He breathes deeply and shakes his shoulders a little before standing and staring at me, the lost look temporarily gone from his eyes.
‘Yeah, you’re right. I need to go back.’
‘Correct. Now I’ll get myself home so you don’t have to put up with me looming over the table but you kinda owe me an explanation later. You can’t be all you-deserve-to-surround-yourself-with-people-who-respect-you and then go and undermine that at the last minute with your own behaviour. I need to know what I’ve done to cause this flip of attitudes. You owe me that.’ His face softens and I fight everything inside me to stop doing the same. His absence has hurt me.
‘You haven’t done anything, Belle. Really, you haven’t. It’s me…’ He reaches out to touch me and I flinch back. I can feel the tears coming now but unlike before when I felt frozen, this time they are hot, washing down my cheeks, melting tracks as they go.
‘Don’t you dare. Do not dare pull that line out.’
‘But it’s—’
‘I don’t care how true it is, you can find a better way to say it. You’re an articulate man. And you know that I wouldn’t have believed you a little while back, I would have assumed it was me at fault and that you just didn’t know how to say that. But something’s happened recently, shifted, and it’s thanks in part to you that I don’t feel that way anymore. I have been wracking my brains for days, trying to work out why you can’t celebrate the Jamal thing with me, a thingyouset up the meeting for, and I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong, I really don’t. I think you have. Regardless of whatever you’re going through, and I am here for you if you want me to be…’ I pause to draw breath; that is a lot of words tumbling out at once. ‘Nothing will change that, I am here to hear you, but nothing stops you sending a frigging text to say, “You know what, I need a bit of time, my head’s a bit of a mess but I’m pleased for you”. And expecting that from you doesn’t make me egocentric and self-centred. It makes me someone worthy of a fucking explanation when you fall off the face of the earth!’
‘You’re right.’ He shrugs his shoulders and I am infused with a mix of emotions – pity, empathy, irritation, anger – but I hold them back, let him speak. ‘You’ve been a good friend to me this month and I shouldn’t have ignored your messages and of course I’m pleased for you with the Jamal thing. You deserve all the support in the world. It’s a good business decision for him as well, adds more to his profile, and pleases his heart. Don’t see it as a favour; he didn’t do it because you’re likeable, although you are, he did it because he can see it makes sense to have you on his team. You can be trusted to deliver his vision in an honourable and effective way. Your merits won this. I do owe you an apology and probably an explanation but Belle, right now, right now you’re right, I need to get in that pub and spend some time with my mum, put a smile on her face. And truthfully I don’t know how to say what I need to say to you.’ He flashes me a smile, a brief fake one and I have a vision of me putting my hand in his mouth, pushing it down his throat and pulling out these words he is having difficulty saying. I don’t want to hear about how Jamal feels about me. I need to hear how Rory feels.
Rory nods in the direction of The Mont and we turn to walk back up the hill. Our feet falling into a rhythm together, ironic symbolism. This time the warmth of the pub isn’t scaring me off but now tempting me as a symbol of what I can’t have. We’d been having fun before Rory turned up, I wanted to be part of beating smug team quiz-winny face but also I need to deal with those words – he needs to say stuff to me and doesn’t know how.
‘Okay, you may have things you need to say to me and don’t know how to. I’m going to gloss over the fact that that in itself is a little hurtful, as you’ve grown to be someone I feel I can talk to honestly. Be me. In fact, I’ve confided more in you in the past month than I have practically anyone else in my entire life. I let you in and I’m thankful for that, you have been doing a good job of teaching me to have less walls, be more open rather than merely pretending to be. It’s a shame that you’ve fucked me over at the last minute.’ I pull myself back, remind myself that my words need to be constructive not merely reactive and coming from a place of hurt. Although it’s hard. My emotions want to scream at his face right now, jolt him into having an emotional reaction. A purge.
‘Sorry. I’m not trying to be aggressive, or judgey or blaming. I’m trying to be good here, honest, but I’m hurt.’ Even this admission isn’t enough to make Rory say anything in response. He is still matching my pace but his eyes are very much focusing on the pavement. I take a deep breath. I’m going to push forward; even if I receive no answers it may do me some good to say it. I need to say it. I’ve spent years biting back my feelings with my dad, avoiding confrontation and uncomfortable moments, I’m done with that now. Now I want to speak but do so in a mindful way, not ride roughshod over the person I’m talking to simply because I have found my voice. We reach the square archway that leads to the entrance of The Mont and both stop. I don’t have much time before he heads back through those doors, leaving me out here.
‘What I am trying to say is I’m sorry you don’t feel you can talk to me like I have learnt to talk to you—’
‘No, that’s not it, Belle.’
‘Well, what is it?’ I pause, my breath held in my throat as I telepathically plead for him to open up, tell me what is causing this look in his eye, what has changed us so drastically from that couple that had cuddled up in front of the fire on Christmas Eve Eve, him stroking my hair, the desire between us palpable and, I had hoped, mutual.
How had we gone from that to this? Luisa always talks about how I’m blunt and just say things, and it’s true. I ask the questions that I need the answers to but that doesn’t mean it’s easy for me. I don’t have some forcefield of courage, I still have all the inhibitions everyone else does, more than many. It takes a lot to reach deep inside and vocalise it. But I need to ask this question.
‘Is this because of the Nordic hut? Are you worried I have some kind of mad crush on you and you don’t reciprocate it? That’s okay, that can be said here, now, and I’ll walk away, leave you to go see your mum, and our friendship will survive that bombshell.’
‘No, no, it’s not that.’ He laughs but it’s a bitter laugh, one completely devoid of joy or positivity. It is not a laugh I have heard from him before.
I decide to bite the bullet. If he’s leaving in a couple of days and determined to ignore me then this may be my only chance and suddenly I want it said.
‘I do, you know.’ Argh! So articulate.
‘Do what?’ He looks at me.
‘I do have a crush but I don’t need you to feel the same. I just want you to know that spending time with you means I’ve changed my type, and that’s a good thing. You’ve taught me what I’m looking for in a partner, the values I wish for. That’s a massive reset.’
‘Ha. You’ve moved from self-serving arseholes to completely broken. Good move, Wilde. You may want to reconsider that.’
‘No. No, I don’t. And broken? I don’t think so. I think everything you have done since Jessica’s death is really human. I don’t think you’re broken, I think you’re normal. Actually, scratch that, you’re not normal, you’re remarkable. You are a kind man, a gentleman. You put others first, you don’t see the bad in people apart from in yourself, which from my biased view is somewhat misguided. You have brought a confidence and a security to my life just by being in it and that will be more valuable to me than you can ever know. In this short space of time, Rory Walters, you have taught me how to love properly, with boundaries and self-respect and toe-curling lust. I thought I’d be stuck with the bad boys for ever and now I have no interest at all. None. I want a man like you, not a Lost Boy. Sure, it’s a shame you don’t reciprocate my feelings but I’ll survive. Don’t think I’m standing here offering to fix you, heal your wounds. I’m not. Partly because that has to come from you, but also because I don’t think you need fixing. I think you’re more than worthy of my love and I think deep down somewhere you must know that.’ I take a breath. I have been hoping at some point he might interrupt me, especially at the toe-curling lust bit that had fallen out of my mouth but he has remained silent and is now looking at me, shaking his head slowly.
‘I know I said I don’t need an answer but I was lying. Right now, I really need you to say something, talk to me. I’ve just laid everything out for you and this silence is torture. Please. Anything.’
‘Look, Belle, you are an amazing woman and if things were different, if I were the man you think I am, not the man I know myself to be, then, well then, we’d be living a very different life. But I can’t do this now. I can’t.’
‘I know you need to get inside before the quiz is over, I get that. But we could talk tomorrow?’ I gesture at the door and feel a little bit ashamed of myself. It feels a bit like I’m begging, throwing dignity to the winds but I need to know I’ve given this my best shot. And if the timing is the issue I can wait until tomorrow. I just want an honest conversation.
‘No.’ He says this firmly, holding my eyes as he does so. ‘No. Belle, you and me, it’s not going to happen. It will never happen. Not here and now, not tomorrow. There is too much you don’t understand.’
‘I can’t understand what I’m not told.’ I immediately cringe. Oh shut up, walk away. Why am I still talking?
I watch him close his eyes, draw in a deep breath, open his eyes and fix me firmly with his gaze. Another deep breath. What is probably only a matter of seconds feels like forever.
‘Belle. Go home. Go to Luisa’s. Go live your life to the best it can be. There is no place for you here. I’m not interested, it’s too much and you need to leave me alone now. I’m really sorry if I have led you on but you need to go.’ Giving me a look of firm resolve he nods abruptly at me and turns on his heel, opening the door to the pub, a wave of laughter and voices streaming out into the night. He does not look back, not once, as I stand there and my heart, my hopes, my love are smashed into tiny weeny pieces on the cobbles.
