Chapter 16
All the way to the train station I kept replaying Megan’s words over and over in my head.
‘You care, but you don’t stay.’
Was she right? I wanted to argue, to defend myself, to say I had reasons: Pim, work commitments, a life that kept pulling me away. But all the reasons felt paper-thin now, pathetic against the ache in Megan’s voice. She was right, I hadn’t been there the way she needed.
I hadn’t known things were so bad between her and Alex, but her eyes were red and glassy with tears; they shared more than she knew. She was used to crying, this was her normal.
And I hadn’t asked, not really.
I swallowed hard, guilt rising thick and fast. I had stayed out of it, because looking too closely meant getting tangled up in things I didn’t know how to fix.
And maybe, deep down, I was still that ten-year-old girl who had watched her mother slip away, helpless to stop it.
I learned early that love didn’t always get to win.
And that the best way to survive the pain was to run.
So I ran. For years, to other countries, other jobs, other lives, convincing myself I was chasing adventure, not just outrunning the grief that had long since built a home inside me.
Convincing myself that living life to the fullest was what Mum would have wanted.
But maybe all that running made me blind to what I was leaving behind. To who I was leaving behind.
A flash of Simon’s face crossed my mind; the busker with kind eyes and hands that could make magic out of a battered guitar. There could be something there, something real, if I ever dared to stay still long enough to find out.
But Megan was right, when had I ever stayed?
I rubbed my eyes, feeling the night crash down on me, all of it.
I had wanted to argue my side; I wasn’t the one who cheated after all – and me keeping Josh’s secrets was hardly a demerit on me as a friend. I’d keep Megan’s secrets the same way, not that she was sharing them with me these days, apparently.
As the train station came into view, my gut felt hollow. I knew it was for the best that I left the scene, no matter how much I didn’t want to leave things as they were; I especially didn’t want her to feel alone. She was my best friend, my sister.
But I had left her standing there, holding Alfie, both crying in the dark.
So I walked, vacantly staring ahead until I reached the train station, only realising it had begun to snow as a homeless man shook out his sleeping bag at the entrance to the platform. I gave him the change in my pocket – barely enough for a coffee in McDonald’s these days – and continued to cry.
‘Cheers, love, and cheer up. It’s Christmas,’ he mumbled in thanks.
I removed my phone to pay the Oyster charge. It buzzed, once and then again. And again.
At first, I assumed it was Megan, maybe regretting sending us all away, having come to her senses after a few minutes alone. But when I opened the screen, I was flooded with notifications.
TikTok alerts. Instagram tags. Work WhatsApps blow-ing up.
I clicked on one. A video. Pim and Michael Holland, mid-argument, outside the BBC studios. The caption underneath: Pim’s O’Clock? More like Pim and the Cock!
My stomach sank as I tapped the ‘Play’ button. Holland’s sneering face filled my screen, followed by Pim’s unmistakable clipped tones, her retort sharp, her body language defensive.
And then, the final notification at the top of my screen. A message from Pim herself:
‘WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING ABOUT THIS?’