26. No. 4 Leave London #2
“Like I said,” I say blankly. “Just come back to fuck everything up for me.”
“I didn’t realise you were seeing someone.” There’s an ounce of hurt in her watery tone and my anger makes an ugly appearance again.
Laughing without humour, I say, “Right, and you’ve been celibate for the last two years, waiting to finally have the talk with me you’ve been avoiding like the fucking plague.”
She looks off to the side. Yeah, I didn’t think so. I pick up the ring and hold it up to her.
“You should have returned this two years ago, when you decided you were going to ghost me. You should have had the common decency to have a conversation with me, but of course you didn’t.
No, you’re Meghan and you only ever do what you want to do, only ever care about yourself.
” I feel yucky being so cold and cruel to her, I loved her once, or maybe I thought I did.
She was important to me and there was a time I’d have done anything to stop her from crying, but right now, I’m the driving force behind her tears.
“That’s not fair,” she says wobbly. “I tried really hard for you, August.” Her voice gets stronger with every syllable.
“You always knew I wanted to get out of Port Doone; you knew that.” She wipes her nose with the back of her hand, and I swallow down the emotion clogging my throat.
“But you only ever wanted to stay here, you wouldn’t even consider it.
I stayed here for you, for years. But I needed to do something.
I begged you to come with me, I wanted you with me.
But you loved Port Doone more than you ever loved me. ”
I look at her, seeing it in the set of her shoulders, the dark circles under her eyes and the fine wrinkles that hadn’t been there the last time I laid eyes on her.
I can’t let go of my anger, but I can understand her a little.
She’s right, there wasn’t a moment when we were together where I considered moving with her when she was offered the job of her dreams in London.
I considered it her choice; her fancy life in the big city or me. She chose the city.
Megs and I were high school sweethearts, and our relationship never grew out of its tempestuous teenage phase.
Even when we were into our late twenties, it was fed by drama and the talk of the village, but I’m not the same man I was then, and I doubt very much she’s the same woman.
We were never right for each other; she should never have worn Jemma’s ring.
“I didn’t know how to actually end things with you,” she admits sadly. “You were calling me, messaging me less and less, and in the end, it was easier to just stop picking up.”
I shake my head. “That still fucking hurt.”
“I know,” she whispers.
What hurt most were the pitying glances from the village every time they saw me step out of my house.
Oh, poor August. He’s been dumped, jilted, left at the altar.
Look at him, just getting on with his life, so brave, so strong.
Did you know August lost the love of his life?
She just upped and left. They’d pat my arm and give me unsolicited advice to my face but speculate about what happened between Megs and me when my back was turned.
Meghan didn’t have to weather that storm, living her best life in the capital while I nursed a broken heart in the spotlight.
Except it wasn’t a broken heart, more of a bruised ego.
“Do you hate me?” she asks, and I sigh.
“I hate what you did,” I tell her. “But I don’t hate you. I don’t think I care enough to hate you.” It’s cruel but true. Any thoughts about Meghan over the last couple of years have been centred about the shitstorm she left me with, and not once have I missed her or wondered what she was doing.
She nods and bats tears from her eyes. “That’s fair. For what it’s worth, I really am sorry about everything that went down between us, August. I regret hurting you, you never deserved it.”
I look at her pink cheeks, dirtied by her makeup running, and the red patch on her lip where she’s been pinching it between her teeth. “And you deserve someone who wants the same things as you.”
She gives me a watery smile. “I hope I haven’t ruined things between you and the coffee girl.”
“Bea,” I correct her sharply.
“Bea,” she repeats. “I hope she understands.”
God, me too.
Meghan stands wiping under her eyes with her fingers and sniffs in a long breath. “I’ll go; I’m sure Mum and Dad have heard about my return.”
“Are you staying? In Port Doone?” I ask, hoping she isn’t.
“No,” she says. “I just needed a break; I’ll pick myself back up and head back to London when I’ve rested up a bit.
” She starts to walk past me, and I grab her wrist to halt her.
No matter what happened over the last two years, Meghan was still a huge part of my life for a long time, and I can’t turn that off completely.
“Are you okay?” I ask earnestly.
She smiles and pats the back of my hand. “I’m fine. Thank you.”
I sit in my kitchen as she shuffles into the hall, I hear her gather her bags and slide into her shoes, then she’s gone. I allow myself twenty minutes of wallowing and defeatism before I light the match of determination and decide I’m not letting Megs ruin something else, intentional or not.