Chapter Eighteen #2
The words echo around her body, reaching every part of her. She wants to believe them. Wants to believe that she’d meant as much to him as he had to her. But he’d still done it, hadn’t he? Still thought it necessary to end things—in a public way, in front of his family.
Because I knew we were unhappy.
It brings her down, tethering her to an uncomfortable truth. Unhappy. He might have loved her, but he was unhappy doing so.
“ You were unhappy,” she whispers. “I wasn’t.”
“Are you sure about that?” She hates it when he looks at her like that, his gray-green eyes entirely focused on her. It makes it difficult to think, to remember the point she is trying to prove.
“Yes,” she says firmly. He nods, though the action is sad—like he wants her to validate his actions by saying she was miserable too. She wants to ask him at what point he became unhappy—at what point he decided that she was not enough.
She wants to ask if he still loves her now.
“I really wanted it to work, Mel,” he says quietly.
“But London and my job—it was, I don’t know, it felt like I couldn’t function properly.
Like I was playing a role and it wasn’t working.
When you bought the flat, I just panicked—you were making a home for us, and I knew I couldn’t keep going as things were.
And I felt sure I wasn’t living up to your expectations of me. ”
“You should have talked to me about it,” she says, and she can hear the hint of bitterness creeping in. “Maybe we could have moved somewhere else.” Would he have done that? Was it really just about London itself—or is he just trying to soften the blow?
“I could never have asked you to move for me—your job, it’s what you love. You’ve worked so hard for it, and now you’re about to have even more success.”
Right. If she convinces Lillian Hart. If she can keep proving to everyone that she is the ambitious, successful entrepreneur they all think she is.
There’s something else, though.
“You said, when we were cooking…” She hesitates, not entirely sure she wants to go through with her line of thinking.
But she might not get another chance. “You said that your dad dampened your mum. That you were glad she’s managed to find happiness on her own.
” He holds her gaze, lets her talk. “Is that…Did you mean that I did that to you?”
He frowns. “Of course not.” He says it like she should have always known that, like she’s slightly ridiculous even to ask. “I was talking about you. ”
“About me ?”
He rakes a hand through his hair. “I don’t—didn’t—want to be like my dad.
He made my mum unhappy and she never said anything, never complained.
He took away her happiness, her spark, bit by bit, and we all watched it happen, knowing there was nothing we could do.
And I could see it happening to you, Mel, in the months coming up to Hattie’s engagement party.
I could see it happening, and I couldn’t do anything about it.
” He shakes his head, something like self-disgust there.
“I couldn’t stand it, that I was taking away your spark. ”
Mel opens her mouth, but nothing comes out—because she’s not quite sure what to say to that.
He’s wrong—of course he’s wrong. He could never do that to her.
That’s what she should say. She should tell him that it wasn’t him making her stressed in the months leading to their breakup.
But she can’t do it. Because if she admits what was really making her unhappy, then she’ll be admitting that she isn’t the driven, capable, ambitious person Finn thinks she is.
The successful, smart person her parents think she is.
And she isn’t quite ready to do that yet.
“You’re not like your dad, Finn,” she says instead.
He lets out a disbelieving sound—and she lets it drop.
For now. “Why are you telling me all this?” she asks instead.
What she really means is why now? Why after six months is he choosing to lay all this bare—instead of talking to her when they could have done something about it?
When maybe it wouldn’t have been too late.
“Because you were right at the pub, Mel. We should at least be honest with each other.” His gaze holds hers as he says it, and the way he is looking at her tightens something at the base of her core. She should say something. She knows she should say something. But she’s not sure what.
“There you both are!” It’s Susan’s voice, and it makes both Finn and Mel jump. Despite the fact they’re surrounded by people, for a moment it had been just them.
Mel gets to her feet as Susan approaches them, holding Freya’s hand and accompanied by Kristen and Mark. “We’re all heading for a ride on the Ferris wheel,” Susan says, smiling. “Want to join?”
“Ah…” Mel hesitates, trying to think of an excuse. She still has everyone’s presents to buy—and now even less time to do that.
“Thanks, Mum,” Finn says. “But Mel and I were just saying we wanted to check out the whiskey collection at one of the stalls.”
“Is that a euphemism?” Mark asks.
“What’s a euphabism?” Freya asks.
“Children ears,” Kristen hisses.
“And parent ears,” Susan adds pointedly.
“It’s just a way of saying Finn and Mel want to do something else,” Mark tells Freya.
Freya bites her lip, looking a little worried by the idea that this may mean a postponement of the Ferris wheel.
Susan smiles down at her. “Don’t worry, Freya-bean. We’re still going.”
“I seem to remember you refusing to come on one with us when we were kids,” Mark muses. “Was the fear of heights all just an elaborate lie, then?”
Susan draws herself up impressively. “I think I can get over that for a ride with my granddaughter.”
“Good. Because Kristen actually is afraid of heights.”
Kristen gives a sort of shrug-nod to concede this point.
“I’ll drive Mel and me home when we’re done,” Finn says. “Hattie and Dylan have their own car, right?”
“Yes,” Susan says. “Good thing, too, given I’ve no idea what they’re up to.”
“Champagne bar,” Finn says.
“Casino,” Mark says.
Susan rolls her eyes at them, then, partly dragged by Freya, moves off through the market toward the funfair, waving goodbye over her shoulder at Finn and Mel.
Mel can’t help watching Kristen as she walks away too.
Presumably, she hasn’t told Mark about the pregnancy yet—surely it would be a bigger deal if she had.
Mel looks up at Finn. “So. Whiskey, huh?”
He shrugs. “All I could come up with at short notice.”
“Well, thanks.”
He seems to consider her for a moment. “You know, I bought presents for everyone. They definitely wouldn’t expect anything—from either of us—but I’ve already added your name to them. They’re from both of us.” She stares at him. Well, this proves Priya wrong, then.
She can’t think of anything to say other than, “Oh.”
“And I think a tie would be great for Mark, for Secret Santa. But we can have a look for something else if you want?”
She nods slowly. “Okay. Thanks. I’d still like to buy your mum something, though. To say thank you.” And sorry, she adds silently.
“Okay. Well, we’ll have a look. There’s a high street not far away if there’s nothing here.”
She bites her lip. “I have to be back home by five. For the Lillian Hart meeting.”
“Of course. We’ll get you home by then.”
He hesitates, then holds his hand out to her, like a question. And even though there is no one around to see, to pretend for, she takes it.