I look around, take in the changes that time has wrought. The little coffee shop is now a Costa, and the waiting room has been done up. There used to lots of hanging baskets and flower troughs dotted around, but no longer. Maybe the person who tended to them has retired. I wonder if the ticket office is still there, or if everything is automated now? I wonder if any of the same people still work here? I wonder if I can possibly stay rooted to this one spot forever, and never have to face up to what comes next? I wonder if I could get on the next train back to London without him even seeing me?
No, I tell myself. I can’t do that. I take a deep breath, and head to the exits. We’d arranged to meet at the side of the building back then, and that’s where I go now. It’s so strange, all of it. My legs feel weak as I walk, and the rest of me joins them when I see him. I grasp hold of the brickwork, and stare. Rory. Older, no rucksack, but still unmistakably him. His eyes lift from his phone, and meet mine.
TWENTY-FIVE
RORY
She looks so different. It’s been less than a week since I last saw her, but she already looks altered. Her clothes are smart and businesslike, her hair carefully pinned back. She’s carrying a leather bag, and wearing heels. I suppose I caught her at work, and she’s come straight from there. Her face, though, the look in her eyes – that’s what’s changed the most. Despite the professional image, she looks tired, scared even. Ten years older, her arms wrapped around herself protectively as she stares at me. Her hands fly up to her hair, tidying it, as though suddenly self-conscious.
I don’t care what she looks like at all – I’m just relieved that she is here. I arrived half an hour ago, and have spent the last thirty minutes convinced that history was going to repeat itself. That I was yet again going to be the loser boy mooning after a girl who wasn’t coming. She walks hesitantly towards me, and I stop myself from running towards her. I want to wrap her in my arms, kiss away that uncertainty. Erase the worry that she is clearly carrying.
I don’t, because I can tell she doesn’t want me to. And because I’m also still angry, deep down. About the last time I was left standing here like an idiot, about the intervening years,and about the way she left me in Bonnie Bay. She might not have been responsible for the first time, but our most recent fiasco? That was down to her. No matter how complicated things might have seemed, she shouldn’t have done it like that. I deserved more than a note on my pillow and a few terse conversations since. She shut me out, and that wasn’t fair. If nothing else, I need an explanation.
‘Hi,’ she says quietly, stopping a few feet away, out of arms’ reach. Closer up, I see the dark circles beneath her eyes, the signs of fatigue. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Moira made me come,’ I reply simply. She just nods. Anybody who has ever met Moira would realise that makes perfect sense.
‘How is she?’
‘She’s good. Doing well. She says you message her every now and then. She appreciates it, but said to tell you it’s time to get yourself home. To Bonnie Bay.’
Jane smiles sadly, but makes no comment. I wonder how Moira would deal with this version of Jane – polite, distant, unreachable. I’d sat with my friend in the bookshop the night before, discussing her health and her plans, drinking a very small tot of whisky and toasting the future. Then she’d told me to stop feeling sorry for myself and go get her back. When I’d dared to protest, to explain that I’d tried – that I’d called, left voicemails, written messages – she’d just pulled a face and dismissed me.
‘That’s not trying, laddie! If Romeo was fighting for Juliet, would he have settled for a text message, d’ye think?’
‘Yeah. He was a teenager.’
‘Well you’re not. Get yourself off and talk to her, I’ve fair had enough of your moping around, Rory Callaghan.’
And just like that I had my instructions – and I knew that they were right. I needed to see her again, even if it was to saygoodbye. Now, looking at her, desperate to touch her, I’m not so sure it was right after all.
‘Do you want to go to the park?’ she finally asks, then looks embarrassed. ‘No, of course not. Stupid idea. We’re not kids any more.’
‘I’d love to,’ I say quickly, before she can talk herself out of it. It’s not far away, and was one of our favourite places when we were younger. We’d spend hours there, lying on the grass holding hands, gazing into each other’s eyes. Down by the river bank, sketching, reading, planning our glorious future. The one we were cheated of, but maybe we can still salvage? Maybe not, but I do at least need to try.
She asks me questions about the village as we walk, inquiring about the grant funding, the latest events at the bookshop, how baby Alice is coming along. In return, I ask about Beth, and her new job. It’s horribly civilised, like two people who bumped into each other in the supermarket, catching up over trolleys full of toilet roll and hummus.
It’s only when we sit, on a bench near the river, that the surface-level talk dries up. It’s a pleasant evening, the sun still warm on our skin, the place full of families and young people. I smile as a couple of teenagers pass us by, hand in hand, only eyes for each other.
‘I’m sorry,’ she suddenly says, watching them disappear off along the riverside path. ‘For leaving the way I did. That was unfair of me. I should have stayed and talked to you.’
‘Yes, you should. You didn’t give me the chance to explain. You didn’t giveusa chance. It hurt, Jane, it really hurt. It felt like it was all happening again, you know? Just when I’d started to trust life a little, you took off. You ran.’
I’m trying to keep the anger out of my voice, but I can tell I’m not entirely successful. She glances at me, and nods. ‘I know. There’s not much I can say except I’m sorry. I wish I’d handled itdifferently. But I meant what I told you on the phone after, Rory. I’m not ready. I do love you, none of that was a lie, but it’s not that simple.’
‘Why isn’t it?’ I ask, hating the distance she’s put between us, both physical and emotional. ‘Is it because of Beth, your work? Because I’ve told you – I’ll come here. Anything you need, you’ve got it.’
Do I sound desperate? Yes, I think I do. But I don’t care – I am desperate. Seeing her again has made me realise that I don’t want to live without her in my world, and if that has to be on her terms, then so be it.
She smiles, but her eyes are shining with tears. ‘It’s not those things, Rory. They’re logistics. They’re problems that can be solved.’
‘So what is it? Tell me, Jane. Please.’
‘Are you sure you want to know?’ There’s a pleading tone to her voice, almost as though she hopes I’ll say no. What the hell is going on here?
I nod. ‘I do, yes.’
She sucks in a deep breath. ‘Okay. I suppose the problem that is harder to solve is… well, it’s me I suppose. You remember the summer it all happened – the summer they broke us apart, and I got taken to France?’
