Chapter 32
Zoltán
I’d never expected to use my fake Instagram account for anything other than stalking Fia’s ex.
Now I used it to look at her social media when my restraint was overpowered by curiosity.
She hadn’t come to Christmas. My calls still went to voicemail.
We hadn’t spoken since that day on the track. Over three months ago.
But I was there.
And I was sitting on my sofa, after the fifteenth medical assessment since I’d last seen her, waiting to get approval to drive.
I just wanted an escape. A way to get out of the house — a way to make living easier.
Though I was worried, I might take off to the nearest airport or drive straight to Surrey. It would take less than twenty hours if I didn’t stop. I likely wouldn’t stop. Not until I crossed the finish line.
But if I did go, I wanted to be prepared.
A lot could happen in three months.
She’d unprivated her account a couple of weeks ago, but hadn’t posted anything other than a story showing how proud she was of her brother for getting his black belt.
The selfie of the two of them, the joy in her eyes, nearly made me cry.
Mostly, relief. Partly, some sick twisted betrayal, even when I knew she deserved to be happy and I wanted her to be.
There were no posts. No more stories. Just silence.
And she wasn’t following anyone called Frank.
So I went on to dull fuck boy Jordan’s page. A story from last night in a low-lit room, a woman’s hand on a water bottle, wearing rings I recognised. Rings I had kissed. Her handwriting was soft and loopy in a notebook. Her laughter was muted by the ruffle of Jordan’s phone’s microphone.
I played it over and over just to hear her enchanting sound, feeling my heart sink lower with every beat of humour.
After my fight with Benedek, Jordan posted a picture that looked like it might have been in her room. A week later, he posted about the translation team at the hospital.
I’d dismissed them. Forced the idea far, far away in my mind. It couldn’t be true.
He still posted another girl often.
Fia had told me she wasn’t jealous.
But I knew I was wrong when I saw the words beside her ringed hand. ‘Partners in mischief reunited.’
I whipped the words into a translating app that came in useful for my English lessons and lost all air.
Partners. Reunited.
Together again.
And that was it. I was losing her all over again.
The app may as well have punched me in the chest. My stomach flipped as if I were mid-crash.
There was nothing I could do. No connection I could make.
Everly and I checked in with each other every now and then, but she’d been quiet recently, and that had to be why. She didn’t want to lie to me.
I wanted her to lie to me.
Mum opened the door as I blinked away frustrated tears and sniffed, before turning on the sofa to see a young blonde woman talking to Mum in Hungarian, her satchel full of material for me to learn.
I dabbed at my eyes with the sleeves of my jumper and smiled, hugging her and waiting patiently for Mum to leave.
It was my own request. Every day, when I had my English lessons, I wanted to be alone with my tutor, Marnie.
Self-esteem and shame steered me into wanting privacy. Language was always my biggest vulnerability. Or, it had been.
But Marnie seemed to believe in me. She saw and praised improvements Fia would never see.
We sat at the dining table like we always did, and Mum waved us goodbye.
Marnie immediately went into action: “I thought we could look at prepositions today—”
I shook my head. “Please, no. I want write. Letter.”
She cocked her brow, suspicion growing across her face. “A letter? To whom?”
I dropped my phone onto the table in front of her so she could see Jordan’s story. And, for the first time, she spoke to me in Hungarian. “Is this wise, Zoltán?”
“I cannot call. Voicemail.”
She smiled at my English and patted my shoulder. “How do you want to do this?”
For once, English wasn’t the issue. The words I wanted to use didn’t come easily, even if I’d rehearsed for weeks — months — what I would say if she knocked on my door, or picked up the phone.
I brainstormed in a frustrated silence until I hoped I had covered everything. Marnie stayed silent, supporting me at my side.
Even when my fists curled as I tried to think of English phrases that encompassed how I felt, my brain got stuck in circles.
After scribbling down five or so sentences, I huffed a sigh and wrote in Hungarian.
Independently, I tried to translate. We hadn’t done any work on reading and writing yet, so I spoke it through to Marnie, getting twisted with the pronunciation of words that looked similar and gripping the table hard.
She offered to write it for me, but that wasn’t the point. They needed to be my words.
We compromised and put a draft through the translating app, looking over why some things didn’t make sense.
Marnie said it was still a good task to help with my accuracy, and when she read through my finished project, she smiled and tapped me on the back.
“This is excellent, Zoltán. You’ve come so far. ”
I nodded, surprised that the words warmed my chest and cheeks. I wanted to believe them, but couldn’t.
I read through my letter once more, knowing it was my last chance and how much I really wanted it to be excellent.
For weeks, I’d wanted to address everything and make her life easier.
This letter, with no action, was meaningless. It was just badly translated words.
I had to do more. She might not open the letter. I wouldn’t blame her.
And the letter wouldn’t help her.
Marnie promised to keep it a secret with our pinkies intertwined and left after a tight hug.
The second she was out the door, I texted my publicist.
ZOLTáN: I’m going to do it. Sorry.
DEREK: Let’s talk it through first. Don’t do anything rash.
But I didn’t reply, because I placed my phone on the kitchen side and pressed record.