Home, I think, sadly. An empty house in a boring street. But I could bring a tiny piece of what I’ve learned at the bookshop home with me. Maybe I could paint the place, even add a mural in the spare room. The progress Rory has made in the shop is inspiring. He’s inspiring.
Rory. God, how am I going to feel about all of this when the dust settles? What is this all going to look like when I view it with some distance?
Maybe better. Maybe worse – but I think I need to start putting that distance between us right now. There’s no need to stay here, I decide. I might as well rip the plaster off. I can drive through the night, pull over for a rest in a lay-by if I need to, or find a hotel on the route. I’ll be sad not to see the others one last time, but I can call them – we can maybe video chat. This doesn’t need to be the end of everything, but I think it might need to be the end of my stay here, in this house. With this man. It’s too much without Beth here.
I speed up my packing, suddenly feeling desperate to leave now I’ve made my decision. Will I even say goodbye to him, or will I sneak away like a thief in the night?
The latter, I decide, even if it does make me an ungrateful cow. I am too fragile when I’m around him, and I’m already reeling because of Beth going. I know it’s not fair, I know he never did the terrible things to me that I thought he did, but this isn’t logical – it’s a gut reaction. Rory hurt me, even more than he knows, and I am terrified that he will hurt me again. I can’t fall into that trap. I need to protect myself.
I’m zipping up my suitcase, listening to The Cardigans, so intent on what I’ve been doing that I don’t even notice the door opening. I don’t know if he knocked, if he waited, or if I left the damn thing open – I also don’t know how long he has been standing there watching me. His arms are crossed over his chest, and he fills the doorframe.
‘You’re leaving?’ he asks simply, his tone calm but that twitch in his jaw giving him away. I meet his eyes as directly as I can, and nod.
‘I think it’s for the best, don’t you?’ I reply, cursing the music playing in the background. He probably doesn’t even remember it, I tell myself.
‘Probably,’ he says tersely. ‘See you around, Jane.’
With that he turns his back and walks away. My heart plummets down to my ankles, and white sound rushes into my ears with a booming intensity. Tears sting the back of my eyes, and I suck in a shuddering breath to try and calm myself. What did I expect? A loving embrace? An outpouring of emotion? Him begging me to stay?
Rory might not have been the villain of the story in the way that I had previously believed, but I clearly mean nothing to him now.
That’s okay. That’s fine. That’s… devastating. I remind myself that just moments ago, I was planning on sneaking away without even telling him, so I’m just as bad. I guess we’re badfor each other. Too much has happened for it ever to be any different.
I bump my case down the stairs, and collect my coat from the stand by the door. I glance around once more, at this place I will never see again, and hear the sound of the quiz show coming through from the lounge. He has gone straight back to watching the television.
I walk through the front door, and put the case in the boot. I’m crying now, again. It seems to be my default setting today. I can’t help it, though. Parting is such sweet sorrow, but only for one of us, it seems.
FIFTEEN
RORY
I hear her car door slam, and the engine start. I mute the TV I wasn’t even watching, and listen to her wheels crunch over the gravel as she leaves. I throw the remote control all the way across the room, and it smashes into the wall, the batteries flying loose and the back cracking. Shit. I’ll regret that later. I’ll regret a lot of things later, I’m sure.
I’ll regret letting her come here in the first place. I’ll regret letting her back into my life. I’ll regret being so dumb that I expected her to stay once Beth had gone. I’ll regret ever meeting her, all those years ago.
Mainly, I realise, getting up and gathering the pieces of the remote, I’ll regret letting her leave. I let her walk out without saying a word. ‘See you around, Jane’ – was that really the best I could do? A former barrister, the man Moira says has French-kissed the Blarney Stone? That’s all I could come up with?
In that moment it was. Seeing her leaving felt like a punch to the gut. We hadn’t discussed it, and I hadn’t expected it. I knew it might be awkward without Beth, but I suppose I thought we’d find our way through it, like we have so far. She seemed to be enjoying it here, working with Moira and Kate, planning the artproject. Watching her ideas for the murals in the bookshop come to life. Was I wrong?
No, I decide. She was enjoying all of that. It was the Rory Callaghan part that she was struggling with. I place the broken pieces of plastic on the table, and feel like slapping myself across the face. She’s only been here a week, but I was already getting used to having her around. Already getting used to the lingering floral smell of her perfume in the hallway when I got home, the sound of her singing to herself when she thought nobody was listening. Finding the pretty doodles she’d done on a sketch pad and left in the kitchen. Living with the signs of her all around me.
It was torture. It was hell. It was heaven. And now she’s gone – as though it meant nothing to her, seeing me again.
Except… she’d been crying, I could tell. Her normally tidy hair was dishevelled, and she looked shocked when she saw me in the doorway. She’d left the door wide open, and was listening to the music from that damned film again. None of this, once I calm myself down, seems like the behaviour of a woman who didn’t care. A woman this meant nothing to. I didn’t really even give her the chance to explain, or to talk it through – I just overreacted. Gave her the cold shoulder.
‘Fuck!’ I say out loud, because sometimes only a swear will do, especially if you’re Irish. Why did I freeze her out like that? Why did I turn my back and walk away, pretending to be so cool? Aren’t I too old these days for pretending to be cool?
It’s not too late, I think, grabbing up the keys to my bike. It’s a Harley, big and powerful and most importantly fast. If she’s leaving, she’ll have to go back through the village, and I know she drives like a granny – still getting used to the curves and turns. If I go further up the hillside and back down the other way, maybe I can head her off. It’s a stupid idea and I know it, but it takes root – if nothing else, it’ll do me good to feel thewind blowing against me, to feel the freedom of the open road. It’s got to be better than sitting here smashing inanimate objects and cursing.
I put on my leather jacket and helmet, and I’m away. Up and over the cliffs, taking the small roads that cars can’t access, cutting over tracks and fields and finally emerging on the far side of Bonnie Bay, and the road that leads away back to Aberdeen. Back to bloody Watford.
I hit the crossroads, and look in both directions – just as she passes me, her blue Hyundai tootling off into the distance. The road is quiet at this time of day, and I swoop behind her, then around her, the bike easily catching up. I go on in front, and drive infuriatingly slowly. I have no idea if she realises it’s me or not, but eventually she beeps her horn at me. I grin beneath my helmet, imagining the names she’s calling me right now, and zoom off to get some distance. I pull the bike to a stop right across the road, blocking her path completely, and boot the kick stand into place.
She beeps me again, but luckily isn’t annoyed enough to plough right into me. I take my helmet off and leave it on the saddle as I stride towards her. I see her eyes widen through the windscreen, and her hands grip the steering wheel so hard her knuckles whiten. I knock on the driver’s side window and she stares at me for a few seconds, understandably confused.
Eventually she opens the window, and looks me up and down. ‘Rory,’ she mutters. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m lodging an official objection.’
