Chapter Twelve #3
‘No,’ she says quickly. ‘No.’ She lets out a long breath.
‘It was a really long time ago.’ She hesitates.
‘I was twelve.’ Sometimes it helps for people to know that – it makes the grief seem less immediate, more manageable.
It means they don’t worry as much about what to say.
‘I just … I still think about it every year. On that day.’
He nods, and although she doesn’t look, she can feel his gaze on her face.
‘Of course you do.’ It’s said sincerely, but she doesn’t think he can understand the full extent of it.
She wonders, too, if he has the same assumption everyone else does – that because it was so long ago, she should have got over it by now.
And she finds herself opening her mouth, wanting to explain, to justify, before he can ask. ‘It’s not all the time or anything. I just, sometimes I remember her and I—’
‘Lissa.’ Her name is an interruption. ‘You don’t need to explain it to me.
That kind of grief … it never really leaves you.
I get it. Trust me.’ She finally looks back at him, his gaze waiting for her.
And the way he is looking at her – she believes him.
She wants to ask who he lost, because he is so clearly speaking from experience.
But he doesn’t seem to want to elaborate, and she is not one to pry.
‘So,’ she says, ‘have you spoken to Mark recently?’ As far as changes of subject go, it’s not great, but it’s all she can come up with on the spur of the moment.
‘We speak every now and then, yeah.’ He looks down at her. ‘Have you?’
‘Well, I mean we work together, so …’
He nods thoughtfully. ‘Still broken up?’
She wrinkles her nose. ‘Yes. I mean, I’m not sure we had anything to break up, but still.’ She bites her lip.
‘What?’ he asks.
‘Nothing. I just … Did you tell him you were meeting me?’
‘It hasn’t come up.’ His tone is easy, but there was enough of a hesitation that she feels sure he knows what she’s saying. ‘You’re wondering if I asked his permission,’ he states, confirming her theory.
‘No, I … Well, yes.’ Although permission feels a bit strong to her. Permission for what, exactly?
‘I’m not deliberately not telling him,’ he says, pulling his hat off his head and rumpling up his hair. ‘I know there was something between you, I know he liked you – and I’m not trying to be a dick or anything.’
Not trying to be a dick. Permission.
She has to ask, she realises. ‘Ash, this isn’t a …
date, is it? Because I’m not … I don’t think I …
’ She’s trying to find a way to explain just what a bad idea it would be to go there, Mark or no Mark.
That she has issues, that she needs to figure things out before she thinks about getting involved with another person. ‘It’s just I—’
He places a hand lightly on her arm to stop her talking. ‘Lissa, relax. It’s not a date. I just wanted to check you were all right, that’s all.’
‘Okay.’ She lets her breath out on a whoosh, though she can’t quite name the feeling coiling inside her. It should be relief, right? ‘Okay,’ she repeats. ‘Good.’
‘Ash?’ They both look around at the sound of a woman’s slightly high-pitched and definitely very loud voice.
‘It is you!’ The woman – blonde hair a shade darker than Lissa’s, wearing a hat that is definitely a lot more chic than the star hat, and heeled boots that would make Darcy drool – launches herself at Ash, pulling him into a hug, which he returns, patting her on the back.
‘Hey, Niamh.’
Lissa takes a moment to realise why she recognises the name, then remembers.
Mark mentioned it at the pub quiz. She doesn’t know why she remembers, but the fact that she does makes her a little uncomfortable.
Or maybe it’s more to do with the way Niamh is looking at Ash, kind of like she wants to eat him, and hasn’t yet acknowledged Lissa with so much as a glance.
‘It’s been too long,’ Niamh says, squeezing Ash’s arm for emphasis. Lissa feels that clearing her throat pointedly is a bit beneath her, but she’s tempted to do it anyway.
‘Niamh, this is Lissa.’ Ash’s voice, however, is definitely pointed, and it makes the corners of Niamh’s mouth turn down. She acknowledges Lissa with a semi-polite nod.
‘So you’re back?’ she asks, turning back to Ash.
Someone calls her name behind her – one of a group of women – and she waves a hand vaguely in their direction.
‘Look, I have to go,’ she continues, without waiting for Ash to answer – and as if it had been him who interrupted her, not the other way around.
‘But if you’re back in town, we should go out.
Call me, yeah?’ Another squeeze of his arm and she’s gone.
Lissa stares after her, then turns slowly to raise her eyebrows at Ash.
He laughs at her expression. ‘Exgirlfriend?’ she guesses.
Although maybe not so ex. Maybe it’s more of a continuous thing.
The thought makes her gut squirm uncomfortably.
If she’d known about this before, she wouldn’t have awkwardly brought up the date thing.
‘Ex-hook-up,’ he corrects.
‘Ah. Not a relationship sort of guy?’ She shouldn’t be asking this. Besides, she can hardly judge, can she? If anyone’s not the relationship type, it’s her.
He shrugs. ‘Only if it’s right. And it was always casual between us.’
‘She definitely still wants to be with you,’ Lissa says as they start walking again.
‘Nah. She’s more of a grass-is-always-greener kind of gal. Which, to be fair to her, she actually admitted while we were …’ He trails off.
‘Hooking up?’
‘Right. Well, anyway, she sees me with a hot girl, assumes we’re together, immediately wonders if there’s something she’s missing. Hence the, you know …’ He waves a hand behind him, presumably to indicate whatever it was Niamh did.
Hot girl. Something sparks inside her at the idea that he thinks she’s hot, enough that she has to stop herself from smiling. Then she frowns at herself. Get a bloody grip, Lissa. Are you fourteen?
‘Something up?’ he asks.
‘Nope,’ she says, in what she hopes in an easy tone. ‘So are you all Christmassed out yet?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. I reckon we’ve got time for a mulled cider or two.’ He cocks his head, still wearing that ridiculous hat, as he waits for her answer.
He’s being friendly, Lissa. Nothing more. ‘Sure,’ she says, in her best impression of a breezy tone. ‘I’m game if you are.’