I yawn. Fatigue finally is catching up with me. ‘No … Thank you, Gil. For both the information and the apology. I don’t know if it means anything, but I’m sorry I was salty with you too that night – it wasn’t really about you, you know. I was feeling a bit overwhelmed.’
‘I knew that.’
I give him a disbelieving but good-natured look.
‘At least I did when I calmed down.’
A moment of silence hangs between us, one where neither of us looks away.
‘Well, thank you for finding me, for taking care of me until the ambulance arrived.’
Gil gives a gruff nod. ‘Always.’
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
Five years ago
‘Here …’ He pushes a pint of beer across the bar towards his best friend. Simon isn’t paying attention, having turned round to watch two girls in tight dresses walk to the back of the pub. They’re giggling and one turns and smiles at Simon.
He turns back to Gil with a triumphant grin on his face. ‘I think I’m in there.’
The idea of bringing Simon out for this drink was so they could have some time away from their housemates to talk undistracted. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all? Even so, he allows Simon to chatter on about the rugby match they watched that afternoon, letting the beer do its work before he brings up the issue that’s burning the tip of his tongue. The issue he can’t stop thinking about, day and night.
His phone buzzes in his pocket and his instinct is to reach for it, but he stops himself. He’s been trying to wean himself off her. It felt wrong to keep messaging so frequently with Simon on the verge of dumping her. His thinking is that now he’s pulled back on contact with her, the break-up won’t come as such a shock, that it’ll help let her down gently. So instead of long, in-depth conversations,he’s stopped initiating chats and has been sending shorter and shorter replies. It’s killing him.
Even worse, it’s now the thirteenth of February, five days past the date when Simon was supposed to break things off with Erin, and Gil is pretty sure he’s done nothing of the sort.
When Simon’s beer is half gone, Gil puts his elbows on the bar and takes a long gulp of his own pint. ‘You still haven’t done it, have you?’
Simon looks innocent. ‘Done what?’
‘You know.’
‘I’ve been thinking about it. But I just haven’t had the chance.’
He stares at Simon, not amused. ‘You’ve had plenty of chances. You and I know the reason you haven’t contacted her is because you would do anything to avoid an uncomfortable conversation.’
Simon doesn’t miss a beat. ‘Then why don’t we avoid this one and have some shots instead?’ He turns and raises his hand to catch the bartender’s attention and manages to order two shots via sign language. The girl also gives him a smile and flips her hair.
Gil folds his arms. Free tequila isn’t going to work on him. Not this time, anyway. ‘You’ve got twenty-four hours, Si. If you haven’t talked to her by then, I’m going to do the talking for you. It’s been months now. You can’t keep her hanging on like this.’
‘All right, all right. But I can’t do it today or tomorrow, can I?’
Gil starts to feel as if he’d like to punch something. ‘Why not?’
‘Because it’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow,’ Simon says, laying down his trump card. ‘That would be cruel.’
He has to admit Simon’s got him there. It would be horrible for someone to break up with you – via text – on Valentine’s Day. Although he’s pretty sure Simon’s motives aren’t as altruistic as he’s making out.
The shots arrive. Simon claps him on the arm and pushes one in his direction. ‘Look … give me to the end of the week. If I haven’t broken up with her by Friday, you can do whatever it is you need to do.’
Gil feels as if he’s had this conversation a hundred times before, but what other option does he have? He has to give his friend this one last chance to do the right thing.
He’s sitting there on the bar stool, body turned half towards the bar, half towards Simon, when the heavy door of the pub opens and a gust of icy February air slices in. This tends to happen every time someone enters or leaves the pub, but usually it’s just a quick blast. This time, the arctic wind just keeps on coming. Goosebumps pucker his skin, and he’s about to turn and yell at whoever it is to shut the flippin’ door when he sees who’s standing there. His mouth drops open.
It’s Erin.
She’s wearing a coat the colour of ripe berries, with a cream-coloured knitted hat and matching gloves. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen her look so adorable.
