We Were on a Break

Chapter 21

21

CALLUM

I’m in a huge rush to make it to pick Thea up from her party on time because I stayed at Azim and Becca’s for longer than I should have done, waiting for Emma to leave so that I could make a gigantic arse of myself asking her out.

Marvellous all round.

I think about Emma for the entire journey.

I’m gutted that she got back with her ex.

They got back together in Paris. In fucking Paris. Right after I walked out of her life. The night after our last perfect evening together.

I don’t think I’m being arrogant to feel that it’s entirely my fault, that we could be together now if I hadn’t walked away at that point.

I am the most stupid person I’ve ever met.

I just threw away an opportunity to be happy.

Well, there we go. I was thinking back there that I’ve grown up and that maybe I no longer wreck things. Wrong, clearly.

I really hope Emma’s happy.

Maybe this is for the best. For her, anyway. And I do very much want her to be very happy.

Okay. I am not going to fuck up and be late for Thea on top of the Emma debacle.

Having taken every back route and cheeky dodge that I know of and crossed London in record time, I squeeze the car into a parking space a ten-minute walk from the party, and sprint, arriving only a couple of minutes late.

That’s definitely my biggest win of the day so far, and it’s made even better when Thea, on sight of me, breaks into a huge smile. I might be a complete idiot but my daughter loves me and I got here for her, and in this moment not a lot else counts.

I’m taking her for pizza before returning her to her mum in time for her to get an earlyish night before school tomorrow morning. I have a rule that I won’t look at my phone when I’m eating with her and I’m certainly not going to be breaking it this evening because I don’t want to fuck up anything else in my life.

As we approach the pizza place, my phone vibrates. Maybe it’s Emma.

I’m so pissed off about her getting back with her ex. It didn’t really occur to me that she’d have a partner. But why wouldn’t she? What an arrogant, stupid idiot I’ve been. I wonder if that message was from her. No, of course it wasn’t.

After I’ve parked and we’re getting out of the car, I take a cursory glance at my screen; I’ll read and reply to any messages when I’ve said goodbye to Thea later but I can’t help wanting to confirm that Emma hasn’t for some reason been in touch.

One message – from Emma – stands out.

I lied.

What? I can’t drag my eyes away from the screen. My fingers are literally itching to reply to ask what she means.

‘Daddy, are we going?’

God. I’m not jeopardising my relationship with Thea in any way, including in ignoring her so that I can attempt to sort out my messed-up not-a-relationship with Emma.

‘Sorry, Thea.’ I push my phone into my pocket and lock the car.

I can’t help wondering, though, as we walk to the restaurant, what Emma means. She lied about what?

‘Daddy, can I have dough balls and garlic bread?’

I laugh and say, ‘Only if you share with me.’

I’ll ask Emma later. Not now.

I force my attention from thoughts of Emma to Thea and as always have a great evening with my daughter.

To my shame, though, after I’ve hugged her goodnight on her mum’s doorstep, I don’t even wait until I’m back in the car before pulling my phone out and opening Emma’s message.

I type as I walk along the pavement:

What did you lie about?

I get into the car and sit at the wheel for several minutes, waiting for Emma’s reply, but there’s nothing, so eventually I just drive home.

For the next couple of hours, I pounce on my phone every time it vibrates, until finally, as I’m getting ready for bed, I get a reply from Emma.

I didn’t get back with my ex.

My eyebrows nearly hit my hair. Oh my God.

That’s huge. Gigantic.

I’m smiling, I realise, just because she did not in fact get back with her ex. Does that make me a bad person?

I have a lot of questions.

Why did she lie about it this afternoon? And why is she telling me the truth now?

I wish we were in the same place because it would be a lot easier to gauge things face to face. And also, I’d really love to just be with her again, but that’s nothing new.

Why did you tell me that you did?

I type, and then delete it because it sounds curt and aggressive.

I think hard for quite a long time, and then write:

Are you okay?

I stare at my words for a bit and eventually decide that that’s the best I’m going to come up with, and send the message.

Emma replies almost immediately, while I’m still holding my phone, staring at it as though that will have some telepathic effect.

Her text says:

I’m a little confused.

I write:

What are you confused about?

I send it immediately before I can waste more minutes wondering whether it’s the right thing to say and possibly causing her to get bored and effectively end the conversation.

I’m confused about why you would ask me to go on a date.

I type:

It’s because I love you.

But then I delete my words in a panic, because that doesn’t seem a sensible thing to say. Or maybe it would be. I don’t know.

I want to write something , though, because otherwise the conversation might end.

In the end, I write:

Would you be happy to meet me so I can tell you?

Now Emma’s typing and deleting and typing and deleting and then… nothing.

Fuck. Maybe asking her to meet was too pushy. And – of course; metaphorical head slap – I now realise that the reason she lied is probably that she really doesn’t want to go on a date with me because she’s moved on and that was the first excuse that came into her head.

Okay. I’m going to brush my teeth.

The second I stand up, leaving my phone on the table, I hear it buzz.

In response to my question about whether she’d be happy to meet, Emma has written:

I think so.

Fuck me. I literally punch the air and then, with incredible restraint, write:

Great. When are you free?

There’s a pause and then she says:

Maybe Saturday afternoon?

I reply:

Perfect.

I was supposed to be going away for the weekend with friends. I’ll have to join them on Saturday evening.

I really want to send Emma another message telling her that I love her, but sanity prevails, and I just type:

Let me know where you’d like to meet and when.

I feel like a kid of Thea’s age waiting for Christmas Day. I already know that this week is going to drag. Oh my God I’m excited. I feel as though this is my one remaining chance – forever – with Emma.

I do not want to mess it up.