Chapter 23 #2
Catrina has left, tooting her horn as she drives off.
I stand outside the house for a moment, staring down at the bay.
I need to take a breath. That was a lot – a bloody big bastard of a rollercoaster.
I glance at my watch, see that I’ve been gone for almost two hours.
Hopefully Jane will have gone back to sleep, or be pottering around the house.
Hopefully I can make it up to her, that sudden departure this morning.
Explain to her that I felt ambushed, had no idea what was going on.
That I couldn’t wait to get back to her.
I’m also pondering the thought of children, as I let myself in and shout her name.
We’ve not discussed it. We’ve not had time to formulate life plans beyond one day at a time, but I wonder if that’s something she’d be interested in?
I mean, it doesn’t matter if she’s not – if Beth is enough for her, then she will be enough for me.
I love Jane and I want to spend the rest of my life with her, with or without kids.
I want her as my partner, not a baby machine.
But she is younger than Catrina, so who knows?
It could still be possible, if that is something she is interested in…
I pause in the hallway, listening out. Hoping for a snatch of a quiz show from the living room, or the sound of her clattering away in the kitchen.
Nothing. Huh. Asleep, or in the shower, or maybe in the studio…
she could even have gone out, now I come to think of it, maybe off to see Moira?
She usually parks her car at the side of the building, and I can’t remember if it was there or not.
I run up the stairs, hoping she’s still in bed.
Hoping I can shed these annoying clothes I’m wearing, climb under the covers, take up where we left off this morning.
Then later, I will tell her all about Catrina – and she will very possibly laugh at me for my dumbstruck moment of panic when I first saw her.
I knew Catrina saw other people, so logically, I shouldn’t have assumed it was mine – but when a woman you last had sex with six months ago turns up on your doorstep with a pretty big bun in the oven, you have to wonder…
I shout Jane’s name again, and head along the landing.
I pass the room that used to be hers, and the door is wide open.
I glance inside, and see that it looks bare of her clutter.
Even though she has spent every night in my bed recently, she’s kept most of her stuff in here.
I stand in the doorway now, and frown at what I see.
The wardrobe is open and empty. The dresser is free of her make-up and hairbrush.
The suitcase that has lived in the corner has gone. Has she taken it all to my room?
I hope so. I desperately hope so – but there is a sick feeling starting to creep into my gut, a physical nausea that tells me all is not well.
I push open the door to my room, hoping against hope to see her there.
Lying in my bed, waiting for me. Holding out her arms and welcoming me.
Sharing that beautiful smile of hers, the one that promises the world…
She’s not here. The bed is neat and tidy, the curtains are open. The sun floods the room, shining on the white envelope on the pillow.
I hate that envelope. I hate what every instinct in my body tells me it means.
If she’d just been nipping out for the messages, or off to see Moira, she’d have texted.
And she wouldn’t have taken her suitcase.
She wouldn’t have handwritten a note, and left it here for me to find like this.
My mind flashes back, rewinding to that day so many years ago – leaving to meet Jane at the train station.
Full of hope and excitement at the adventure we were about to embark upon.
Leaving a note for my family to find later, one that I now know was used against me.
I bite the inside of my cheek so hard I taste blood. I force myself to walk towards it, that simple envelope now looking like a prop from a horror film. A harbinger of doom. The end of our brief and foolish happiness.
I pick it up, sit on the side of the bed before I fall. I’m weak with it, unmanned with dread.
Rory, it says, her handwriting messier than normal:
I’m really sorry but I have to leave. This has all been too much, too fast. I think we both lost ourselves in it, lost sight of reality.
Got caught up in the romance. We’re grown-ups now and we both have a lot to think about.
I’m sorry, I didn’t want to hurt you, but I can’t stay.
I think we need some time apart, or at least I do.
My head is a mess, and I have to try and un-mess it.
I can’t do that when I’m near you. Forgive me, please, and take care of yourself
– Jane xxx
I’m crying as I read, and I don’t care. Why the fuck wouldn’t I cry?
I’m sad and angry and broken. I’m raw and hurt and pained.
Mainly, I’m a kid again – I’m that lost boy slumped outside a train station, refusing to give up hope.
Choosing to still believe in her, in us, even as the evidence of betrayal mounted.
Even as the hours ticked by and she didn’t show up.
I know logically that this is different. I know now that night wasn’t real, that it was down to the misguided actions of our parents. I know that all of the bitterness I felt towards her wasn’t fair. But now, with this? Now she’s put me right back in that place.
Since she’s been here I’ve started to realise how empty my life has been without her in it.
And now, just like that, she’s gone again?
After everything we said to each other last night?
It doesn’t add up. I get that it’s been fast, and a sensible person would agree that we maybe should slow down, take more time.
But I’m not a sensible person. I’m a man in love, and it just doesn’t make any bloody sense…
The only thing I can come up with that explains it is if she saw Catrina somehow.
What if she looked out the window, saw her?
What if she put two and two together, and came up with a not at all unreasonable five – just like I did?
That could be it, I decide. But that still leaves me sad and angry.
If that’s what happened, why didn’t she say so?
Why didn’t she give me the chance to explain, for us to work stuff out?
Why didn’t she care enough to find out for sure?
I’m screwing the note up in my fists, and the anger is building. Was I wrong to give this a second chance? Was I a fool to believe that we could repair this much damage? And perhaps more importantly, what the hell should I do next?