I’d forgotten that he didn’t dive straight in to fully fledged conversations. The messages are brief, as if every word was given reluctantly. He certainly doesn’t seem to be eager to reel me in and fool me. So why did he start?
The next chunk of messages reveals the answer. I come across a series of rambling messages from me to him.
Can we talk? It’s important.
I close my eyes, remembering how I felt when I typed these messages. The emotion was all-consuming. I felt trapped, stuck.
Please, Simon. I’m lonely and homesick and I’m grieving in a strange country …
Please help me …
Oh, my God … Ibeggedhim to talk to me. My desperation leaps off the screen. No wonder he finally gave in. Far from it being a heartless, calculating act, I realize it would have been heartlessnotto do what I’d asked.
Does this marry up with what I know about Gil in real life? I need to separate that Gil from dream Gil, go only on the facts. I look away from the computer screen and lean back in the chair.
He let me come and stay with him when I needed to get away, when I needed rest, even though I’d made my dislike for him obvious. And then he took care of me, fed me, listened to me, bossed me around when I was being stupid and didn’t know how to pace myself. Real Gil had my back, just like dream Gil promised he would.
Not knowing quite what to do with that, I return my attention to the messages. We talked through the night Megan died in fits and starts. It’s still painful to read now. And once we were done opening that can of worms, we just … talked. About everything. Stupid moments in our days. Big fears. Big dreams. I didn’t just bare my soul to him, but he also bared his to me. And all the emotions I felt at the time, the sense of connection, the longing to be in the same room as him, roll over me like breakers on a stormy seashore. It’s as if I’m back in that moment, giving tiny pieces of my heart away to him with every short message, until finally he holds them all.
Reading the messages back now, I can practically hear Gil’s voice. How did I never realize? How was I so blind?
But then, in January, those messages trail off too. Did he lose interest as well?
No.
My gut answers for me. Firmly. Definitively. I don’t know whether to trust it.The only other way to know for sure is to ask Gil himself, and I’m definitely not ready to do that at the moment.
I see plenty of messages from me, telling him I can’t wait to see him, telling him while also not telling him I am completely and utterly in love with him. But I can also read the silences, the secret I was keeping about my surprise visit home for Valentine’s Day. It’s almost as if I can feel the effervescent hopefulness resting between the message bubbles, knowing I was going to see him soon.
And then I came home.
I remember that evening in the pub clear as day. I pushed the doors open and looked around. I saw Gil first, and I knew wherever he was, his best friend couldn’t be far behind. And then I laid eyes on Simon, and everything else was forgotten.
Thinking back now, I realize they both looked surprised, but Simon also looked uncomfortable, as if he’d been caught out doing something he shouldn’t. And Gil …
He wore that locked-down expression he often wears. I always thought it was because he didn’t like me, but I’ve seen it on his face countless times since I arrived at Heron’s Quay, even after we became friends. The last time was my last day, when I pushed and pushed when he didn’t want to tell me something, but I made him. And then he told me he loved me. Finally, I fully understand what that expression means. It’s the one he wears when he’s trying to hide something, when he has a secret. I just didn’t realize that, for years,Iwas his secret.
I put my phone down and place my head in my hands. He was telling the truth. He loves me. He’s always loved me. A great pit of regret and fear opens up inside me, but I also feel like I’m soaring.If only I’d known at the time. Instead, I came back home to a man I didn’t know I’d broken up with, and Simon had a change of heart.
It’s all I can do to stop myself picking up the phone and ringing him, or getting on the first train out of Paddington. It’s only the fact that I don’t know if he’ll be at the boathouse that stops me clicking onto a travel website and booking a ticket. Didn’t Simon say that Gil needed somewhere to live for a while?
I open up a new browser window and search for Heron’s Quay to find some more answers. The search results come in quickly and I click on the first link, hardly bothering to read it, but when the website loads I discover it’s not a holiday let website but an estate agent’s. There’s a thumbnail with a picture of the boathouse with ‘Coming Soon!’ splashed across it.
Gil is putting Heron’s Quay up for sale.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO
Present Day
The letter arrives on the second Saturday in February. I open it and a huge grin spreads across my face. It’s my new licence. Twelve months and six days since I had my head injury, I’ve been given the all-clear to drive again.
Mum insists on sitting next to me in the car while I take my first trip, but she’s such a nervous passenger I drop her back home and Emir takes over. I drive around the familiar roads where I grew up for over an hour and when I return home, I feel as if I’ve reached an important milestone. One more small freedom has been reclaimed, and hopefully, there will be more to come.
I’ve found out Simon’s seeing someone. But I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at that. It’s been five months since I walked out on him now. I’m not proud of myself, but I checked out his Instagram feed, mostly because I was being pathetic and hoped Gil might have been tagged or there might be a photo of him. There, at the top of Simon’s grid, was a selfie with a girl I didn’t know. She’s younger than me, and a lot more glamorous. They seem to be having fun. I got the impression from the lack of other images of her on his timeline that it must be relatively new and relatively casual.I want to say good for him but I’m still feeling a little bitter, it turns out. I’ll get there in the end.
But there are no images of Gil on Simon’s page. And no activity on any of Gil’s social media accounts either, not that he was one for posting much anyway. Even so, it’s like he’s disappeared from the face of the earth.
I pick up my phone, head through the living room, and drop onto the sofa. I’ve been putting this off, but I think it’s time to see if Heron’s Quay had been sold. It’s the only link I have to Gil at the moment, and I’m desperate.
