‘I willneverstop loving you. I’ve already told you that. I’ll love you until the day I die and then some.’
I stare at him. He stares at me. He’s deadly serious.
Five seconds pass before his expression softens and he twists so his whole body is facing towards mine.
‘Do you think you could ever see a way of us moving forward again?’ he asks earnestly. ‘I don’t mean now, but when you’re ready. I’ll wait for you, Liv. I’ll move back to St Agnes if you can’t imagine spending your time between here and the UK. But if you don’t still love me, please tell me now—’
‘Of course I still love you,’I cut him off in a whisper, waiting for the pang of guilt to strike.
It doesn’t come.
And I feel that Tom is there with me, in that moment, giving me his blessing, wanting me to be happy.
And maybe I deserve that. Maybe I’ve been through too much. Maybe it’s time to give Finn a chance, a proper chance, to givemyselfa chance. To giveusa chance.
Maybe it’sourtime.
I struggle to go back to Beach Cottage after that week in LA. Michael was ready to leave. He missed Timothy and all his friends.
‘But you can stay,’ he said casually as I was helping him to pack, as if it really was that simple and I didn’t need to accompany him on the flight home.
So I left with him, but now, as I stand in the kitchen-diner,surrounded by too much space and too many memories, I decide not to leave it long before flying back.
One month later, I return to LA and this time, when I walk into Finn’s house and it’s just the two of us, the atmosphere feels loaded.
‘Are you happy with the same room as last time?’ he asks me, pulling my suitcase to a stop in front of the small lift.
‘Sure,’ I reply, struggling to meet his eyes.
He seems on edge too.
But by that evening, we’ve both relaxed into each other’s company.
We’re sitting on his sofa in the ground-floor living space, halfway into a bottle of wine. Outside the glass doors, the swimming pool is lit up a brilliant blue, casting flickering shadows onto the foliage growing out of the wall behind it.
‘I’m sorry it took me so long to come here,’ I say, feeling a sudden need to apologise.
‘Please don’t, Liv. Let’s not dwell on the past, okay?’ he says gently.
I nod at him. ‘Okay.’
‘Michael’ by Franz Ferdinand begins to play out of his surround sound system.
I laugh. ‘Do you remember—’
My question comes up short.
‘What?’ he presses.
I shake my head. ‘I was just thinking about the first time you played this song to me, and how you belted it out to Michael in the car.’ I give him a small smile. ‘It’s hard not to dwell on the past.’
‘That’s notdwelling,’ he replies with a bemused frown. ‘That’s reminiscing. It’s okay toreminisce.’ He chuckles. ‘One of my favourite memories is the look on your face when we played “22”. You were gobsmacked.’
I fall about laughing, and we continue to reminisce, polishing off the rest of the bottle. We don’t talk about any dark stuff, and why should we? We’ve both made decisions that have hurt each other. That doesn’t mean they were the wrong decisions. I will always cherish the years I had with Tom.
Grief wells up inside me at the sudden thought of him. I excuse myself to go to the bathroom.
As I stand there at the basin, staring at my reflection in the mirror, I wait once more for the guilt to strike.
