‘But spending time with him has made everything worse,’ I add miserably. ‘I love them both.’
No one says anything. What can they say?
I don’t know how I manage to get through the rest of the day at work, but my grief is replaced by melancholy on the way home. I sit there and stare into space as commuters and tourists hustle and bustle around me. It’s time to come clean to Richard. I still don’t know what I’m going to do, but I owe him the truth. And maybe Ben was right. Maybe I’m hoping someone else will make this decision for me. I’m aware that makes me weak as well as deceitful. I don’t feel like I deserve either of them.
Richard knows something is wrong from the moment I walk into the living room.
‘What is it?’ he asks, starting to get to his feet.
‘Stay there,’ I say, and he hesitates before sinking back into the sofa with concern written all over his face. ‘I have to tell you something.’
I feel sick to my core as I sit down on the armchair and face him. He’s confused, not sure yet what’s to come.
‘What is it?’ he asks.
I don’t know where to start. I haven’t rehearsed this. ‘When I first came to Australia . . .’ My voice falters.
‘It’s okay, you can tell me.’
He doesn’t know what he’s saying.
I take a deep breath. ‘I fell in love with someone much older than me. I’d only just turned sixteen and he was twenty-eight.’
Richard frowns, but manages to keep it together.
‘Nothing ever happened,’ I say quickly, ‘but I wanted it to. I’ve never been able to forget him.’
‘Right . . .’
‘He went to England and got married to someone else.’
‘Wait,’ he interrupts. ‘Don’t tell me this is the old guy you bumped into recently.’
I don’t speak.
‘Please don’t tell me that,’ he says again.
Tears well up in my eyes. I nod, ever so slightly.
‘Oh, Lily,’ he murmurs. ‘What are you trying to say?’
I sorely wish I didn’t have to say anything. ‘I’m sorry,’ is what I come out with.
‘Sorry forwhat?’ I don’t know if it’s anger or frustration or a mixture of both, but he pushes his hand through his dark hair and stares at me directly. ‘Have youfuckedhim?’
‘No!’ I cry, and he visibly contracts with relief.
‘Then what’s happened?’ he presses.
‘Nothing’s happened.’
‘Does he know about me?’
‘I told him today.’
‘How many times have you seen him?’
‘Only a few times.’
