Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
TOM
Time breezes by like a kiss of wind when you are planning a major life change. I thought the month to sort the surgery, pack, maybe steel my resolve, would give me time.
It hasn’t.
The village moves on, the hanging baskets wilted under the glare of the sun, despite Dot’s ministrations. Isla soon-to-be-Harding is now looking like she wants to explode, or beat Kit to a pulp, whichever comes first, and Jude is starting to panic about starting university in September.
Time moves on.
And yes, I’m moving on.
But the café smells the same. Coffee and sugar and warm pastry, the scent that’s been the backdrop of a thousand conversations.
This will be the last one.
Nina’s behind the counter when I walk in. Her hands still on the coffee machine. Her face goes carefully neutral as she spots me walking in.
‘Tom.’
‘Nina.’
Dot’s in the corner with her crossword. Two tourists by the window, arguing over a map. Otherwise empty. Monday morning lull.
‘Can I get you a coffee?’ Nina asks. Her voice is bright and professional. The voice she uses on tourists, never on me, not until now.
‘No. I just—’ I stop. Start again. ‘I’m leaving tomorrow. For Scotland. I wanted to say goodbye.’
‘I know. Dot told me.’ She still won’t meet my eyes. ‘Good luck.’
‘That’s it? Good luck?’
‘What else do you want me to say?’
Say don’t go.
But I don’t say that. I just stand there, hands in my pockets, watching her wipe down a counter that’s already clean.
‘We’ve been friends for eleven years,’ I say.
‘I know how long we’ve been friends, Tom.’
‘And this is how it ends? Good luck and a handshake?’
She stops wiping. Looks at me finally – really looks, and her eyes are bright, glittering. Anger, maybe. Or hurt. Or the nameless thing that sits underneath both.
‘What do you want from me?’
‘I want—’ The words stick. ‘I want to understand what happened. One day we were fine, and the next you couldn’t stand to be in the same room as me. I know I hurt you. I know I should have told you about the ring. But I don’t understand how that erases eleven years of—’
‘It doesn’t erase anything.’ Her voice is sharp. ‘But it changes things. You kept something from me. The one thing that mattered most, and you carried it around for eight months. How do I know what else you haven’t told me? You were there on the boat, the night’—she swallows—‘the night he…’
‘There’s nothing else.’ I run a hand through my hair, barely noticing the tangles that catch around my fingers.
‘How would I know that?’
‘Because I’m telling you. Because it’s me. Because— Christ, Nina. It’s me. Tom. The person who’s been there for everything. Who held your hand at the funeral. Who brought you a dog because I thought it might help. I made one mistake – one – and suddenly I’m the enemy?’
‘You’re not the enemy.’
‘Then what am I?’
She doesn’t answer. Just stands there, cloth in hand, jaw tight.
Dot clears her throat loudly in the corner. I’d forgotten she was there.
‘Don’t mind me,’ she says, not looking up from her crossword. ‘Eleven across is giving me trouble. Seven letters, starts with D. “Wilful blindness”.’
‘Dot.’ Nina’s voice carries a warning.
‘I’m just doing my crossword. Completely unrelated to anything happening in this room.’ Dot fills in a word with great concentration. ‘Although if I were going to comment – which I’m not – I might observe that two stubborn people who refuse to say what they mean deserve everything they get.’
‘Nobody asked you.’
‘Nobody ever does. And yet.’ Dot turns the page. ‘Carry on. Pretend I’m not here.’
I look at Nina. She looks at me. The tourists by the window have stopped arguing about the map and are now watching us with open interest.
‘Can we talk somewhere private?’ I ask.
‘I’m working.’
‘Nina—’
‘I said I’m working.’ She turns back to the coffee machine.
Starts adjusting the grinder settings – the ones she reset yesterday, the ones that don’t need touching, and I know this because I’ve watched her do it more times than I can count.
‘Have a safe trip, Tom. I hope Scotland is everything you want it to be.’
The dismissal is clear. Final.
I should say the thing. The real thing, the one I’ve been carrying for years, the one that’s sitting in my chest right now like a fist. But saying it here – in front of Dot and two tourists and a coffee machine she’s pretending needs attention – would be cruel.
Not to me. To her. Because she’d have to stand in her own café and deal with it after I’ve gone.
So I don’t. My jaw clenches. I breathe through my nose.
But there is one thing I want to say. Need to say and have been wanting to for months now.
‘I’m sorry that I’m the one who came back out of the water and not Peter.
I guess that’s the real way I’ve failed our friendship.
If it had been the other way around, you’d be happy now. ’
I’m standing right there, watching her shoulders stiffen, watching her back straighten, but she still won’t turn around.
‘Goodbye, Nina.’
She doesn’t answer. Her back is to me, shoulders rigid, hands busy with nothing.
I walk out. The bell chimes behind me. I don’t look back.
I can’t.
The morning is grey and soft, mist rolling in from the sea.
Fitting, really. The village shrouded in fog, everything slightly blurred, like a photograph that didn’t develop properly. Like a memory already fading.
The Land Rover is packed. Everything I need for the first few months – clothes, books, the few possessions that matter. The rest can follow later, if there is a later. If I decide to stay.
Mum’s standing by the gate, arms folded, trying not to cry.
‘You’ve got everything? Clean pants? Your winter coat? It gets cold up there, Tom. Properly cold. Not like here.’
‘I’ve got everything, Mum.’
‘And you’ll call? Every week? More than every week?’
‘Every week. I promise.’
‘Every day,’ Hayley says. She’s leaning against the wall, trying to look casual and failing. ‘Call every day. We need updates. What’s Cara cooking for dinner. Whether you’ve seen Nessie the Loch Ness Monster. Important stuff.’
‘I’m not going to call every day.’
‘Then text. Texting counts.’
‘Fine. I’ll text.’
Meg barrels out of the house, straight out the shower, and throws her arms around me, pressing wet hair into my chest. ‘I can’t believe you’re actually going. This is stupid. Scotland is stupid. Why can’t you set up a veterinary practice somewhere civilised, like Newquay?’
‘Newquay already has vets. Lots of them.’
‘Then they can have one more.’ She pauses, eyes narrowed, lips pursed. ‘You could commute. People commute to work, they don’t all live upstairs in a convenient flat like you do.’
‘You want me to commute from Cornwall to Inverness?’ I laugh and rub at her wet hair, but it sounds a little hollow.
‘There are planes, Tom. Don’t be dramatic.’
Dad appears in the doorway. He doesn’t say anything, which is one hundred per cent what I expect, he just walks over and pulls me into a hug. Tight. Brief. When he lets go, his eyes are suspiciously bright.
‘You’ll do well,’ he says gruffly. ‘You’re a good vet. They’re lucky to have you.’
‘Thanks, Dad.’
‘And if it doesn’t work out—’
‘I know. I can always come home.’
‘You can always come home.’ He claps me on the shoulder. ‘But give it a proper go first. No running back at the first sign of trouble.’
‘I will.’
The family clusters around the car. More hugs. More promises to call and text and visit.
And then, walking up the harbour road, I see her.
My chest tightens before my brain catches up. Just the shape of her – the walk, the posture, the dark hair – and my body knows before I do.
Nina.
She’s not coming to say goodbye – I can tell by the way she’s walking. Purposeful. Directed. She’s heading for the café, probably, or the shop, or anywhere that isn’t here.
But Mum sees her too.
‘Nina! Nina, love, come say goodbye to Tom!’
Nina freezes. I see the moment she considers pretending she didn’t hear. Then her shoulders drop slightly into goddamn resignation, and she changes direction. Walks towards us.
‘Ivy.’ Her smile is perfect. Completely fake, but perfect. ‘Don. Hey, girls.’ She nods at Meg and Hayley.
‘We’re just seeing Tom off,’ Mum says. She pulls Nina into a hug that Nina clearly wasn’t expecting. ‘Can you believe he’s actually going? My boy, off to Scotland. I keep hoping he’ll change his mind at the last minute.’
‘Mum—’
‘I’m just saying. It’s not too late. You could stay. We’d all be very happy if you stayed.’ Mum looks between me and Nina with an expression that’s not remotely subtle. ‘Wouldn’t we, Nina?’
‘I’m sure Tom knows what’s best for him,’ Nina says, voice tight.
‘Does he though? Men are notoriously bad at knowing what’s best for them. Isn’t that right, Don?’
‘Leave me out of this.’
Mum’s still looking at Nina. ‘Some men just need a push, that’s all. A little nudge in the right direction.’
‘Mum,’ I cut in before this gets any worse. ‘I need to go. It’s a long drive.’
‘Right. Yes. Of course.’ Mum hugs me again. Then again. Hayley has to physically pull her away.
I turn to Nina.
She’s standing slightly apart from the group, arms wrapped around herself despite the warmth. For the first time since we met, I can’t read her face. It’s blank.
‘Goodbye, Nina.’
‘Goodbye, Tom.’
We don’t hug. We don’t shake hands. We just stand there, a metre of distance between us that might as well be an ocean.
‘Take care of yourself,’ I say.
‘You too.’
‘And if you ever need anything—’
‘I’ll manage.’
The words land like a door closing. Quiet. Final. No room on the other side.
‘Right.’ I nod. ‘Well. Goodbye, then.’
‘You already said that.’
‘I know.’
I get in the car. Close the door. Start the engine.
The family waves. Mum’s crying now, not even trying to hide it. Hayley’s blowing kisses. Meg’s making threatening gestures that probably mean call me or I’ll kill you. Dad’s just standing there, hand raised, solid and steady as always.
And Nina. Nina’s standing at the edge of the group, arms still wrapped around herself, watching me go.