Chapter Three
Another night with less than two hours' sleep. I was physically wrecked but there was a drive charging me that wasn’t there before.
I showered and put on a black cotton maxi dress and diamanté flip flops for the drive home. Heidi had already gone for breakfast so I had the room to myself. I toyed with my phone and contemplated ringing John, but what more could I say?
I headed down to the breakfast room although I could barely stomach a thing. Joining Heidi at her table, I scanned the room for any sign of him.
Nothing.
I managed to drink a cup of tea and shovel enough food around my plate to make it look like I’d eaten something.
Heidi was looking forward to getting home. I was not. Still, it was time to crack on with it. I hadn’t heard from Rob all weekend and I didn’t know if he would be home when I got in or if he had plans.
Who was I kidding?
He’d be sat on the sofa watching the cricket with a can of Stella, waiting for me to come home and make dinner.
At the reception desk, we handed back our key cards and checked out. I couldn’t help noticing the stag party John was with was congregated in the lobby, ready to go. I glimpsed a fleeting view of him, our eyes locked and a sad smile curled on my lips. He nodded and raised his hand.
There was nothing we could say to ease the goodbye, especially not surrounded by thirty of our alcohol poisoned friends.
I threw my weekend bag into the boot of the car and rounded the girls up.
There was no point delaying the inevitable.
The drive home was quiet, the girls tired after the weekend’s debauchery.
I drove on autopilot, wondering if John had boarded the flight back to Ireland yet.
Such a weekend it was. I’d never felt so high and so low in such a short space of time.
One thing was for sure, though, I’d glimpsed that there may just be someone out there who could make me smile and ignite some life back into me.
Even if it wasn’t John. Even if I never laid eyes on him again, he had awakened something in me.
I wanted more.
I couldn’t carry on pretending everything was ok when it was far from it.
It wasn’t fair on any of us.
I had a sinking feeling that, given the chance, I could actually fall head over heels, crazy in love.
And for once, the thought actually excited me.
I dropped the girls back at each of their houses, waved at my brother, Simon, from the car. I couldn’t face talking to him. My body was raw, aching with confused emotion.
I drove the last few miles back to my own rented house slowly, deliberating what to do for the rest of the day. It was only lunchtime.
Heading through the back door, straight into the kitchen, I heard cricket commentary blaring out from the television in the lounge. I rolled my eyes and followed the sound.
There he was, predictably sprawled on the couch, can in hand and another discarded at his feet.
‘How’s things?’ Rob didn’t turn his head; his eyes never left the screen.
‘Fine, thanks. How are you?’ I picked up the can from the floor.
‘All well here. Had a lazy weekend.’
What’s new? I refrained from saying it out loud.
Upstairs, I unpacked my weekend bag. It took all of ten minutes. The house felt claustrophobic. I needed to get out. Pulling on my gym clothes, I headed out the back door again, only shouting I was going out as an afterthought.
I thought I heard, ‘What time’s dinner?’ but I chose to ignore it, banging the door defiantly.
The gym was a five-minute drive away. I was surprised to see the carpark almost full. Great. Just when I was hoping for a bit of solitude.
I remained in my vehicle, staring searchingly at my phone. Would I ever hear from him again?
Was it just a bit of craic for him?
Or did it feel as real to him as it did to me?
After a brief internal contemplation, I decided then, shit or bust, to ring him. If he answered, I’d see where it took me. If he didn’t, I would never ring him again, just simply draw a line under the weekend. I’d let fate decide.
For all I knew, he could have been exceptionally charming over the weekend, and then not give our meeting a second thought. It was complicated, to say the least. It wouldn’t be any wonder if a person didn’t want to get caught up in what was about to be the car crash of my life.
I found John’s name in my recent calls log, chewed my lower lip and pressed the phone tightly to my ear.
‘Welcome to the Vodafone messaging service, your call cannot be connected right now, please try again later.’
Well, that was that.
Fate had decided.
It was a great weekend. Nothing more.
Sort your life out Lucy O’Connor, you are in no position to be hoping for anything. It had served its purpose as a complete eye-opener, regardless of what happened from that point.
In the gym, I found a free treadmill overlooking the car park and started the machine. Pure alcohol streamed out of every pore. I increased the pace, the physical burn distracting me from my self-inflicted heartache. My feet pounded the rubber, thumping thunderously with each step.
Old school dance music blasted from my eardrums as I attempted to drown everything else out; how I’d felt for those few hours with John, how impossible the situation was, regardless of the fact that I was actually married. The odds were massively stacked against us. We lived in different countries.
He didn’t answer.
Write it off, I repeatedly reminded myself.
I was two kilometres in when the music cut out, and I looked down at my phone in surprise to see John’s name flashing up on the caller ID. I hit the emergency stop button and swiftly positioned a foot either side of the running belt.
‘Hello?’ I panted.
‘How are you now?’ That fabulous accent skated into my ear and over every vertebrae of my spine.
‘Good thanks,’ I replied out of breath. ‘In the gym. Needed to burn off some steam.’
‘You’re some woman,’ he said. ‘I’m in the pub with the lads, we stopped off in the local on the way home but the network’s not great. I only saw your missed call now.’
Missed call? I didn’t leave a message, and it went straight to answer phone so I thought I’d gotten away with my borderline stalkerish behaviour.
‘What missed call?’ I denied feebly.
‘Vodafone sent me a text to say you tried to ring me,’ he annunciated slowly, like I was simple.
‘Oh, right. I must have hit it in my pocket by mistake.’
‘Oh. Well, I just wanted to say thanks for a lovely weekend. It was great to meet you. If things change, or if you need anything, even to talk, you know where I am.’
‘Thank you. I’ll be in touch. For sure.’
I didn’t know how or when, but I knew this wouldn’t be the end of us. ‘Enjoy your day.’
‘You too, Lucy.’
Then he was gone.