Chapter 34
34
GRETA
Yes, I am showing up to work in leggings and a T-shirt, sans make-up and sporting a hair-don’t rather than a hairdo.
I arrive before most people, but the few that are in the office give me odd looks as I pass. Roger from accounting says, ‘Hi, Greta,’ so cheerfully, it’s clear he’s overcompensating for my appearance.
I don’t care.
When I get to my office, I proceed with my usual routine – log onto my laptop, check my calendar for the day, read emails… I could definitely go for a coffee, but the thought of showing up at The Daily Grind sours my already fragile stomach.
‘Focus on work, Greta.’ It’s the sole reason I’m here, after all – to distract myself.
I could have called in sick – Anjali would have been okay with it – but what would I do all day? Lie about my flat, moaning? I doubt even bingeing old seasons of Britain’s Best Bakers would be enough to distract me.
As I trawl through my inbox, an email subject line catches my eye: ‘APOLOGY’, written in all caps. It’s from an unknown email address, one that doesn’t include even part of a person’s name, making it impossible to identify who it’s from.
‘Oh no, what if it’s Ewan?’ I whisper.
We’ve never exchanged email addresses – no need as we’ve always messaged each other – so it could be from him.
APOLOGY
Maybe he’s responding to my apology. Maybe he’s apologising, although I don’t know what for. My heart starts hammering and my breath becomes raspy and shallow. An email. If he wanted to accept my apology and start again, wouldn’t he ask to meet in person?
An email can’t be good.
My mouse pointer hovers directly over it, but I can’t make myself click on it.
Instead, I slam my laptop shut and dig my phone out of my handbag to make a call.
‘It is literally the crack of dawn,’ says a sleepy Tiggy.
‘You’re too old to use the word “literally” non-literally,’ I quip, and she chuckles.
‘What’s up?’ she asks. I hear the rustle of bed clothes – though with Tiggy, they could be hers or someone else’s.
‘I need you to get dressed and come to Nouveau .’
‘Now?’
‘Yes, right now. Immediately, if not sooner.’
She groans.
‘Where are you? Are you at home?’ I ask, doing a quick calculation. Even if she left her flat in the next five minutes, she still wouldn’t be here inside an hour.
‘Nope,’ she says, raising my hopes about her getting here sooner.
‘Are you close, then?’ I prod. Can she not sense the urgency in my voice?
‘I’m in Soho.’ I hear a muffled voice, then a loud yawn, then, ‘Be there in thirty.’ Even from Soho, that’s optimistic, but I’ll take it.
‘Thank you, Tig.’
‘Wait, why am I coming?’ she asks.
‘I dropped off the letter and now there’s an email in my inbox from an unknown sender titled “Apology”. I can’t read it without you here. What if it’s Ewan telling me it’s over – for good?’
‘Be there as soon as I can.’
I set down my phone.
‘Now what?’ I ask myself. I don’t want to continue reading my emails – it will be torturous staying away from ‘APOLOGY’ – and I can’t just sit here for the next half an hour. I’ll go bonkers.
I may not want to step foot in The Daily Grind, but this is the middle of London and you can’t swing a dead cat without hitting a coffee shop. I grab my handbag and head out, turning right as I exit the building instead of left, and walking purposefully towards the nearest coffee shop in the opposite direction to Ewan’s.
It’s a BeanVibes but I don’t care – as emotionally spent as I am, I may be beyond caring about anything ever again.
I queue up, place my order, and hover near the pickup station. It’s ready in record time and I take a sip as I step onto the Strand. The coffee is bitter and burnt and the milk is scalding – perfect penance for me cocking up what could have been exactly what I wanted.
I’m outside of Nouveau , about to turn into the building, when a voice stops me in my tracks.
‘Greta.’
I look towards the voice and it’s Ewan.
‘Hi,’ he says.
‘Hi,’ I say back.
‘I’m glad you’re here,’ he says cryptically. ‘I thought you might head home but then, your office is closer, so I tried here first and… Here you are.’
‘Here I am,’ I say numbly.
Showing up at Ewan’s flat this morning was a surreal experience, but him standing before me outside Nouveau , still wearing his Take That T-shirt, takes ‘surreal’ to the next level. It feels like time is standing still, but the ground below us is moving.
‘You cheating on me?’ he asks with a half-smile.
‘ What? ’ I reply, mortified. ‘No, I?—’
‘Sorry,’ he says, holding up his hand in conciliation. ‘Poor joke. I was talking about the coffee.’ His eyes flick to my hand where ‘BeanVibes’ is stamped in garish letters on the side of the cup.
‘Oh, right. It’s rubbish.’
‘Well, yeah.’
We hold each other’s gaze for a moment, then I look away. It must have gone 8.30a.m. by now and we’re standing in a thoroughfare, people streaming past us as they head into the building. This is not the place to have a conversation – this conversation.
‘I read your letter,’ he says, retrieving it from his back pocket.
‘I know.’
‘You know? How?’
‘Your email.’
He shakes his head, his eyes narrowing in confusion. ‘I didn’t… I haven’t sent an email.’
‘Oh.’ Now I’m confused.
‘What email?’ he asks.
‘It… it doesn’t matter.’
We’re quiet again. Someone jostles me as they walk past, and I have an idea about where we can go.
‘Come with me,’ I say.
I walk into the building, skirting past the bank of lifts and heading through a glass door into the atrium. It’s as tall as the building and filled with towering palms in enormous pots. I cross to a stone bench and sit. I didn’t check to see that Ewan was following me, but he was. He perches on the other end of the bench, facing me.
‘We were at the part where you said you read my letter.’
‘Right, yes…’ He appears to be gathering his thoughts, which is fair considering I’ve just relocated us and probably interrupted his thought process. ‘Well, first off, it was… it was beautifully written.’
We exchange brief smiles.
‘It was also honest and real … But, Greta, there’s an aspect I’m not comfortable with – your apology.’
‘Oh.’ I drop my gaze, fixating on the granite tiles, how perfectly they’re laid. I try to gulp in air and swallow at the same time, which makes me choke on my saliva and induces a violent coughing fit. Ewan stands to reach around and pat me on the back – just like he did when I nearly choked on a cronut at The Daily Grind.
‘All right?’ he asks when the coughing abates.
I nod my reply, still unable to look at him. If he’s not comfortable with my apology, then I have my answer. We’re over before we even began.
I also need to find a new coffee shop.
‘Can I explain?’ he asks, sitting again.
‘Of course.’
‘The reason your apology doesn’t sit well with me is that this – this situation, our misunderstanding – wasn’t just your fault. I share in the blame – in fact, I own most of it.’
‘What?’ I meet his eye and he’s watching me intently.
Only now do I notice that his (beautiful) blue eyes are rimmed with red and showing the signs of a sleepless night. Mine must look similar, but I haven’t looked in a mirror this morning to know for sure.
He inches towards me and picks up my hand, running his thumb along the back. ‘I should have told you how I felt, rather than playing things so close to my chest.’
The dense mass of fear and sadness lodged in the pit of my stomach starts to dissolve, replaced with something warmer and lighter – hope, perhaps.
Is he saying what I think he’s saying?
‘Especially after that first night,’ he continues, ‘when we ran into each other at Dalla Terra. I was already smitten by then, just from your visits to The Daily Grind, and I should have just… told you.’
‘Smitten?’ I ask, teasing him.
‘A smitten kitten,’ he says with a smile. Serious again, he squeezes my hand. ‘You know, coming here, I had this whole speech planned – well, it was kind of all over the place – much like what I’m saying now. The poor Uber driver – not to mention Remy …’
‘Remy?’
‘I tried it out on him first. He was really cross with me for walking out on you yesterday.’
‘He’s wise beyond his dog years,’ I say, making a feeble joke.
Ewan smiles gently, then looks deep into my eyes.
‘Greta, I’m really sorry. It’s been over ten years since I dated someone new and I clearly have no idea what the fuck I’m doing.’
‘That’s not tr?—’
‘It is true. Beyond being good company, I keep mess?—’
‘ Exceptionally good company,’ I interject.
‘That’s kind. You’re kind.’
‘And selfish and vain,’ I remind him, quoting my letter.
‘Everyone is at least a little bit selfish. No one is purely altruistic. Besides, I like that side of you.’
‘Selfishness?’
‘ Or we call it drive and determination and independence . Those are traits I value, that I want in a partner.’
‘Okay,’ I reply softly, my mind latching onto the meaning behind his words. Ewan wants me. Suddenly, it feels as if my heart has sprouted wings and is about to burst from my chest and take flight.
He runs his thumb along the back of my hand again, his eyes boring into mine. ‘So, will you accept my apology? For not telling you how I was feeling – and sooner?’
‘That depends.’
His face falls, his disappointment evident.
‘On,’ I say, hurrying to expound, ‘whether you’re willing to tell me now.’
‘Tell you— Ahh,’ he says, breaking into a smile. ‘Well, as previously mentioned, I’m smitten.’ He leans closer. ‘I also really want to see where this can go, Greta. I can picture a future with you so clearly. I think we’d have a wonderful life together – whatever it brings.’
‘Even bizarre writing assignments?’
‘As long as they don’t require you to date other men.’
‘I’m sorry I lied to you about what I was writing.’
‘I know.’ He inhales a deep breath. ‘Just tell me, did you fall for any of those men – even a little bit?’
‘ No . Just the opposite.’
‘Really? By all accounts, Harrison’s a dreamboat.’
‘Dreamboat? Where are you getting these words? Do you have a time machine or something? Are you frequenting the 1960s?’
‘I’m not sure what the latest lingo is. I’m older than you, remember.’
‘By six years!’
He shrugs, clearly unbothered by my teasing.
‘And no – to the question about Harrison. Not even the tiniest spark. In fact, it was after my date with him that I realised how I felt about you.’ I clock his expression and ask, ‘Why does that surprise you? You’re a catch too, you know.’
He dips his head in modesty. ‘Thank you.’ He meets my gaze again. ‘So, we’re really going to give this another go? And before you answer, keep in mind that Remy will murder me in my sleep if I don’t get a second chance with you.’
‘Well, we can’t have that. And yes, we really are going to give this another go.’
‘Then I’m going to kiss you now.’
We reach for each other, our lips meeting in a fervent kiss. One of his hands rest firmly on the back of my neck, the other around my waist, both pulling me closer as the kiss deepens. My hands close into fists as I grab the back of his T-shirt and lean into him.
It feels very much like a reunion, even though we were apart for less than a day.
Silly us. So much misunderstanding and hurt because we weren’t open and honest with each other.
A loud voice echoes through the atrium, breaking the spell of the kiss.
‘ There you are!’
Ewan and I leap apart, panting slightly, and I look for Tiggy. She’s standing just inside the door to the atrium, her hands on her hips and her eyebrows raised like an exasperated mum from an American sitcom.
‘Hi, Tiggy,’ I say.
She strolls over, her eyes narrowing at me. ‘I went up to your office, but obviously you weren’t there. I ended up having to ask the security guard out the front if they’d seen you.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Hi,’ she says. ‘I’m guessing you’re Ewan.’
He recovers from the mini stupor induced by Tiggy’s intrusion and jumps up, holding out his hand. ‘Hi, lovely to meet you. I’ve heard lots of good things about you.’
It’s the perfect thing to say, disarming Tiggy instantly. ‘Yeah, me too – about you. Apparently, you have a very cute dog.’
She smirks and Ewan laughs.
‘So, you two have made up then?’ she asks, looking between us.
‘Yes,’ we say in unison. We look at each other and grin, and Ewan wraps an arm around my shoulder and kisses my cheek.
‘Excellent – so the email…?’
‘Oh, right, the email,’ I say. ‘I completely forgot.’ I look to Ewan. ‘I got this random email this morning from an address I didn’t recognise, and I thought it might have been you. That’s why I called Tiggy. I wasn’t brave enough to read it by myself.’
‘Ahh,’ he says. ‘That explains what you said before.’
‘So, who’s it from then?’ asks Tiggy pointedly.
I open my handbag and take out my phone, then navigate to my work email, which I’ve buried three folders deep to avoid getting in the habit of checking it when I’m not at work.
I scroll, then tap on the email.
‘It’s from Bex,’ I say softly.
‘That little?—’
‘Wait,’ I say, cutting Tiggy off.
The email is short and apologetic, and Bex takes full responsibility for her actions. The last line says:
I’m so sorry. I hope one day you can forgive me.
Bex
‘She’s apologised,’ I say, holding up my phone. ‘I mean, I won’t be hiring her back or anything, but I can put this behind me now.’ I heave out a hefty sigh. ‘God, I’m?—’
‘Exhausted?’ suggests Tiggy.
‘Famished,’ I say. I turn to Ewan. ‘Are you hungry?’
‘Starving. Skipped breakfast this morning to come here.’ He looks to Tiggy. ‘Do you want to have breakfast with us? I know a really good coffee shop, just down the road,’ he says, waggling his eyebrows.
‘Thanks, but heeding this one’s cry for help meant I haven’t even showered yet. I’m gonna head home.’
‘Another time then,’ says Ewan.
‘For sure. I definitely want to be there when you meet Mrs D.’
‘Mrs D— Oh, your mum?’ he says to me. ‘Should I be worried?’
‘No,’ I say, right as Tiggy says, ‘Yes.’ She cackles with laughter.
‘I’m off.’ She reaches down and hugs me. ‘So happy for you, babes,’ she whispers. She steps back. ‘See ya, Ewan.’ She pats him on his arm and leaves.
‘Well, now you’ve met my best friend.’
‘She’s…’
‘She’s a lot, but she is one of the best people I know.’
‘You’re one of the best people I know,’ he says, scooping me into his arms. I don’t answer him because it’s impossible to talk when you’re being kissed.