53. Megan
Chapter 53
Megan
Ollie: You said it’s cool if I have a party, right?
He can’t be serious. It’s Monday night, and the place is a wreck, but I play along anyway.
Megan: No parties. That’s a rule.
Ollie: As if I'd throw a party and not invite you.
Excuse me?
In my parents' house, I'm transported back to my teenage years and the first time I had a boy’s phone number. It takes everything in my power not to kick my feet and squeal.
Megan: What are you up to?
He sends me a quick selfie in front of my exposed ceiling, but the only thing I’m focused on is the expanse of his bare chest. I spend so much of my time trying not to look at him I can’t help but stare, my fingers pinching to zoom in on every detail. The prickle of sweat on his skin, the dimple in his cheek, the fullness of his lips. His cap sits backwards on top of damp curls and I wonder if he did that just because he knows it will wind me up. His cheeky grin suggests yes.
“Oi! Quit texting and play,” Dad says, making me jump. I place it face down on the table and set out my tiles.
“Raffle. Twelve points.”
“Is that it? I’m leaving you for dust here.”
“I can only work with what I’ve got, Dad.”
My phone vibrates again, and I sneak a glance.
Ollie: What about you?
Dad tuts. “What’s Hattie saying?”
“It’s Ollie,” I tell him without thinking. “He’s just giving me an update on progress.”
“Oh, well, say hi from me.”
Megan: Scrabble with my Dad. He says hi.
Ollie: You told him we're texting?
Megan: Is that not OK? I told him it was about the ceiling.
Ollie: It's fine. Say hi back.
Megan: Will do.
Mum sets a tray of biscuits and three mugs of tea down on the table, an after-dinner tradition that started long before I was born. I shove my phone in my pocket before she can catch a glance at it. I don’t need her interrogating me, too.
It’s not just the texts that have me feeling like a teenager again. Everything about this unexpected stint at home has thrown me off. From Mum making me a packed lunch in the morning to Dad’s snoring down the hall all night long. It's not a position I ever thought I'd be in again.
“How's Ollie’s van coming along?” Mum asks. “I forgot to ask him yesterday.”
“Good. I don’t think it will be long until he finishes.”
“Not too soon, I hope,” Dad says, dunking a second biscuit in his mug of tea.
“ Aw , are you gonna miss him?”
“Damn right I will. He’s one of my best guys.” He places five tiles on the board and leans back with a smug grin on his face. “Quake. 18 points on a triple, so that’s 54, thank you.”
I knew he had that Q tile.
Rolling my eyes, I jot his points down in the little book we’ve been tracking scores in for years. “If he’s one of your best guys, then why are you encouraging him to go?”
“I’m his boss, not his jailer, Megs. I can’t fault the lad for having a dream. He deserves to get what he wants before life drags him down.”
“Oh, like it dragged you down?” Mum says, kicking him underneath the table.
“Ow! Not like that. You know what I mean.”
A lump forms in my throat and I can’t focus on choosing my next word while this uncomfortable sensation takes hold.
“I don't, actually. What do you mean?”
He looks up from his tiles, a serious expression wiping the relaxed smile off his face. The lump grows even larger.
“Megan,” he says, reaching his hand across the table to hold mine. “You are the best thing that ever happened to me and your mum, but we were younger than Ollie is now when you were born. Practically kids ourselves. We never got the chance to do a lot of things young people can do now. Travel and all that.”
“Right,” is all I manage to choke out as the news I robbed them of their youth sinks in.
“Don’t worry, I’ll have time for adventures when I retire,” he says, puffing out his chest in full confidence at his grand plans. Mum and I catch each other with a sideways glance and burst out laughing. “Oi! What’s so funny?”
“We all know you’re never going to retire, Dad.”
“What about you, love?” Mum says, sipping her tea. “Do you ever feel you missed out on seeing the world?”
The question is so casual it’s almost friendly, as if she’s forgotten she’s talking to her own daughter.
“It was never really an option, was it?”
“Of course it was,” Dad says and my head snaps back.
“How was it an option? The plan was always university, teacher training, get a good job, was it not?”
“That’s what you wanted, so that’s what we supported you to do. If you’d wanted to do a bit of travelling, we’d have supported that too.”
“Are you joking?”
Dad folds his arms across his chest. “Why would I be joking?”
“My whole life you’ve told me I need to work hard, set goals, make plans and stick to them.”
Mum rests her hand on my forearm. “And look at where you are now, love, shaping the minds of the next generation.”
“We couldn’t be more proud of you, sweetheart,” Dad says. “You’ve done brilliantly. Who cares if you didn’t get to travel when you were a kid? You could go now in all those school holidays you get.”
Private schools like Swanham Hall have even longer summer holidays than most schools. It's a privilege, but everything costs a fortune and nobody wants to go away. Dad rarely takes annual leave, not now, or when I was growing up.
‘Self made folks can’t just go jetting off to Lanzarote every year,’ he used to say. Summer meant big renovation projects, and he’s always said yes to everything, stretching himself thin until Mum forced him to hire a few guys and slow down. Which he still shows no sign of doing.
I’ve no right to complain. My parents have done very well for themselves thanks to his hard work, and I’ve benefited enormously, too, but this revisionist history has me feeling untethered.
After Dad beats me at Scrabble by a mile, I head upstairs to my childhood bedroom. Sleep usually comes easily here, but tonight the thoughts swirling around in my brain have other plans. I can’t stop thinking about what Dad said about his mis-spent youth.
What if I’d taken a gap year? What if I’d gone to Australia and met Max there first, before he met his wife and had kids? We could have been—
A full body shudder rolls through me, the way it did when Mum brought his name up at lunch yesterday.
No, we couldn't have been anything. I’d have been eighteen years old. Our relationship would have been even more inappropriate, and Max would still have been the same self-centred liar he is now.
Thinking of him reminds me how much of my life I’ve wasted, but I was doing that long before I met him. Years spent desperately working my way towards a good job, finding a decent man and settling down, and it’s been for nothing.
I’ve been a dutiful daughter, a loyal friend, a dedicated girlfriend to anyone who’s let me into their life. I’ve never taken risks, never stepped out of line. The biggest adventure I’ve been on is… Is…
Can I seriously not think of one single adventurous thing I’ve done with my life?
Never mind life dragging me down, I’ve done a pretty fine job of it myself. Is it any wonder I’m feeling stuck?
My dark room lights up when I open my phone to revisit Ollie’s photo, but there’s one message I hadn’t read before I put it away.
Ollie: It’s quiet without you here.
It’s quiet here too. I want to text back, tell him I miss him, that I wish I’d stayed in our secret bubble.
Ever since he kissed me, I’ve been getting myself lost in these stupid fantasies about what it would be like if he didn’t go. What if he stayed too, and what if we were something other than roommates?
I know it’s stupid. This daft, romance-addled part of my brain that still believes in Happy Ever Afters, despite every man I’ve ever dated proving me otherwise. And that’s all it is with Ollie, a fantasy.
Finally, I understand what Dad meant. And if Ollie stayed, I'd be the one dragging him down.