Our conversation draws to a close. “Thank you,” she says and cocks her head to one side. Her gaze runs over my face as if she’s considering her next words. “If you would be agreeable, I’d like to meet again. We could discuss further what we’re both looking for.”
“That sounds good,” I reply.
“Excellent, I’ll inform the agency that our initial meeting was successful. I know we are encouraged to attend counseling together and go through further compatibility testing. Would you be happy to progress this arrangement further?”
“Yes.” The word is stark and honest. But nothing else is required. At the end of the day, this feels like a business transaction, not the start of a new relationship. Emotions andfeelings have minimum value. For now, that’s what I need. An agreement, not an ache of love or hope.
We say our goodbyes, and I head back to my current lodgings to ponder over what’s to come.
“How's your friend?” Ben asks as I walk through the door. He’s waiting for me in the hallway as I enter. “Amy called to speak to you.” My heart sinks, and my guilt grows at hearing her name.
“What did you tell her?” I ask, keeping my eyes firmly on the floor.
“That you were out,” he says, “and I would tell you she called.” The look he gives me makes me feel like an asshole. “Was there something else I was meant to tell her? She said she’s been calling you, and you haven’t been answering.”
Heat sears my cheeks, and I drop my gaze. I’ve been dodging her calls, her questions, our reality. Every ring feels like a lifeline I refuse to grab because I’m not brave enough to hear her voice.
“She’s worried about you. She’s frightened you’re not going to come back.”
“Ben, I’m not going back. It’s over.” We’re in the hallway, standing less than a meter from each other. You could cut the tension with a knife. His jaw ticks, and his lips thin further. “I’ve made my decision. I’m moving on.”
“Well, you better make sure she knows that,” he snaps. “I hope whatever woman you were meeting tonight knows what an ass you’ve become.”
His words land, solid and deserved. I don’t argue. Him hating me makes sense. My friend shakes his head, then turns around and walks back toward his kitchen. I disappear to my room, not wanting to continue this discussion or leave myself open for any more questions.
Chapter nineteen
Amy
June 2020
“That’s everything,” Terry says. He’s standing in the center of our living room holding the final cardboard box. “I have a meeting with the lawyer on Tuesday at ten. Will you be available to come?”
My eyes fill with tears again for what feels like the thousandth time since his arrival an hour ago. I fail to blink them away, and the treacherous little bastards roll down my cheeks.
“No,” I whisper. It’s the only word I can push painfully past my lips. He sighs softly, then turns to leave. "Terry," I squeak, my voice barely audible as he turns to look at me. I need to convince him to stay.
Once he’s gone, that’s it. Our marriage is over. I’ve lost him. Not able to look up at him, I hear him place the box on the floor and walk toward me; his trainers come into view beneath me.
“Amz,” he whispers, placing his hands on my shoulders.
My body automatically relaxes at his touch. Everything about us is familiar. Safe and secure. Maybe he won’t leave.
“I love you,” he mumbles, “but our marriage isn’t working for me anymore. We are completely different people now. What we had together was special, and these have been the happiest years of my life, but if I stay, it will ruin my memories of us.” He kisses the top of my head. “I’ll be in touch. Look after yourself, Amz.”
With that, he releases me and walks away. He walks away from me, from our marriage, and from our life together.
Katie and I returned to London yesterday. Our stay in Scotland was cut short after the police turned up to arrest the owners. The whole thing caused chaos. Suddenly, our quiet escape wasn’t so quiet. We packed up and headed back to London the next day.
Terry had moved back into the apartment while I was away. He’d stayed with Ben and the kids for a while, but when I made no move to come back, he returned to our home. We spoke on the phone at various points during my absence. Most of the time we skirted around topics, not discussing the glaring issue hanging above us: our marriage.
When I told him Katie and I were returning to London and she would be staying in the apartment, he brought the subject up.
“When will you be back?” he asked.
“We have a hotel up here for two nights, then we’ll drive down,” I said. “Will you be home, or are you working?”
“I won’t be here. I’ll need to find somewhere else to stay.”
