Chapter 42.
Now
When I get to work on the Monday after Ash’s accident, word of what happened is all around the office.
I didn’t end up seeing him at the hospital that night. Ed and Juliet were there, understandably in much distress, and then Gabi started to wonder if maybe she should sound Ash out first about me seeing him, after he came out of theatre. I felt too embarrassed to face his parents anyway, so I decided to head home. It broke my heart to leave him there, but the last thing I wanted to do was stress him out, or cause a scene.
Parveen pulls me into a meeting room on the pretext of running through proposed amendments to some plans we’ve received for a former watermill. Her eyes are wide with concern. ‘Is Ash okay?’
‘I think so,’ I say blankly. ‘But I haven’t seen him.’
‘Rumour is he was absolutely off his tits, got into a fight and then just fell into the road. God, Neve – he might have been killed.’
‘How do you know all this?’
‘Jemma at Crave told Ryan at Tunstalls, who told Lexie, who told Martin, who told me.’
‘Do you know who he was with?’ I’ve been wondering this, because I can’t imagine any of Ash’s gentle, unassuming friends standing by as he got into a state like that.
She shakes her head. ‘Nope. And no-one knows how the fight started.’
I swear softly, pressing the heels of my palms against my forehead, struggling to visualise Ash being aggressive towards anyone.
‘It was proper high drama, apparently. After the car hit him. People screaming and shouting and panicking. Sirens everywhere. Jemma said everyone thought he was dead.’ Parveen reaches over and gives my hand a squeeze. ‘I’m really sorry, Neve.’
‘Yeah,’ I say, my voice by now just an echo of itself. ‘Me too.’
I ring his buzzer on Wednesday night, after Gabi gives me the all-clear. The building is draped in a white-gold waterfall of Christmas lights. It makes my heart ache for the December we might have been sharing together.
I didn’t know what to bring. Flowers didn’t feel right. ( Congratulations on living to tell the tale! ) Grapes or chocolates seemed like something I’d take my nan. So I opted for a bottle of brandy. Medicinal, if nothing else – and it would at least give him something to swig from if he wanted to take the edge off seeing me again.
‘It’s me,’ I say, when he answers the buzzer.
A short silence, then, ‘Hello.’
‘Can I come up?’
He doesn’t reply, just buzzes me in.
When he opens the door, a tidal surge of feelings assaults me. He’s on crutches, with a black eye and a leg in plaster. I instantly want to grab him and bury my face against his shoulder, kiss him, tell him I still love him. But I know I can’t.
Instead, I swallow it all down and say, ‘How are you doing?’
‘Ah, okay. Mates are rallying round, and all that.’ He is unshaven, with unkempt hair and dark half-moons beneath his eyes. He’s wearing a crumpled T-shirt and cargo shorts, I assume because of the cast. He looks like he’s just been helicoptered away from a conflict zone.
‘I’m so sorry, Ash.’
He nods, then – to my immense relief – shuffles aside to let me in.
I follow him slowly through to the living area, removing the brandy bottle from my bag and placing it on the kitchen counter. ‘For whenever,’ I say.
‘How about right now?’
I feel a lick of relief. He is calling a truce: we can share a drink, maybe talk. I follow him to the sofa with the bottle and two glasses.
Being here is bittersweet, though. I have missed this apartment – albeit it’s not quite the sanctuary I remember. Everywhere smells slightly stale. Surfaces are strewn with takeaway cartons and unwashed plates, empty mugs and grubby wine glasses. A lot of his stuff is still in boxes: things he’d packed up for bringing to my house before we parted ways. He clearly hasn’t touched them again in the weeks since. I have no idea how to interpret that. Is there still hope for us? Or has he just not been able to face it?
And the Edward Hopper’s nowhere to be seen. I wonder if he’s got rid of it – offloaded it to a mate, or chucked it in a skip.
‘Sorry. Bit of a mess in here. I wasn’t expecting... Would you mind...?’ he says, indicating the newspapers and bowls and jumpers and socks strewn across the sofa.
‘Sure,’ I say gently, picking up the stuff and clearing a space for us both.
I hate to see him like this. For the first time since knowing him, I am glimpsing what I can only assume is the person he used to be – chaotic and impulsive, someone who careers from day to day, who makes poor choices and bad calls, then has to suffer the consequences.
I pour us each a double brandy, then tentatively hold my glass to his. ‘To your health.’
He laughs, but like it’s slipped out unintended.
Without looking at each other, we both half drain our glasses. The liquid torches my throat, fireballs its way to my stomach.
‘You smell nice,’ I tell him, because he does, despite the dishevelment. It’s a scent I don’t recognise, fresh and sweetly aquatic.
‘Thought I’d take a break from the Tom Ford,’ he says gruffly.
Oh God . I must have told his mum that he and Jamie smelt the same. I don’t even remember saying that.
‘Are you okay?’ I ask him, feeling chastened. ‘Physically, I mean.’
‘Ah, fine. They fixed my leg, reinflated my lung, told me off for walking into traffic. It could have been a lot worse.’
I swallow and nod. ‘Apparently everyone was worried you were... you know. Dead.’ It’s hard enough to think it, let alone say it out loud.
A brittle smile. ‘Ah, the good old Norwich grapevine. Can nobody get wasted and pick a fight and get hit by a car in private any more?’
I smile faintly. ‘And you made the paper again.’
‘I bet I did.’
‘Who was the fight with?’
He rubs his face. ‘No idea.’
‘I came to the hospital.’
He nods. ‘Gabi told me. You should have stayed for a drink. The tea in that place is pretty special.’
‘Maybe next time.’
He meets my eye. ‘Yeah, maybe.’
‘How long till you’re back on your feet?’
‘A few months, they think.’
‘What about work?’
‘I’m going back next week. I don’t want to miss too much. They’ve not got an awful lot of sympathy for me, if I’m honest.’
‘Are you . . . managing okay?’
He looks directly at me now, eyes damp and fierce. ‘No, Neve. I’m not managing okay at all.’
I reach out and take his hand, squeezing it so hard I risk adding to his list of injuries. ‘Me neither.’
‘This whole thing is mad. I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about you.’
I fight tears, but I don’t know what to say. I can’t say, Me neither , because we both know it wouldn’t be true. But it is true that I hate doing life without him. That I’m not sure I’ll ever be the same, if we’re not together.
A couple of moments pass. The flat is excruciatingly quiet. Ash usually has music playing, or the windows flung open to let in the sounds of the city. Tonight, the hush feels almost unbearable.
‘Do you want to know what I was doing, when I got hit by that car?’
I take another sip of brandy. ‘Gabi said you were drunk.’
‘Off my face, thinking about you. About us.’ He frowns. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I’m not blaming you, not at all. None of this is your fault, obviously. I just... Nothing seems to make sense any more, without you.’
I want to tell him it’s all going to be okay. But how can I, when I’m not sure it will be?
‘It was bad. I was the drunkest I’ve been in... maybe ever. Even back in the day.’
‘Gabi told me all about your wild-child ways.’
‘I bet she did. Weird that my sister feels nostalgic for a version of me that definitely wouldn’t have made it to thirty.’
I think about what Gabi said to me at the hospital. I’d rather have a different version of him than no brother at all.
I finish my brandy, shake my head. ‘I just... I still don’t get it, Ash.’
‘Get what?’
‘You. Jamie. Your accident. The person you became. Any of it.’
He mirrors me, swigging back the last of his drink before reaching over to top us both up. ‘Well, whatever happened, Neve, I still don’t believe I have the ghost of your ex-boyfriend living inside me. Because ghosts don’t exist. They just don’t.’
I’ll get nowhere with convincing him. Or even discussing it. I can see that now. There is nothing left for me to do but show him, somehow, how much I still love him.
I set down my glass. Our gazes fuse. I lean in, relieved when he doesn’t turn away. We kiss hesitantly for a few seconds. His lips are glazed with brandy. And then he teases my mouth apart with his tongue, and I respond. I have missed this so much, these moments of intense, volcanic wanting. He moves a hand to my chin, grasping it gently, tipping my face up to his, bettering the angle for both of us, the kiss growing deeper, hungrier. Our breathing becomes ragged. I run a hand over his leg, begin to lift his T-shirt.
And then, without warning, he pulls back. ‘Ouch.’
‘Oh, God. Sorry. Are you okay? Where does it hurt?’
The wince becomes a smile. He shakes his head, then looks away, takes a few deep breaths. ‘Ah, Neve. Come on. Don’t ask me that.’
‘Well,’ I whisper, smiling back at him, ‘tell me. Where does it hurt?’ I lean towards him again, but this time he dodges the kiss, shuffling fully away.
I stay where I am. I don’t need to ask what’s wrong: it’s written all over his face.
‘Neve, I... I love you so much, and this feels so... But this thing about Jamie... I can’t live with that. I need to be with someone who loves me for who I am. You know that, right?’
I nod, because of course I do.
‘But you know what’s crazy?’ he says, eyes blazing suddenly. ‘It’s us who’re supposed to be together, Neve, not you and him – and it kills me that you’ll never, ever see it.’
My mind flails madly for lifebelts. ‘Okay, what if – just humour me for a minute – what if I could find someone who agrees with me? Who could back up what I believe? A scientist. Or a doctor. Someone who can categorially prove I’m not mad. Even your sister—’
‘Even my sister what?’
‘Even your sister thinks there might be something in it.’
He shakes his head. ‘My sister thinks there might be something in those conspiracies about Elvis being alive.’
‘But she is a doctor. A scientist.’
He sighs now, like even the idea of loving me again is exhausting.
And love shouldn’t feel that way.
Still. I have to try. Just one more time. ‘If I can find someone who can back up what I’m saying, could we at least talk about it?’
He looks at me for a long moment, then says, ‘No, Neve.’ His eyes are varnished with tears now. I can tell he is fighting to hold it together.
Suddenly, I know what I have to do.
‘You’re right, about this being wrong,’ I realise, out loud. ‘Of course you can’t live like this. Why should you? And actually, neither can I.’
‘Neve—’
I get to my feet. ‘I’m going to... try to figure all this out.’
‘Hang on, that’s not good enough. Where the hell does that leave me?’
‘I just need some time.’
‘And I need clarity.’
I swallow. ‘Look, if you... meet someone in the meantime, or you decide you never want to see me again, that’s okay. I mean, not okay – that’s not what I want – but I’d understand. I’m not asking you to wait for me, Ash, because I actually don’t know if I’ll be able to get past this, or work it out. But I’m going to try. I promise.’
‘No. You need to answer me this – and... be truthful. Don’t just say what you think I want to hear.’
The space between us is a snowdrift of silence.
‘Do you love me? If you say yes, I’ll wait for you.’
My heart cracks apart even as I answer him. ‘I don’t know if it’s wholly you I love, or—’
‘Right.’ I watch him struggle to reply. ‘Well, at least I know where I stand.’
My eyes fill with fresh tears. ‘I’m just trying to be honest.’
‘First time for everything, I guess.’