Stella #3
‘You really can pick them, can’t you?’ he says, half smiling.
He’s teasing, and he doesn’t mean to be mean, so I try not to let my face show quite how much his comment hurts, or quite how true it feels.
Because while I’m not one to victim-blame, it does seem like my track record is quite staggeringly bad, and the only thing that all these men have in common is me.
When I started dating, I was determined to move onwards and upwards from Gavin and instead I managed to spend time with blokes who, to greater and lesser degrees, made Gavin seem like an okay option.
‘Yeah,’ I say, trying to keep the choke out of my voice. ‘My taste is absolutely unparalleled.’
He shakes his head. ‘Why didn’t you tell me what happened? Not to make it about me, obviously – sorry, I’m not trying to be a dick – but I’ve been going insane. All the way here, on the flight, I just kept thinking, fucking hell, what if he killed her or something?’
‘He smashed my phone up,’ I say, trying to keep my tone at least a little bit light. ‘So I couldn’t get in touch. I’m sorry, I would have told you, obviously. I’m really grateful that you called security, and they were great too, so thank you.’
He gets up and wraps his arms around me. I rest my head against his chest and he strokes my hair, rocking me slightly, and I want to stay like this for the rest of forever. He smells so familiar, so warm and clean.
‘Wait,’ I say, pulling away. ‘You were in Ireland?’
He nods. ‘I was.’
‘How did you get back?’
‘Well, I had planned to come by sea, but in the end I decided to go on one of those brand-new flying machines that they’ve invented.’
I roll my eyes. ‘You had a job interview? Today?’
He shrugs. ‘I wanted to get back.’
‘So you flew to Dublin for a job interview and then you flew back less than twenty-four hours later without going to the job interview?’
For the first time in the entire time that I’ve known Dom, who has historically had the kind of effortless brass neck that I’d pay my life savings for, looks bashful. ‘I got an earlier flight, and I skipped the interview, because I wanted to see you.’
I smile. I don’t know what to do with this information, but I still smile.
‘I was with Orla, you remember? Orla who I was—’
‘Shagging before we met, yes.’
‘We had dinner and we went back to her flat.’ He pauses, and I try to look like this is a totally normal thing to hear him say and not bothering me at all.
‘Cool,’ I say, my voice way too high-pitched.
‘And then you called. And she. . . she was the one who told me to get security. I was just a complete mess, absolutely freaking out about the whole thing, but she said she’d known men like that before and there’s no taking chances so she told me to call security and I called them, and then she told me that I needed to go back to England and sort myself the fuck out. ’
Again, I don’t know what to do other than probably send flowers to this woman I’ve never met for saving me.
‘Okay,’ I say slowly.
‘And she asked me why we weren’t making a go of things.’
My stomach twists. ‘Well, if you took the job in Dublin then maybe you could try—’
‘Not me and her,’ he interrupts. ‘You and me. She asked me why I wasn’t making it work with you.’
I stare at him, once again trying to process the vast amount of information being fired at me. ‘And what did you say?’ I ask, at once desperate to hear the answer and wishing that he’d stop talking.
‘I said I was scared that I’d just realised that I want a family and kids and a wife, and all the grown-up stuff that I’ve been putting off for my entire life, and I said I was scared that I want you because I want those things and you’re an instant route to it, and what if I try it out and I don’t like it and I break your heart and fuck Rose over.
And then Orla said what if I’ve only realised I want those things because what I really want is you, and because I’d want any life with you no matter what the set-up was, and I realised that was it – the things she said. ’
‘Orla had a lot of insight,’ I say, slightly dazed.
‘I’m making it sound like she talked me into it,’ he says.
‘A bit. Yeah.’
‘It wasn’t like that,’ he says, talking at double speed.
‘Literally nothing like that – I’m just telling this stupidly badly because I’m nervous.
What I’m actually trying to say is that I have feelings for you and you know that, and you have feelings for me – I’m pretty sure about that – and we have so much fun, and you’re just – you’re the best. And I want to be with you.
I can’t see any reason why we shouldn’t be together. ’
I look at him – at his beautiful, handsome, wonderful face, at his eyes and his beard and his lips, at his coffee-stained T-shirt and his stupidly overpriced Japanese trainers, and I close my eyes. And I say the only sensible thing. The thing that I know I have to say. The right thing.
‘I’m so sorry, Dom. But I just can’t.’
He looks like a little boy, and my heart is breaking watching him. ‘What?’ he asks.
‘I’m not. . .’ I trail off. ‘I’m not a good version of me at the moment. I’m still very, very broken. And the nicest thing I can imagine would be to let you fix me, but I can’t. It wouldn’t be fair.’
His eyes fill with tears, and my eyes fill with tears, and I hate every single thing about what I’m going to have to do.
‘You’re sure?’ he asks. ‘It’s really a no?’
I nod. ‘It’s really a no.’