Wednesday 13th September
A fter towel-drying her hair, Karmela ran her comb through it and headed back into her bedroom. Outside, the pre-dawn grey was slowly leaching towards colour and the birds were beginning to sing. Otherwise, silence. And time for the quickest of coffees before her morning walk with Iain.
As she popped a capsule into the machine she noticed the note pushed under her door, so she strolled across and picked it up.
Dear Karmela,
I know I’m being a coward writing to you but I’ve thought long and hard about this and come to the conclusion that it would be better not to take things further between us. I have every respect for you and hope we can continue to be friends. Iain
Oh. Oh.
She stood stock still. Had he been cowardly? Certainly if the boot had been on the other foot, she would have come right out and said it, but now she thought about it, that might have been wrong. It was definitely easier to read Iain’s words of rejection than to have to listen to him saying them. For a start, she had time to work out how to react.
Slowly she let the feeling in. She had to manage this, or else it could overwhelm her. Each thought, each unfamiliar emotion, one at a time. It was a logical, rational way of dealing with it. What she always did.
First, disappointment. Deep disappointment. And hurt. Hurt for what might have been. Hurt so sharp it took a gargantuan effort to push it away and refocus. There was something else too, something she could not pinpoint. Something that remained beyond her grasp. She frowned, trying to give the idea a name, but instead a crippling anguish rushed unbidden through her. Why had he decided to do this? Everything had been going so well. Or at least, she had thought so until about two minutes ago.
On the last couple of mornings they had not only held hands on their walks, but shared the occasional kiss as well. And they had talked so much more about the things that mattered: his indecision over his future, the friends in Dubrovnik that meant so much to her; and Jo, of course, and what they might do to help her. Had he pulled away because she had not told him about her plan to read out that piece yesterday? It was such a very small thing, and he did not seem the type to sulk. No, that could not be it.
Had he decided she was not attractive enough? He had not struck her as that superficial, but she did not really have the experience to tell. She picked up her coffee cup and set it on the drip tray. Whatever his reasons, the result was the same, and there was nothing she could, or even should, do. Had she not said that if it did not work out they were both mature enough to put it behind them? She should not question it, just accept it for what it was. Goodness, it had only been a matter of days. She was being so silly. Everything would be fine once she had time to get used to the idea.
Karmela pressed the button on the machine and the scent of strong coffee filled her nose. It was a shame, that was all. For the first time in her life she had been part of a couple, and it had felt good. Very good. She hugged her arms around her ribs. What you did not know could not hurt you, but when you did know… when you had even just tasted… That felt entirely different.
It was not as if she was a stranger to rejection. Not as if it was the first time. It was a lesson she had learnt as a teenage refugee in Berlin and she had allowed it to blight her life. This business with Iain was a blip, a temporary setback, and it could not be permitted to do the same.
Karmela looked at her watch. If she hurried she could catch him and Sybil on their walk. Throwing on shorts and a T-shirt she raced from the room, looking left and right when she reached the track. In the distance she could see they had barely passed the farmhouse so she began to jog after them.
Iain turned when she was about a hundred or so metres away, and Sybil gambolled towards her, long legs a flurry of canine joy. Somehow having the dog around made this less uncomfortable, and Karmela managed to paste on a grin.
“You could have waited.” His face was a picture of uncertainty, his bottom lip sucked slightly in. She walked up to him, resting her hand briefly on his arm.
“It is fine, you know. Friends is fine.”
His exhalation was visible.
“Thank you. Thank you for making it easy.”
She shrugged. “It is what friends do.” Then clicking her fingers at the greyhound she started to run, calling, “Come on Sybil, shall we race him?”
There was no point standing around talking when there was nothing to be said. Just as there was no point drowning in the inevitable hurt. What she needed to do was get on with her day, focus on her writing, then later, when she felt more ready, she could work out how best to deal with the emotional fallout.