I curse my new, slightly more impulsive nature. I did what I would normally never do – I let my guard down. I learned early not to get my hopes up when it comes to other people. They always disappoint you. I should have known better.
When I get to Paddington, I wait until everybody in my carriage has disembarked before I move out of my seat. The long platform is a blessed relief after the noise and heat of the train carriage, but the concourse is packed. People everywhere. Noise, colour, light. I want to crouch down on the floor, cover my eyes and ears, and pretend I’m not there.
I glance at the entrance to the Underground station and almost have a panic attack. No. Not doing that. Not today.
Instead I grab my bags and limp to the taxi rank, where I grab the first available one and tell him my address. The fare will probably be equivalent to one month’s salary, but it’ll be worth every penny.
I cry all the way home in the back of the taxi, too. I feel so tired, so overstimulated. So betrayed.
When we turn into our road and I see the row of red brick Victorian terraced houses with their white-painted masonry, my tears of overwhelm turn to tears of joy. I’m disappointed Simon won’t be there, that he’ll be with Felipe and the guys, but I also know the flat will be quiet, cool and familiar. I can pull the blinds, climb into bed, and forget about the world, my own sheets around me, my own pillow under my head. At this moment I want nothing more. I almost wish I could climb back into that coma, except I’m scared of what my muddled brain would dream up for me next. I just want it all to go away. I want to switch my head off and let it do nothing for a bit.
I’m not sure how I manage to haul myself up the stairs. When I slide my key into the lock, my legs are shaking. All I can think about is dropping my cases and crawling into the bedroom.
But when I open the front door, I hear voices, not the silence I’m expecting. I freeze. My heart begins to pound.
Adrenaline surges through me, powering me down the hallway towards the living room. I stand in the doorway, frozen.‘Simon?’
He’s lying on the couch in a T-shirt and boxers, a can in his hand. Hearing my voice, he jumps up, sloshing beer everywhere. ‘My God! Erin? What are you doing here?’
‘I could ask the same of you!’
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
Present Day
Simon and I stand at opposite sides of the room, staring at each other.
‘You’re supposed to be in Amsterdam,’ I say.
‘You’re supposed to be in Devon,’ Simon says at the same time.
He has that same look on his face he gets when his mum scolds him for something. Keeping a careful eye on his reaction, I add, ‘I decided to come home early.’
Simon puts down his can of beer. For a moment he seems unsure of what to do, but then he gathers himself. ‘This is such a wonderful surprise!’
When he tries to hug me, I fold my arms and duck out of his way. He starts to gabble on about flights and timetables, that he thought he had a stomach bug yesterday but it just turned out to be gas. In the end I hold up a hand, palm facing him, and stare him down until the stream of bullshit dies away. ‘Enough!’ I sound stronger than I feel.
As I look at my fiancé, I can’t help despising him a little. ‘Just tell me the truth, Simon. Why aren’t you on Felipe’s stag weekend?’
Simon looks at the carpet. ‘I … um … wasn’t invited.’
‘You weren’t … Why lie? Why tell me you were?’
He says nothing, just shifts his weight from one foot to the other.
‘It’s because you were supposed to be coming down for the weekend, isn’t it?’
He keeps his head bowed but looks up at me. ‘Sort of … but, you know, it’s got nothing to do with you, Erin. I just needed my space.’
‘Space?’ I step forward and plonk myself down on the edge of the smaller of the two sofas. ‘From what? Fromme…?’
Simon retreats to the safety of the larger sofa. He picks up his can of beer, holding it to his chest but not drinking. ‘I know you’ve had a horrendous time this year, that it’s been really difficult for you, but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t been difficult for me too.’
I rub my forehead with my hand. The adrenaline is draining away, leaving me even more exhausted than when I first walked through the door. ‘I do understand that. Or at least, I’m trying to.’
I’m so confused. I don’t know what to do. I’m aware I’ve been horrendously focused on myself – I had to be – but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have compassion for Simon for all he’s been through because of my accident. His wedding was cancelled. He had to look after me, worry about me … Is it really so horrible if he just wanted a bit of time and space for himself, too? That’s the very reason I was at Heron’s Quay. Am I overreacting?
Maybe I am, but something still niggles at me. I thought we had finally worked out how to emerge from our own bubbles and be a good team together, but it feels as if we are slipping back into old patterns,him behind his glass wall and me behind mine. Or maybe I’m not behind mine. I think my bump on the head smashed it to smithereens. It feels as if Simon has retreated from me and I’m out on my own, stranded.
