Page 106 of Me and Mr. Darcy

‘Why not?’

‘Because it’s Freddy,’ she gasps, as if that makes it obvious.

I suddenly feel very defensive of Freddy. Stella might be my best friend but she’s still out of order.

‘So? The last time he looked he had a penis, didn’t he?’ I retort.

‘Em,’ breathes Stella, shocked, ‘I can’t believe you just said that – you never say things like that.’

‘Well, I’m sorry, Stella, but someone’s got to be harsh with you,’ I continue firmly. ‘What did you expect? That Freddy was going to turn into a monk because you didn’t want him?’

‘Oh, c’mon, Em, I didn’t say it like that,’ whines Stella, audibly shaken.

‘True,’ I acquiesce. ‘You didn’t say it exactly like that. No, it was more along the lines of “We’re complete opposites. We’d drive each other crazy if we were really a couple. Freddy’s the sweetest person in the whole world, and he’ll make someone a wonderful boyfriend, but not mine” . . .’ As I trail off there’s silence on the other end of the line.

‘But we are married,’ she quips weakly, after a moment.

‘Only for a green card. Aren’t you the one who’s always pointing that out?’ I remind her.

Again there’s silence, only this time it’s not broken by a quip. Instead, there’s a heavy sigh.

‘Oh, God, I’ve been such an idiot, haven’t I?’ she whispers finally, her voice thick with remorse.

‘You mean you’ve only just realised?’ I say, but there’s affection in my voice. Stella’s not a bad person, she just didn’t see what was right under her nose.

There’s the sound of a tut and I can imagine her smiling, despite herself.

‘I don’t want Freddy dating other girls,’ she says quietly, almost to herself.

‘Why? Because even though you don’t want him, you don’t want anyone else to have him?’ I propose a little unkindly. I don’t think that’s true, but I have to ask.

‘No, that’s not the reason,’ she fires back, full of indignation. ‘That’s not the reason at all.’

‘So what it is?’ I prompt.

There’s a pause.

‘I love him.’

Her voice is quiet but steady and as I hear those three words I feel like punching the air and yelling, ‘Yes!’ But I’ll leave that to Freddy. And so, containing my excitement, I reply, ‘I think you need to be telling someone else that.’

After making her promise that she would call Freddy and keep me posted, I say goodbye to a somewhat dazed Stella. My hands are almost frozen solid with holding the phone. God, it’s cold.

Rubbing my hands together to try to warm them up, I think about Stella and Freddy, trying to imagine what their conversation might be, what’s going to happen. I hope they can work it out. Stella’s been an idiot, but it seems to me that sometimes you have to lose something before you realise its true value.

Like Spike?

My stomach churns and then – boom – there’s Spike’s email again, the newspaper articles about Ernie, Mrs McKenzie’s email . . . Problems, worries, revelations . . . they all come rushing back. With Mr Darcy gone, I’m faced with reality again and with it, a feeling of dread. I know I can’t escape from this any more. I’ve got to deal with it. I’ve got to— Oh, I don’t know what I’ve got to do, but I’ve got to do something. Stuffing my hands in my pockets, I take one last look at the view. Hiding away up here isn’t going to help. I need to go back to the hotel and face up to things. Try to figure things out. My eyes search the skyline, as if looking for some clue, some answer, some solution, but of course it’s never as easy as that, is it? And turning away, I set off back down the hill.

Half an hour later I’m freewheeling down a road that leads into the city. Gradually it’s starting to level out and so, not wanting to lose speed, I start pedalling. I turn a corner. The road narrows and winds to the left, then turns into a one-way street. The asphalt gives way to cobbles. So pretty to look at, but brutal when you’re on a bicycle, especially one that doesn’t have a particularly springy saddle. In fact, I’m just thinking about the havoc it’s wreaking on my butt when I nearly collide with a pedestrian.

‘Hey, watch out,’ I yell, braking suddenly and nearly going over the handlebars.

‘Oh, dear. I didn’t see—’

‘Maeve?’

In the middle of a breathless apology she stops and pushes her glasses further up her nose to peer at me. ‘Emily! I didn’t see it was you!’