‘You’re his dead wife’s ghostwriter, for Christ’s sake!’
‘I know!’ I raise my voice, feeling like I’m going to throw up. ‘And that’s totally fucked up! Nothing might ever come of this. All I know is that when you said you were coming to Thailand, I wasn’t happy. That’s the undeniable truth of the matter.’
‘So this is it,’ he says with disbelief. ‘We’re done?’
I stare with anguish at his face on the screen. The phone camera doesn’t care that this moment is poignant – it still refuses to capture our eye contact. I force myself to say it out loud. ‘Yes, El. I’m so sorry.’
A thought occurs to him, then. ‘Am I going to feature on your blog one day?’
‘No.’ I shake my head vigorously. ‘No.’
‘I better not, Bridget,’ he warns, and the little devil on my shoulder cries, ‘How do you like it when the tables are turned?’
‘You won’t,’ I vow. ‘You won’t.’
‘That would be really fucking ironic.’
I continue to shake my head.
He sighs and drags his hand over his beard, looking gutted. Tears spring up in my eyes. ‘Man. What will our mates say?’
I think of Bronte’s disappointed face and wince. She adores Elliot. I’ll get a call from her at some point, wanting to know what on earth it is I think I’m doing. I’m not sure myself. Everyone said we were the perfect couple. But is there any such thing?
We end the call, neither of us wanting to draw it out any longer, but that’s not to say we won’t speak again.
I go back to bed, swiping a box of tissues from the side table as I walk past. I don’t know what will happen with Charlie. I know he cares for me, but I’m not sure if his feelings run deeper – or if he’d ever even allow them to run deeper.
The future is uncertain, but right now, I just want to engulf myself in the past. I need time to mourn the death of yet another relationship.
Chapter 39
In the end, Charlie and April take an earlier flight to Thailand, so our flight paths don’t coincide, but it gives them a day or so to catch up with Grandpa Dupré before I arrive. I, in turn, will be at the resort for an extra day after they leave. With Alain’s contacts and my press credentials, it was no trouble to change our reservations to a two-bedroom beach house that will accommodate the three of us. Charlie simply asked, ‘No Elliot?’ when I emailed to ask if he was happy with the arrangement. I replied, ‘No,’ and didn’t get a response.
I haven’t yet told him that we’ve split up – I think I want to gauge his reaction in person. The thought of that conversation makes me nervous.
Breaking up with Elliot took some of the shine off my forthcoming trip, but I’ve put my head down and cracked on withConfessions, keen to make serious inroads with the Morris-and-Kit plot before I bring Timo into the mix. I’ve loved constructing scenes set in the places that Charlie and I visited. The research really helped to bring the book and the characters to life for me, and it’s been a joy to let my imagination lead me wherever it wants to go. I’ve written a novel before, so I’m not inexperienced, but I seem to have more confidence than I did a few years ago, and, as long as I don’t think about the pressure or what people are expecting, the words flow freely.
I only hope Thailand will inspire me as much as Cornwall did.
Sara, meanwhile, has given up asking me about my blog. Presumably, she’s got bigger fish to fry.
Right now, so have I.
I fly to Krabi via Bangkok and am met at the airport by the transfer team, who take me by taxi to the dock. The resort is a short boat ride away, past several of the ethereal islands that Thailand is so famous for. The weather is warm and humid, a hazy heat hanging over the landscape. It’s a complete contrast to the crisp autumnal London I left behind.
I stand on the bow of the boat as the resort island comes into view, and as we draw closer to the evergreen shore, flanked on either side by tall, jagged cliff faces, I see them: Charlie with April on his shoulders, standing on the pristine white beach under the shade of a tree. My heart aches at the sight of them.
April is in a light-blue dress, which is almost, though not quite, the same colour as the water. Her blonde curls have become even more springy in the humidity. I can’t wait to hold her in my arms again.
My gaze drops to Charlie. He’s wearing khaki green shorts and a casual, white short-sleeved shirt, unbuttoned at the top. The sight of him makes me feel breathless.
He smiles at me, keeping his steady hands on April’s little legs when I wave.
As I step off the boat onto the sandy shore, I notice a group of rock climbers tackling the nearby cliffs, but then Charlie is approaching and my attention is instantly diverted. He takes April down from his shoulders to give me a hug.
‘It’s so good to see you again,’ he says after a brief embrace. Butterflies have crowded into my tummy and I’m finding it hard to meet his eyes. Three weeks feels like a lifetime when you realise you’re in love with someone.
My awkwardness dispels when I turn to April. ‘Hello, cutie!’ I reach out to take her, desperate for a proper baby hug.
