‘We have been having a raging debate about whether to invite you…’
I feel pretty sure which side of it Edward would’ve been on. After all, who the hell would want their former therapy client, slash former work colleague, slash former two-time-snoggee, to pop over to their place for a surprise catch up? I can’t even blame him for arguing against this, it sounds horrific.
And yet.
Not so horrific.
There is a pull in my stomach; something magnetic. It’s whisperingGo. I’ve heard that voice before. It’s the one Sam used to love feeding; the one who loved drama and made stupid choices.
And yet.
I haven’t seen any of the group since I left. It would be really nice to see them and catch up; to find out how their lives have been.
But maybe these are just excuses. Maybe they’re the lies I’ve always told myself when I wanted to do something wrong. Maybe I’m just looking for any old reasons, because the truth is, nice as it would be to catch up with Fran, Arshiya and Jamal, it’s Edward I really want to see.
Perhaps we could put things to rest at last? Get some closure? Like I did with Justin on the phone that time? I could say sorry to Edward for judging him so harshly during our last conversation in the lift. I could thank him for the workhe put into our therapy sessions together. We could part as friends. Or at least, non-awkward-and-non-weird former acquaintances?
I think about how much better I felt after I had that chat with Justin. We were able to have the most civilised conversation, admitting faults on both sides and saying sorry. What if I could have that with Edward?
And ooh, Ihavejust had my hair done. I’ve finally fixed that bloody fringe and it looks great. It would be such a shame to waste it. I wonder how Edward’s hair is looking these days. I haven’t managed to get hold of any old Vidal Sassoon despite my best efforts. Apparently it was discontinued in 2002, so god knows how Edward’s mum got hold of her supplies.
Before I can change my mind, I pick up my phone, my heart thumping in my chest, and quickly type out a message.
I’ll be there. Can I bring Samira? X
Her reply comes immediately.
Why not? Lol. Tell her the usual rules apply x
I message Sam, knowing how excited she will be about this. Things have been a lot healthier between us since our gamechanger chat a couple of months ago, and I know her continued sessions with Arshiya are helping her massively. She’s even started applying for new jobs and has a coupleof interviews lined up in her mission to escape her dreadful boss.
OMG YES BABE!!!
Her reply comes back within seconds. Because, sure, we’re both a lot mentally healthier, but we are still human beings who like a bit of stupidity in our lives.
The rest of the day passes too quickly, and I don’t feel the least bit ready when we find ourselves waiting nervously, several hours later, outside a tall front door. Sam takes my hand and squeezes it for moral support as I ring the doorbell. My heart is hammering as I wait for him to answer.
But it’s not Edward who opens the door. It’s Arshiya, and she leaps on me with excitement, pulling me inside.
‘Liv!’ She looks genuinely thrilled to see me, and I find myself grinning back, feeling the same way. Fran piles in for the hug, and then so does Sam. We all squeeze one another tightly as we bundle through the hallway and into the living room.
I hadn’t realised how much I’ve missed this lot. We hug for ages, and I only pull away because I can feel eyes on the back of my neck.
I turn, searching for the source of the heat, and land on him. On Him. On Edward. He’s standing towards the back of his large living room, watching. He’s in conversation with Jamal, but he’s watching me.
He looks great. His hair is glorious and thick – well doneGore Vidal – and his face is clean shaven. For once, he’s not in one of his fancy suits. Instead, he’s wearing a surprisingly tight white T-shirt, tucked into blue jeans. It’s all very At Home with James Dean, and boy, is it working for him.
I hold his gaze, and for a moment he doesn’t smile. But then he does. Tightly. He raises the glass he’s holding by way of a greeting, and I nod back. It is the real life equivalent ofBest wishes for the future.
I turn back to Fran, Arshiya and Sam, feeling a coldness in my belly. What did I think he’d do when we saw each other? Throw himself across the room to hold me, upending coffee tables as he went?
I mean, that would’ve been lovely, actually. Kind of out of order that he didn’t.
Arshiya is speaking and I tune back in to hear her say, ‘… I just think it sounds incredible, and I was wondering if you know, do they have any more space for volunteers?’ Her eyes search mine. ‘I could do a day a week at least – maybe more if they needed.’ She’s talking about the domestic violence centre where I work.
I nod, excited by the prospect of working with Arshiya again – and bringing in more support for the charity. ‘Definitely! They always need more volunteers. I’m sure they’d be really grateful,’ I tell her. ‘I’ll email over some info on Monday. Actually,’ I say shyly, ‘as of this week, I’m no longer a volunteer anymore. They’ve found the budget to take me on. So, I’m doing four days a week with them. Then working on the book at home on Fridays.’
‘That’s so great!’ Fran gushes, taking a big swig of their wine. They look a little tipsy actually. And sound it when they continue, ‘Mate, you look sooo happy. We really miss you around the collective. It’s shit without you. Some people around here aredicks.’ I make eye contact with Arshiya – who looks alarmed – and then Sam – who looks delighted. Fran leans closer, their breath somewhat overpowering. ‘It was good that you got out when you did, really. And you’re obviously really enjoying the new job, so it’s all worked out well.’
