Chapter 2
THEN
One Month Earlier
Mid July
My knee bounced against the table leg, making my cup rattle on the wooden surface. Noise pressed in from all sides. Voices overlapping, laughter rising too loudly, suitcase wheels rumbling and chairs scraping over the tiled floor, the coffee machine hissing behind the bar.
I took a shaky breath. The bar in the departure lounge was packed, the tables were pushed close together, bags obstructed every walkway, people huddled in pairs and groups.
It was all too much. Too loud. Too close.
I was right there in the middle of everything, and yet, somehow, I didn’t belong. The laughter, the chatter, the pulse of excitement that ran through the bar was another reminder that I was different.
I pressed my hand to my forehead, trying to block out the noise, the busyness, but it continued to close in, wrapping itself around me until I could barely breathe.
They were oblivious. Too caught up in their own excitement to think about anyone else around them. Their joy grated. It felt selfish. Intrusive.
I fought back the overwhelming rush of frustration that burned deep within me.
It wasn’t fair to resent them. They were strangers to me, so why should I want them to be as lost and lonely as I was?
We were in an airport waiting for flights to exotic locations, the starts of holidays, adventures, time away from work and troubles and everything else.
Except for me.
For me, it wasn’t an escape. It was a ritual.
I slumped back in the chair. Maybe it was time to let go of the past, to face the future, to embrace it. I wasn’t sure why I was torturing myself for a second time.
I’d told myself last year was a one-off. A way to acknowledge the first anniversary. The one and only time I’d do it. That it was part of the healing process. Something I needed to do to get closure. And, yet, here I was again.
I pushed away my cold cup of tea and let out a sigh. The truth was I didn’t resent the people around me. I envied them – the couples, the families, the groups laughing together. I was the only one sitting alone. I felt that isolation slice into me.
It was a foolish idea. And yet I was here. What could I do? I’d already come through security. How did you even get out of an airport unless you flew? I was trapped. Trapped by my own decisions. My own desperation. My past.
The only thing I could do was what I’d done for the last two years: get through it. I shuffled up in the chair, straightened my back, lifted my chin. I was good at that. I’d proved that getting through things was something I excelled at. I always had. This was no different.
A clatter behind me made me flinch. A gush of apologies and scraping chairs as people moved to let someone through.
‘I’m sorry. Sorry.’
The guy was apologising profusely. Mortified and embarrassed. And yet I couldn’t help but stare. The part of my brain that would normally have leapt into action, offering help and reassurance that it was okay, was offline. All I could do was watch.
I knew what I was doing here. But him? This was the last place I had ever expected to see him again.
He looked older, as though the two years we’d spent apart had aged him. But then they had aged me too. Despite the small creases around his eyes, he was still achingly familiar.
I glanced over his shoulder, searching for the rest of his group – his family, his partner, his wife. But there was no one.
‘Kirsty?’
The sound of my name pulled me back.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Waiting for my flight,’ I said flatly. The statement felt stupid. Of course I was waiting for my flight. That wasn’t what he’d meant. It was obvious but, at the same time, nothing about the situation felt obvious.
We’d lived fifteen minutes away from each other for two years, yet I hadn’t seen him since the day we parted. He hadn’t come after me. He hadn’t called. He’d just moved on.
‘It’s, er, been a while,’ I said overly brightly as I tried to move the conversation on.
‘Two years,’ he said without hesitation.
I blinked, caught off guard by the speed of his response.
‘How have you been?’ he asked. It should have sounded like small talk, the kind of question you ask an old friend you haven’t seen in ages.
But we weren’t old friends. We’d been so much more than that, and his question carried weight. How had I been without him, without the life we’d planned together?
I plastered a bright smile on my lips. ‘Really good, thanks.’
Ryan shifted. It was a tiny movement, but it felt significant.
Or maybe I just wanted it to mean something. I wanted to hurt him. To make him believe that my moving here hadn’t been all about him.
‘That’s great,’ he said after a moment. ‘I’m glad things worked out for you.’
I nodded firmly, as though that tiny action could prove it to him. I’d moved on.
A voice came over the speakers, announcing my flight to Malta, boarding at gate two.
I glanced towards the gate. Then again, had I ever actually moved on at all?
I reached for my bag and slung it over my shoulder. ‘I have to go, they’re calling my flight.’ As much as I wasn’t sure I wanted to go, my destination was still more appealing than staying here.
He gaped at me. ‘Wait, you’re going to Malta?’
I swallowed as I realised my mistake. I wanted to pretend I was fine, that I’d moved on, that I didn’t still carry the past with me every day. But my destination betrayed me.
I was going to Malta.
Our Malta.
I couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, couldn’t even nod. My confirmation was evident in my silence.
He shook his head. ‘I can’t believe it.’
‘Why not?’ I said, bristling. ‘It’s a beautiful place. We love it there. I love it there,’ I corrected. He wasn’t part of my decision any more. At least, not one I would admit.
He shook his head. ‘Yeah. I know. That’s not what—’
‘I’ve got to go,’ I interrupted, as I started to turn away.
He nodded. ‘Yeah, me too.’
I froze. My head jolted back. I stared at him.
‘You’re not—’ I couldn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t finish the thought. He couldn’t be going to Malta too. He couldn’t be going to our place. It felt like a betrayal.
I went back to remember. To connect. But, if he was taking his new life there, his new wife, his new girlfriend, whoever he had replaced me with, then what was left for me?
I looked around again but couldn’t see anyone with him. There was only one drink in his hand.
‘Yeah,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m going there too.’ He lifted a boarding pass in his hand, one single boarding pass, and that’s when I realised he was alone.
‘Why?’ I asked before I could stop myself.
He tipped his head slightly, that familiar half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. ‘Isn’t that what I just asked you?’
His question silenced me again.
The familiarity of his expression, the playfulness of his tone – it was like watching an old movie play out before me.
I was transported back into the past, to a time when his smile had been the centre of my world.
I remembered how it felt to be wrapped in his arms, the warmth of his words when everything else felt uncertain.
His whispered I love yous. The way our hands connected as we walked side by side.
He’d been everything.
And now, he was just a reminder of the past. The pain.
‘Like you said, I guess we both just really loved it there.’
He was right, we had. It had been everything once. The start of our lives together. Our future, our hopes, our dreams. The life we were building.
And it was the last time I’d truly been happy.