Alex had been the drought, then Nick may have just been a drop of rain on the scorched earth of her feelings. As Alex sat opposite her, showing his vulnerable side, she wavered. All the years together hovered around them like clouds, both light and dark. And Nick was gone. He felt as mythical now as the sirens on Capri.
No. With or without Nick, she couldn’t look back. It would only be a matter of time before he forgot how sorry he was and went back to his old ways. And now she was sitting across from him, she realised she wasn’t sure she cared anymore. It was like seeing someone you used to go to school with, as if that much time had passed. They were the same person but also totally different. And like school friends, they’d outgrown each other.
‘Thank you. Thank you for apologising. It means a lot, and it really helps to know that you’ve given it such a lot of thought. But it’s over.’
She stood up. Part of her wanted to reach over and kiss him goodbye, for the familiarity. For the good times. But a new, sterner part of her knew she should follow through with what she’d just said. So she turned and walked out the door.
Back at work, her overriding emotion was relief. The break-up before the holiday had been fraught, angry and sometimes incoherent. They were done back then, but parting in turmoil hadn’t felt like closure. What had happened that lunchtime had felt like the proper end they needed. Not that she needed to draw another line under it, but she felt a sense of ceremony when she finished her flapjack and flung the greasy packet onto a pile of papers on her desk without the vaguest intention of tidying it up. She was unpicking years of enforced orderliness, and she was enjoying it.
She rattled through some short pieces about local crime, a person who’d had a decent win on the lottery, and a cats and dogs shelter that was crying out for donations. She pinged them through to Zara, and as soon as she did, Zara’s door opened and she leaned her head out.
‘Can you pop into the office, Wren?’ she asked.
The mood of the room turned funereal. Derek looked at her with open sympathy, while Gary stared with theatrical studiousness at his computer screen, a muscle in his temple twitching. Erica peered up over her reception desk, her jaw hanging slack.
So, here it was. She would be the first to get the chop. She sat down opposite Zara’s desk.
‘Ah, Wren, darl’.’ She steepled her fingers under her chin and gave Wren a bleak look. ‘I’ve got some bad news.’
Wren stiffened. ‘Don’t worry, Zara. I’ve… I’ve been bracing myself. I knew it could happen.’
Her eyes widened a little in surprise. ‘Oh. Was she unwell?’
Now it was Wren’s turn to look confused. ‘Who? Sorry, I’m not following. I thought I was getting laid off.’
‘Laid off? No, it’s not that. It’s Edie Macmillan. I’m sorry, Wren, but she’s passed away.’
Wren’s mouth fell open. ‘Oh my God. When?’
‘A few days ago. Her grandson rang to let us know just now.’ She looked down at a notepad, having a journalistic habit of scrawling down any information she was given. ‘Bloke called Travis. Wanted to make sure you knew before trying to get in touch with her again.’
‘I met him,’ she murmured. ‘Oh, how awful.’
She thought about Travis and the people at the Kitchen, and Edie’s other grandson. They must be devastated. And she felt upset herself. She’d only met Edie a handful of times, but she’d been so wrapped up in her story that she’d become more attached than she’d realised.
‘There’ll be a funeral, of course. He said close friends and family for the crem, as it’s only small. But they’re having a wake at the Kitchen for anyone else who wants to pay their respects.’
‘Right. Well, I’ll definitely go along to that then.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘Poor Edie.’
She got up to leave, feeling deflated. A selfish thought crept in: Edie was gone, and heartbreaking as that was, Wren would never get the chance to ask her again about her mam.