Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
JANE
It has taken me nine hours to make it back to Watford. Nine hours of driving, of crying, of frantic stops at service stations. Nine hours of hell. Of ignoring my phone, of running scared, like the wounded creature I am.
Now I’m almost home, and predictably enough, stuck in traffic three miles from our house. I swipe the tears from my eyes, and take a deep breath. I am bumper to bumper, trapped, stuck in a familiar prison of metal and car fumes and beeping horns.
It is a million miles away from Bonnie Bay, and I am a million miles away from being the happy woman I was when I woke up this morning. Can it really have been the same day? Can I really be the same person?
I feel bad for running, for just leaving a note – it was so wrong of me.
But by the time I realised that, I was already hours away, and starting to think that although the way I’d left was unfair, the actual leaving was necessary.
At least if I was going to stay sane. I’d done the only thing that I felt I could at the time.
The only thing that made any sense after seeing that Catrina, the woman he has been sleeping with, is pregnant. The baby could be his. Probably is.
But even if it isn’t… even if it isn’t, the shock of seeing her was enough.
It was like it broke a spell, shattered the dream.
Ruined the stupid fairy tale I’d let myself to fall into.
I couldn’t allow myself the luxury of a final goodbye, to him or to the bookshop.
I knew that if I gave in to that, I might never have the strength to go – and I needed to go. To get some distance between us.
It had all been too much of a rollercoaster, it had all been too fast. A whirlwind of emotion that left me unsure of who I was, or what I wanted from life.
One minute I was happy, ecstatic even, planning a fantasy future with Rory Callaghan – and the next I was looking out of that window, watching him open the car door for Catrina.
My mind had immediately gone into full ‘worst case scenario’ mode, as it so often does. As life has taught it to do. I couldn’t stay there and play make believe with Rory once I’d seen that. It hurt too much, imagining him with her – imagining that baby being his.
Imagining what we’d lost, or never even had. What could have been but was never meant to be. I should have talked to him about it, told him everything, but it was too late.
I needed to escape, and running was the only thing I was capable of doing. The note was cowardly, but better than nothing.
I have Beth, but Rory has no children. Has he wanted them, over the years?
Has he wanted to be a father, to hold his own baby in his arms?
I remember how tenderly he cares for little Alice, and a fresh wave of misery engulfs me.
Of course he should have had his own babies. We should have had them together.
Someone presses their car horn. The traffic suddenly shifts in the mysterious way of traffic, a bottleneck somewhere in the distance clearing.
Within minutes I am home, parked in the driveway.
I climb out of the car, let myself into a cold, dark house.
I climb into my bed, pull the blankets around me, and let the world fade away.
* * *
I am back at work, sitting in my brand new office. It’s a good office, but truthfully, I wish I was sitting in a beautiful little bookshop by the coast instead. I wish I was at the edge of the world, surrounded by its stories, lulled by the song of the sea, snug and safe and…
‘Jane!’ bellows my boss. His office is across the corridor, but he likes to communicate via the medium of yelling whenever possible. I walk towards his lair.
Vivian gives me a sympathetic look as I pass, and whispers: ‘I bet he has a tiny willy. He’s got to be compensating for something!’
I choke back a laugh, and go to deal with John’s latest crisis. He’s been asked by the chairman of his golf club to sponsor a charity event, and wants celebrities to take part in a tournament. ‘Try that Carol Vorderman, would you?’ he pipes up. ‘Fine-looking woman!’
‘She is, yes – but also super intelligent and socially aware. I’ll ask, but don’t count on a yes.’
He looks as though he wants to argue, but I give him The Face.
It’s one I’ve perfected in the last three days, since I’ve been back here.
I took a bit of time at home to cry and feel sorry for myself, then accepted my new job and returned to the daily grind.
It was for the best, I knew. But there are only so many compromises a woman can make, and not accepting all of John’s bullshit is one of them – hence, The Face.
‘Righty-ho,’ he says, going back to his phone. ‘Well, I trust you’ll do your best, Jane, as ever.’
Vivian gives me a sneaky high-five as I leave and go back to my own office.
I check my emails, deal with some minor firefighting, and reply to a message from Beth, who is disappointed that I’m home.
She’s checking in with me more than normal, which is sweet.
I linger on my phone, tempted to google Rory.
Tempted to look at images of him, or the bookshop, or Bonnie Bay in general.
I force myself to put it down, then go a step further and put the phone in my desk drawer.
I can lose hours that way, and it’s not good for me.
I have stayed in touch with Moira, and know she is home and doing well.
Disappointed I’ve gone, but grateful for what I did – especially now they’ve been awarded the maximum grant funding and will be able to support local artists in Bonnie Bay all year.
I’m pleased. Moira deserves it, needs it even – and now the future of the gallery is looking grand, I’m sure hers will be too.
She’s made a valiant attempt to persuade me to come back and paint the portraits, but I have said no.
Maybe one day I will be able to return, but that day is not now.
I sent her my shortlist of candidates instead.
I also know that Rory is not about to become a father. He has called, messaged, explained the situation with Catrina. I felt bad for running away the way I did, and I have apologised for that – but I still think it was for the best.
That moment, seeing him with his pregnant ex, just opened up too much pain. It made me realise that whatever we’ve had together for a few short weeks in Bonnie Bay could never go the distance. It was stupid to ever think it could.
Now I am back here, and I am safe. I have my promotion, and my house to myself, and I have distance. I am back in the land of beige and grey, with the rainbow a far-off thing in an imaginary land.
Right now, that hurts – but it even hurts in a dull way, like an underlying toothache.
I work, I go home, I watch TV. I sometimes eat Domino’s.
I shut off my mind to anything else, and tell myself that eventually, I will forget all about Bonnie Bay.
The Bookshop at the Edge of the World will be nothing but a fond memory, and Rory…
well, he will go back to being what he has been for most of my life.
A mythical beast, like a dragon or one of the Scottish creatures I learned about while I was there, a kelpie or a wulver…
something altogether magical, and not at all real.
It was too much, and I wasn’t ready. I thought I was, but at the first sign of adversity, I crumbled. My confidence was shallow, my foundations were not repaired.
Because what happened when we were eighteen shook me more than Rory can ever know.
And so, I fled – I was scared it would all swallow me whole, yet again.
I know I hurt him too, that he carries his own wounds, but I still couldn’t stay.
I think eventually, something else would have happened – if not the misunderstanding with Catrina, then another problem would have presented itself.
Because life is never free of problems, and now it feels too late – like I can never tell him the whole truth.
This way, at least, I ended it before we both got in too deep. A mere five feet under rather than the full six, perhaps. One day, perhaps he will even thank me.
I sigh, and lean back in my chair. The backrest goes too far, and I bump my head on the wall.
Stupid chair. Stupid wall. That’s the third time that’s happened today, and something needs to change, for the sake of both my skull and the wall.
Why am I putting up with this? I wonder.
I am, after all, Chief Global Project Manager (International).
I pick up the phone and speak to Frank, my friend in maintenance.
He assures me my old chair will be brought up to the top floor by the end of the day.
Huh. If only all problems were so easy to fix.
I hear my phone buzzing away in my drawer, and try to ignore it while I get on with some work. Obviously, I can’t, because I am a mum, and my daughter is currently on the other side of the world. I get it out, and see with a whisper of surprise and a curl of delight that it is not Beth.
It’s him. Rory.
We’ve had little contact since I left. He explained about Catrina. I apologised for abandoning him via a note on the pillow, but told him that I needed some time to think. That we both did. That’s it – until now. Until his name flashes up on my screen.
I open the message, and almost fall off my rubbish chair when I read it.
Jane – we’ve had time to think, and now we need to talk. I’ll be at the train station at six today. You know the one. Please come, you at least owe me this.
Six today? The train station? In Surrey?
The same one we were supposed to meet at all those years ago, at the same time…
Is he out of his mind? I glance at the clock, see that it’s half past four.
I’m in central London. It would be insanely easy to be there.
It would also be… just insane. I feel pressured, put on the spot – and maybe that was his intention.
Maybe he knows that if he gives me too long to consider it, the answer will be no.
I don’t reply. I don’t know what I want to do.
It was easier to ignore Rory when he was safely away in Bonnie Bay.
When I could pretend nothing had happened, tuck away all the longing and the loneliness and the yearning, tell myself I was doing okay.
That Beth would be home soon, that my new job would keep me busy, that it would all settle.
Now he’s snuck up on me, and he has also guilt-tripped me.
I remember his face that first night at his house in Bonnie Bay, when he told me what had happened.
The way he described waiting for me for all those hours, hoping against hope that I was coming.
I can still imagine young Rory, slumped with his rucksack, watching the world pass him by as his heart gradually broke.
His dad picking him up, the lies our families told. The damage they caused.
I stand up, grab my bag. I can’t do that to him again. There is no excuse now – I should not have left without talking to him. I should not have simply placed a note on his pillow and proceeded to cut him out of my life. It wasn’t fair, and I have nobody else to blame.
There are no handy parents around to take this particular hit, it’s all on me. I am scared of seeing him again, excited to see him again, worried that as soon as I do see him, I’ll lose the ability to form words.
He’s right though, we do need to talk. There are things to explain, things to put behind us.
Maybe even a final truth to tell him. Possibly final goodbyes to be said – and if that’s the case, then we both deserve for that to be face to face.
Closure, just like Beth suggested I needed on that trip to Stratford, a lifetime ago.
I stride out into the hallway, and John Marshall immediately spots me. ‘Off early, Jane?’ he asks, despite the fact that I have been here since seven, and take work home with me every night.
‘Nope,’ I tell him, not pausing to engage, ‘off for a meeting with Carol Vorderman’s people!’
‘Ding dong!’ he shouts at my retreating back.
I smirk at Vivian, and whisper: ‘I’m not. I’m leaving early.’
‘You go, girl,’ she replies. ‘He’ll never know.’
Less than an hour later, I’m standing on a train platform, where I should have been standing when I was eighteen.
I haven’t lived in this place since I was in my mid-twenties, and it doesn’t hold especially happy memories for me. It’s not just what happened with Rory, it’s what happened afterwards. The dark times, and the beginning of the grey.
I shudder slightly, still not at all sure that I’m doing the right thing.
It is five to six now, and the place is packed.
I irritate people with my presence, blocking their pathways as they scurry off the train, tired after a long day and not in the mood for a random woman who can’t make her mind up about what she’s doing next.
I don’t blame them. I’m irritated by myself.
I look around, take in the changes that time has wrought.
The little coffee shop is now a Costa, and the waiting room has been done up.
There used to lots of hanging baskets and flower troughs dotted around, but no longer.
Maybe the person who tended to them has retired.
I wonder if the ticket office is still there, or if everything is automated now?
I wonder if any of the same people still work here?
I wonder if I can possibly stay rooted to this one spot forever, and never have to face up to what comes next?
I wonder if I could get on the next train back to London without him even seeing me?
No, I tell myself. I can’t do that. I take a deep breath, and head to the exits.
We’d arranged to meet at the side of the building back then, and that’s where I go now.
It’s so strange, all of it. My legs feel weak as I walk, and the rest of me joins them when I see him.
I grasp hold of the brickwork, and stare.
Rory. Older, no rucksack, but still unmistakably him.
His eyes lift from his phone, and meet mine.