Chapter 15
15
CALLUM
I am such a fucking idiot.
I should have had myself under better control last night.
What the fuck was I thinking telling Emma that I love her? Obviously I do love her. But – without being conceited – it’s clear that she also loves me, and that is not a good thing. I’m pretty sure that she’s going to be very hurt now and I’m guessing – well, certain – that the exchange of I-love-yous will not have helped. Again, without being conceited, I think there’s every chance that she was beginning to hope or plan for a proper relationship, and obviously my behaviour last night implied that I was too.
I should not have said it.
‘Yes?’ Her voice is the sharpest I’ve ever heard it and the sound breaks my heart.
I’ve done that to her. We’ve spent an idyllic few days together and – instigated by me – we’ve said we love each other, and now I’m doing this.
Maybe she’ll begin to hate me. She isn’t the kind of person who hates people. I will have done that to her. It might be a good thing in the short term, so that she can move on with her life without me, but I don’t think it’s healthy to learn to hate people. I’ll have damaged her. Which perfectly demonstrates why this is the right decision.
I should have walked away at the beginning, though. I should not have got sucked into any of this.
When Janet told me a couple of days ago that she could get me on a train from Lyon to London, I should not have said, ‘do you know what, I’m good with my lift’, I should have bloody said thank you so much to Janet and goodbye then and there to Emma, instead of saying nothing about anything to Emma and carrying on with the charade.
I wanted to stay with Emma partly, obviously, because I was loving her company, but partly also as a companion for her because I was worried about her travelling alone, but in reality she’d have been absolutely fine like she has been for the rest of the trip. I’m not sure whether I was being a patronising idiot or whether I was using the worry about her safety as an excuse for staying with her.
Whichever, I should, basically, have gone for the sticking-plaster approach a lot sooner. And, having not done it then, I should at least learn from my mistake and do it now.
So I’m going to dive straight in.
‘I shouldn’t have told you I love you,’ I begin, and oh fuck, the look on her face; it kills me to see it. Just immediately broken. ‘Not because I don’t love you, because I do,’ and oh fuck now she looks confused rather than heartbroken, I need to just get on with it , ‘but because we can’t go anywhere. We can’t have a relationship. I cannot be with you. So I shouldn’t have said it.’
Emma doesn’t speak immediately. She presses her lips together and looks up at the ceiling instead of at me.
And then she swallows, and says, ‘I see.’
I close my eyes for a moment, because suddenly my eyelids feel incredibly heavy, as though they’re weighted down by tears that I am not going to be selfish enough to allow myself to shed. Then I open them and say, ‘I’m so sorry.’
Emma does a little nod, and then she shuffles herself up the bed, the sheets drawn very tightly round her nakedness, over her chest, and sits up against her pillows.
‘For me,’ she says, speaking very slowly, ‘I thought a few days ago that it was a very good thing to have seen you again, so that I could understand what happened all those years ago when you never came back to me. I was grateful to have had the opportunity to have got that closure. Well, it felt like closure. Now it feels as though I’ve had a deep wound reopened. So I’d be very grateful for proper closure. I would very much like to know why you can’t be with me so that I can understand everything and not spend any more time ever again wondering about you.’ Her words could be construed as angry, but I think she’s just deeply sad, just stating out loud how she feels.
‘Yep, I get that.’
‘Soooo?’ She looks slightly impatient, which is an improvement on devastation.
Of course I owe her a full explanation.
‘There’s someone else.’
There’s a long pause during which Emma just stares at me, frowning, her mouth slightly open.
And then she sits up straight.
‘There is what ? You arsehole . You know, that’s the one thing I never suspected you of. You tosser . You’ve been sleeping with me while you have a partner . You arse . You stupid, horrible, two-timing bastard. Your poor partner. You shit.’
‘No, no, no.’ Why did I word it like that? What’s wrong with me? ‘Not another woman. I have a daughter.’
‘What?’ Emma’s jaw almost hits her chest.
‘The first woman I was with after we split up – a long time afterwards, over a year later – got pregnant. We didn’t have a relationship. We’d broken up – I mean, it wasn’t even a break-up because we weren’t even together – before she found out she was pregnant. So, yes, I have a daughter. Thea.’
‘Oh.’ She just stares at me.
‘I’m so sorry for not having mentioned her before now.’ I feel as though I ought also to apologise for the upset that Thea’s existence is clearly causing Emma, but I can’t do that; I could never be anything other than infinitely grateful to have my daughter.
‘Yep.’ Emma pulls the sheet more firmly around herself and sits up even more upright. ‘I don’t even know where to start.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I repeat.
‘Yeah.’ She’s clearly beginning to gather her thoughts. ‘Small things first: a year wasn’t that long; I waited for you for three years, because I did not actually know that we had definitely split up. Also: the whole “we didn’t have a relationship” thing? That you had – didn’t have – with Thea’s mother? I’m thinking that maybe that’s what you and I have had this week, without me realising. A lot of sex, no relationship. And the big thing: you have a daughter . We’ve spent nearly a week together; we’ve done so much together. We’ve talked; we’ve just been so together . I thought we were making love , not just shagging like pathetic rabbits. How could you not have mentioned her?’
‘I didn’t want to hurt you.’
As I say it, I realise it’s one of the most stupid things anyone has ever said.
Emma pulls the sheets hard, and then indicates where I’m sitting with an eyebrow-raise.
‘Sorry, sorry.’ I stand up hurriedly and she pulls the sheets even further around herself and then leans back against the headboard.
‘You can sit down again if you like,’ she says.
‘I’m fine,’ I say, trying to be polite.
‘I would like you to sit down. I am wearing only a sheet and therefore have to stay in bed, and it is not pleasant being loomed over.’
‘Of course.’ I sit back down so fast that the whole bed rocks a little when I make contact.
‘I would still be grateful if I could get the full facts from you so that I have actual closure,’ she tells me. ‘I’m assuming we won’t be seeing each other again and I don’t want to be lying awake at night wondering anything. Being selfish.’
‘That is not selfish.’
I want to hug her so very, very much, but I know it’s the last thing I should do.
‘Thank you.’ She doesn’t smile. ‘How old is Thea?’
‘Ten.’
‘Where does she live?’
‘London.’
‘Was she a contributory factor in you sorting yourself out and getting your law job?’
‘Nope. That was all because of you. Although obviously she’s an incredibly strong impetus for me to live the best life I can now.’ I realise as Emma flinches that that sounds awful; it sounds as though my best life could not include her. ‘My best life would include you,’ I hasten to clarify. And then I realise that that was yet another spectacularly stupid thing to say. ‘But I can’t be with you.’
‘Right.’ She looks at me for a long moment, her features rigid, and then asks, ‘Because of Thea?’
I shake my head, mutely.
‘So why can you not be with me?’ She pauses and I see her swallow and I feel my eyes heat with tears that I cannot be self-indulgent enough to shed. ‘Sorry, that sounded ridiculous. If you don’t want to be with me then you should not be with me. Obviously. I would never, ever wish to make anyone be with someone they don’t want to be with. You don’t want to be with me. I understand that that is a fact and I do of course accept it.’
Fuck. I hate her dignity. I’d rather she be really angry and shouty.
‘But,’ she continues, ‘I would like, if you’re able to tell me, to know why you feel you don’t want to be with me. Because we were together for a long time, and I always felt that we would have stayed together if I hadn’t lost it and been unable to deal any more with your wildness. I thought that if you sorted yourself out you’d come back. But you didn’t, and then we met again and I feel as though we fell in love all over again this week, but you don’t want to be with me and I suppose I would just like to know the reason for that. Not because I’m trying to change your mind – because I wouldn’t like to do that. I would only want someone to want to be with me because they wanted to.’
I can see out of the corner of my eye the clock on the mantelpiece. I know it’s right because I looked at it yesterday evening when we were going out. The clock tells me that if I don’t leave pretty much now I’m going to struggle to make my train.
I owe this to Emma, though. I love her. I want to upset her as little as possible. I want her to have her closure and never think about me again. And oh God it hurts to think of her not thinking of me again. But that would be best for her.
‘I don’t want to hurt you,’ I say.
‘Right.’ Her eye-roll comforts me a little, the fact that she’s capable of something more than total grief right now. I just cannot bear to ruin her life.
‘The reason that I cannot be with you is that I cannot bear to hurt you.’
Emma just raises her eyebrows.
‘I never stay with any woman for long,’ I try to explain. ‘When I was young I was beyond stupid, as we know. I wreck things. I wreck relationships. I wreck other people’s happiness. I don’t want to do that to you. It’s like… it’s like when I’m happy I begin to do things that destroy it. And that hurts people. And I never want to hurt you.’
‘You’re hurting me now.’
‘Yes, but when I leave, you’ll get over me.’
‘Like I got over you last time?’ Emma claps her hand over her mouth. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. I’m so sorry. I do not want to emotionally blackmail you into staying with me.’
‘You aren’t,’ I say. She isn’t, because my mind is made up.
‘I don’t really understand what you’re talking about,’ she says.
‘It’s hard to articulate.’
It is. It’s very clear in my head but I just can’t say it right, no matter how many times I try.
‘Can I ask one more question?’
‘Of course.’ I take another surreptitious glance at the clock. Yep. Going to miss the train.
‘Why now? Why did you wait until now? Why did we have this week together?’ A single tear trickles down her cheek and I hate myself so much.
‘Because I’m a stupid, stupid idiot,’ I tell her. ‘Initially I didn’t realise what was happening. And then I thought… I don’t know what I thought. I think I thought that once we’d started it wouldn’t make it any worse to carry on for a bit longer because the hurt would already be there.’
She stares at me. ‘You know what I want to say now? But I shouldn’t?’
I shake my head. I think I do know but again I’m not doing well with articulating things.
‘Why leave now is what I mean. Why not finish this next week or next year or next decade? Why not, for the moment, give it a go and just see what happens?’
‘Oh, okay.’ I think I know the answer to this. ‘Because I know that at some point I’ll fuck up and hurt you and it will all end and I’ll be hurt too, which I won’t enjoy. But the worst thing will be that I’ve let you down and you’re hurt, and I don’t want to be in a relationship with you knowing that you’re investing in something that at some point I’m going to destroy. So I think we should stop now. Basically, I don’t want to hurt you.’
‘You mean like you’re doing now?’ she questions.
‘Exactly. Like now.’
‘And did you just hear what we both just said?’ She has this heartbreaking little frown on her face, like she’s puzzled.
‘Yes.’ I nod to confirm.
She looks at me for a long time and then says… ‘So that’s… that?’
‘Yes.’
‘Okay. Well. You should go and get your train then.’ She has tears rolling down both cheeks now. I would like so much to wipe them away for her. I would like even more not to be the person who caused them. And for her never to have needed to cry over me.
It would have been so much better if we’d never met.
Although then we’d never have had the magical times we’ve had together.
Although the magic is pretty tarnished by splitting.
I don’t know. I do not know anything.
I stand up and take the handle of my case and say, ‘Goodbye. I’m so, so sorry.’
And I leave without looking back.
I do miss my train because it’s busy on the Eurostar today, and the staff are impervious to my pleas. There are no seats free anywhere, so I sit on my case and think about what a fucking idiot I am and about the trainwreck of my life. And that is why I’ve done the right thing, because this is apparently what I do when I’m around Emma, I wreck stuff.
I look at the duty-free shop next to me. I’m tempted to buy myself a bottle of Jack Daniel’s and down the whole lot.
I make the best decision I’ve made all week and buy myself a bottle of lemonade instead.
And then I carry on sitting on my case and try not to think about Emma.