‘I don’t mind coming here for the weekend, I’d actually travel a lot further if it meant I could be with you…’
‘But?’ he prompted me quietly.
‘But the goodbyes get harder every time I leave you. And in all honesty, I’m not sure I’d ever be able to live here.’ There- I said it out loud.
‘Wait until Christmas before you rule it out. These weekends will give you a chance to get a feel for the place, find your feet before you commit to anything. Look, I know what you’ve just come out of. I know it was hard, and you probably don’t want to get all serious and bogged down again too soon.’ He was so understanding, but he was wrong.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to get serious with him, quite the contrary in fact.
‘It’s not that at all.’ I was desperate to reassure him again I had no interest in “spreading my wings”, as he put it.
Oh, I had an itch alright. An overwhelming, desperate longing for it to be scratched. And scratched every day, preferably multiple times. But there was only one person that could do that, and he was sitting across the table from me and I told him so.
‘I know our friends would all think we were completely crazy if we told them the conversations we’re having already, but when you know, you know.’ He was as sure as himself as ever. Easy enough for him, he wasn’t the one thinking about moving countries.
In fairness, he had a lot more to leave behind than I did. His house, his farm, his business, his family and all he’d ever known. On the flip side, I hadn’t lived at home since I left for the Royal College of Surgeons at nineteen years of age, but I’d since worked hard to build a business myself.
I was self-employed, and had acquired many loyal patients over the past few years. I’d formed friendships stronger than some of my family bonds. And there was my mum, of course.
No matter how hard I tried, it was impossible not to overthink the situation. I was used to being so sure of my life, so completely in control. I was like a tumbleweed blowing in the wind, wondering which direction the breeze was going to take me.
‘I can read you like a book,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry about the details tonight. I adore you; you hopefully adore me. Wewillmake it work.’ He reiterated the same line he’d used before. ‘It took me thirty years to find you, I’m not going to let you slip through my fingers. Besides, my father would kill me if I let you get away now.’
I hoped his father hadn’t ratted me out on the L word. I hadn’t said it to him myself, despite knowing that was exactly what it was, from very early on.
I changed the subject quickly to lighten the mood. ‘Have you taken that Godawful stag head down from the wall yet?’ He laughed, as I’d intended.
After dinner we walked the short distance through the city to The Shelbourne. John led me into the bar and placed my coat on the back of a barstool. I hovered a few feet away as he ordered our drinks, scanning the room to see if I could pick out Jack and Julia.
A short, petite woman with shoulder length highlighted hair made a beeline for John. She strode towards him in a manner that made me think she knew him, and well, by the way in which she put her arm round his waist. She couldn’t have been more than five-foot three, a short red dress detailed her tiny waist and child-like frame. Reaching on tiptoes, she kissed his cheek.
An uneasy feeling crept into my stomach, but I couldn’t bring myself to look away. Her behaviour left me in no doubt now thatshe knew him intimately. It was mirrored in the surprise on his face, surprise that she was here.
A flashback of this afternoon, John’s hands on my body, gave me a brief flicker of satisfaction and quelled the green-eyed monster. He turned to see if I’d clocked the situation, discomfort apparent in the tightness of his smile. A smile that didn’t fully reach his eyes.
I couldn’t hear the words they exchanged, but I got the impression from the way he stared at me that he was about to point me out. I deliberately looked the other way.
A man wearing a tweed jacket and dicky bow approached me from out of nowhere.
‘You must be Lucy?’ He was about five-foot ten and slightly stockier than John. He too had red hair.
‘Jack? It’s a pleasure to meet you.’ He couldn’t have come over at a better time.
‘Likewise.’ He adjusted his dicky bow, pulling at the neck of her shirt.
‘Congratulations on your engagement.’
‘Thank you. I’ll introduce you to my fiancée now.’ He nodded at John and raised a hand as a greeting.
John arrived back with a glass of champagne for me and two crystal tumblers filled with some sort of top shelf whisky. He’d eventually managed to extract himself from the blonde.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her scrutinise me from head to toe, so I made sure to smile my brightest smile.
That little niggle of jealousy lingered in the pit of my stomach. It was the first time I’d truly experienced it, never previously caring enough in the past.
Intuitive as ever, John placed his arm around me protectively. The woman in red shot daggers at us. If looks could kill my head would have been ripped off my neck.
‘Yellow Spot,’ John said, handing Jack a glass.
