Page 38

“Yours. I may have had a hand in it. But, you were the one that—” She caught herself. “Never mind. This is not the time. Let’s enjoy your small screen acting debut. That’s the only thing that matters at the moment.”

For the next hour, we did nothing but eat popcorn and watch the action on screen. Georgia had positively vibrated with excitement all the way through, elbowing me as if I hadn’t noticed whenever I appeared on screen. As far as I could work out, they hadn’t cut any scenes, not from the first episode I was in anyway. There were two more still to come over the next two weeks. Perhaps I wouldn’t fare quite so well in those.

My phone had been inundated with positive messages, my favorite probably being my brother telling me how good I was, and how excited Bobby was to see his uncle on TV. Apparently, they’d let him stay up late to watch. Kate had even messaged reprimanding me for not letting her know I was going to be on TV.

My phone buzzed again. This message came up with no caller I.D.

I watched you on TV. You were fantastic! I just needed to tell you that. Hope you’re well.

Justin! I sat back, the breath leaving me in a whoosh. I’d been telling the truth when I’d told Georgia I’d deleted his number and all the previous messages. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. It took away the temptation of being able to call him. I’d worried that too many drinks one night might lead to a drunken call or a message I’d regret the next day. But, it didn’t mean I didn’t recognize his number. I stared at the phone re-reading the simple message. Georgia had moved to the kitchen. I could hear her talking on her phone. I fumbled with the keys, typing out a quick message before I could think better of it.

Thanks. I’m fine.

The minute where I stared at my phone, wondering if he’d respond, felt like hours. He probably wouldn’t. After all, I’d only given him three words. I should have said more. I could have at least asked how he was. Was it too late to send that through as a separate question? My phone chimed again as I considered it.

Good. I’m glad.

I was about to put my phone away, when another message came through, followed by a whole string in quick succession.

I miss you.

I know you don’t want to hear that.

And it doesn’t change anything.

And I’m truly sorry for everything that I handled in the wrong way.

I’ve had a lot of time to think about it. I could have done so much better.

But I do. I miss you, Dean.

I screwed up the best thing that had happened to me for ages.

Tears pricked my eyes as I typed my response, too cut to the quick to not be completely honest.

I miss you too.

Then I waited. Georgia was still on the phone. I could hear her chattering away. She was too far away for me to be able to work out what she was saying or who she was talking to. Another message came through. It wasn’t from Justin. Just another friend congratulating me on my performance. I ignored it. I’d respond to it later. My eyes were still glued to the screen which held the record of the last few messages Justin and I had sent to each other. The cursor would flash, indicating he was typing, then it would stop without a message coming through. He’d obviously deleted whatever it was he’d been going to say. It flashed again. The same thing happened. He was obviously struggling with whatever it was he wanted to say. Finally, a message came through.

Dean, I still want to talk. Even if it’s just for closure. For both of us. I don’t feel like we ever got that. Can we talk? Is that possible? Please.

Can we talk? A simple enough question. Yet, it still felt so difficult to do. Like offering my heart up on a platter and letting someone stomp all over it. But, I couldn’t go on the way I had been. Georgia was right, I was miserable. I hadn’t so much as looked at another guy. I typed out a message.

I don’t know. When? Where?

The answer came through straight away.

My house. Tuesday night. Usual time. Will you come?

I took a sharp intake of breath. Of all the times and places, why would he suggest that? Was he trying to twist the knife? What could possibly be going through his head to think that was the best suggestion? But then did I really want to sit in a public place where anyone could listen in? I didn’t have to say yes. I could suggest somewhere else. But, that was as good as agreeing I’d definitely be there. I answered honestly.

I don’t know. Maybe. I can’t promise anything.

Chapter Nineteen

That damn door. I’d even dreamt about it; its glossy red surface opening to a number of different scenarios: some of them completely surreal as dreams are prone to be. Others slightly more realistic. Some of the dreams didn’t even have Justin in them. In one particularly memorable one, I’d climbed the familiar stairs only to find Simon behind the bedroom door. He’d loomed out of the darkness, somehow managing to glow enough to be able to recognize it as him. His octopus hands had groped me everywhere while an unnaturally long tongue thrust its way into my mouth. Georgia had also been in that one. She’d stood in the corner of the room, egging Simon on and encouraging him not to take no for an answer. God only knows what a psychologist would have made of my overactive imagination. They’d probably have had a field day analyzing it.

I lifted my hand and knocked, a tiny flake of red paint chipping off under my knuckles and floating slowly down to the ground. I hadn’t made a conscious decision to go there. Even at the point I’d left the house, I’d thought I might go and visit my brother, or Georgia at work. But, my legs had carried me there. Closure was good, I reminded myself. Justin was right, we could have a conversation. Agree that we both needed to take some of the responsibility for the huge fuckup our relationship had turned into. Then we could move on and both go our separate ways. Maybe then I’d be able to get him out of my head, not to mention my dreams. At least that was the plan if he ever actually bothered to answer the door. I knocked again, louder that time. Same result.