Chapter Fifty Two
Harley - Present Day
After our night at the beach, Quinn asked for a few days away, just the two of us. So I rented an Airbnb, and we hit the road. We had a blast. Just a new couple, young and in love and ready to tackle life together.
But now we’re back. She decided she didn’t need anymore ketamine infusions because her memories are coming back thick and fast. Her pain is managed, and she’s in a relatively normal sleeping pattern.
She still wants to do talking therapy together, so we will continue with our routine sessions in the daytime and see where it leads us.
Today, we have a smaller session. Only for an hour. I don’t want this to consume any more of her time than it has to. Plus, this evening, she has a revenge planning session with Lulu. Apparently, one woman riddled with feminine rage in my life wasn’t enough; I had to go and find another.
We go through our usual pre-therapy routine. Hydration, snacks and of course, Ted.
“What do you want to talk about today?” I ask her.
“School.” That reply surprises me.
“Okay. Anything in particular?”
“Yes. My best friend, Tommo.”
She looks pensive. Nervous. Like I’m about to turn into the Hulk, big and green and angry that she dared to have a man in her life before me.
My brain shortcircuits. What did she just say?
“Who was Tommo?”
“Tommo was a kid in my school. We bonded because we were both outcasts.” There’s no fucking way. I would have known. Wouldn’t I?
I clear my throat. “Okay. Tell me about Tommo.”
I’m sure there are thousands of Tommos in the world.
It doesn’t mean she’s talking about the same one.
But remember earlier on in our story, when I told you there had only ever been one other girl for me.
The one I’d never been able to find? I was her Tommo.
Thomas is my middle name and the name I used to go by because I was either taunted for being named after a motorbike or having the same surname as the national day of love.
“He was the best friend a girl could have wanted. Before you, I genuinely thought he would be the one for me. We were a slow burn waiting for the right time, and then my mum tried to kill herself, and his parents stopped us from seeing each other.”
What the fuck? It is her. I actually want to cry.
I’ve spent my entire life since they took me away at the age of twelve looking for her.
We weren’t in the same class, so I would call her Marie, and she would call me Tommo, like our middle names were secret identities and no one would ever be able to infiltrate us.
There was no need to talk about the bad stuff.
“Baby…”
“Are you mad?”
“What? Why would I be mad?”
“Because I thought he was the one.”
“No, I, uh…”
“What’s wrong, Bones?”
“Tell me one of your favourite memories with Tommo. Humour me for a second.”
“The bluebell fields.”
And just like that, the waterworks start. Tears stream down my face.
“Bones… What’s happening?”
“It’s me, Magpie.” She looks so confused.
“What’s you?”
“I’m Tommo. It’s me.” Her mouth drops.
“No, you can’t be. His parents took him away when he was—”
“Twelve. I know. I never knew the reason why, but the day we left was the day they died. The accident was on the way to our new house.”
“Tell me something only you or I would know.” She sits there in disbelief.
“We would read under the tree, holding hands. Our lake.” It hits me. “The bridge I found you on was at our lake.”
Tears pool in her eyes. “I used to go there after you left, hoping it would be the way you’d find me again. This can’t be real. Is it really you?”
I nod. Thinking of a way I can prove it. “Wait there.”
I take the stairs two at a time, looking for the last picture I took with my parents before we moved. I’m standing in the middle of them with a cheesy grin on my face, but if we’re right, she’ll know straight away.
I run back down the stairs and drop onto my knees in front of her. “Here. Look.”
She turns the photo over in her hands and strokes her finger over the face of the twelve-year-old version of me. “No fucking way,” she whispers. “I looked for you my entire adult life. Everywhere we had been, everywhere that meant something to us. I tried everything to find you.”
“Me too,” I croak back. I bury my head in her lap as she strokes the back of my head. “The day I met you, there was something familiar. Something I couldn’t put my finger on. Like I’d loved you in a past life. There was a reason I started calling you Little Magpie that day.”
“Yeah, because of the magpie song.”
I shake my head.
“Why do you call me Magpie, then?”
“Because the night I met you, I asked my parents for a sign that they were with me. And then there was you. The little magpie sent you to steal my soul.”
She traces the features on my face as she absorbs the information. “It’s really you?” I nod. “So we really are a real-life romance novel.”
I laugh. “A second-chance meet-cute for the ages.” I pull her to me and kiss her like my life depends on it.
All of those childhood stolen kisses flash before my eyes—the feelings of first love, protection, and the memories that I thought I would need to lock in a box forever that can now be brought back to the forefront of my mind.
“I thought I’d lost the love of my life once, and then I found another one and couldn’t believe my luck. Only to find out they’re both the same person. I loved you then. I love you now. And fuck me, I’ll love you always.”
He grabs me up off the chair, and we fall to the floor in a pile of tangled limbs and messy kisses.
Teeth clashing against each other, hearts pounding, both gasping for breath but desperate to tear each other's clothes off. We make love on the floor. It’s all-consuming.
No end goal other than to feel closer to each other, like we want to climb into each other's skins and be joined together forever.
***
Once again we find ourselves on the sofa, in each other's arms, me with my Kindle in hand and him with his own book. We’re scrolling through the TV trying to find something to watch. On the continue watching list is a true crime show that looks interesting.
“What's My Child, My Killer about?”
She looks at me, her brain not comprehending the question. As she’s about to speak, I beat her to it. “Apart from the child being the killer, obviously.” She collapses into giggles.
“Well, the title is self-explanatory, so why would you ask that?” she says.
“Well, I just meant what kind of killers? Ted Bundy’s, Ed Gein’s, etc.”
“Sorry, I didn't realise murderers were separated into categories.”
“Sometimes I really don’t like your brain,” I say to her as she cackles into her can of Coke next to me. I should have kept my mouth shut.
“Today has been wild,” she says. “I can’t believe Tommo is you.”
“It has,” I agree.
“I don’t want any more surprises. I just want to live our life once Eric and Millie are out of the way.”
“What about your dad?”
“That’s next week’s problem. I need to get through this stuff with Lulu first.
“Speak of the Devil, and she shall appear.” Lulu walks in with a smirk on her face. “So, you guys finally figured it out then?” Eavesdropper.
“You knew?” I ask her.
“Of course I did. You think I get away with the things I do without knowing all of the important information I need to know?”
“Why did you never say anything?”
“You guys needed to figure it out for yourselves. If someone else would have told you, it could have added extra pressure you don’t need when you’ve already been dealing with so many other things.
If you paid attention, I’ve been dropping hints the entire time, but it just goes to show that none of ya listens to me.
” She plops herself on the floor next to Ted.
Quinn and I look at each other and burst into laughter. It takes Lulu a second.
“Ewww. Guys. Communal spaces are off limits.” She jumps up off the floor and sits on top of both of us instead.
“Let’s get down to business then, troublemakers.