I am about to drive away from the most important thing that has happened to me in years because the goodbye was awkward and I am too afraid of making it worse.
Which is not maturity.
It is cowardice with good intentions.
I stare through the windscreen at the station.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I say.
The car, correctly, offers no defence.
I lean back against the seat and close my eyes for exactly one second.
I see Pippa in the kitchen, turning away to rinse a mug she did not need to rinse. Pippa on the roadside, telling me to breathe. Pippa in her office, letting herself shake. Pippa at breakfast, saying she did not want children and waiting for the world to correct her. Pippa in bed, looking at me like she had no idea what to do with the fact I was still there.
Pippa in the corridor saying, “Safe drive”, as if that was a goodbye either of us could live with.
No.
Absolutely not.
I pull the key out of the ignition, open the door and get out.
The second I start walking back towards the station, my body seems to catch up with the decision and my heart begins behaving like it has been given an alarm call. Fast. Hard. Useful for once.
Inside, the reception area is empty. The station noise is softer now, mostly coming from the kitchen and the bay. I pause for half a second, because I have no plan beyonddo not be an idiot, and historically that has not been enough to build a strategy around.
Then I see her.
Pippa is at the far end of the corridor, just outside the office.
She is alone.
Thank God.
She looks up.
Sees me.
Everything in her goes very still.
Her gaze drops briefly to my empty hands, then back to my face.
“Forget something?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Courage, apparently.”
Her expression changes.
Not much.
Enough.
“AJ.”
