Page 102 of One Night With You

I stay at Millie and Sandeep’s for four nights, and driving home to the new apartment feels so strange. We’ve agreed that for three months the baby will stay at Millie’s and I’ll see her there, and after that we’ll assess if she’s ready for sleepovers with me or when the right time for that might be. But being home now, with everything still in boxes and my new job having not yet started, I feel the weight of it allfor the first time. I send Ruby a photo of the baby. I don’t even realise I’m doing it until I’m scrolling for her name. She calls me immediately.

‘She’s beautiful,’ she says. ‘Congratulations, Nic.’

‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘She’s very tiny, and very cute.’

‘You sound happy.’

‘I am,’ I say. ‘Are you?’

She pauses. ‘Some producers at the BBC have seenAlmost Doesn’t Count. I’m actually just about to go into a meeting with them, with Harry.’

‘Shit!’ I say. ‘That’s amazing. Ruby!’

‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘Wish us luck.’

‘You don’t need luck,’ I tell her.

We pause.

‘I just wanted to say,’ Ruby offers then, ‘that even though we’ve decided not to be together, I love you. That’s it. You don’t have to say it back. But I wanted to say it. I love you. You’ve changed me. And I will carry that with me forever.’

‘You changed me as well,’ I say. ‘And I love you, too. I don’t understand how this doesn’t get to work out, but I know it’s right. Maybe in our next life the timing will be right.’

She laughs, snotty and cute. ‘Maybe,’ she says. And then: ‘Be well, Nic.’

PART THREE

FOUR YEARS LATER

43

Ruby

‘That was a beautiful memorial, wasn’t it?’

I knew he was coming. He’d read the announcement online, the algorithm on his news app issuing an unexpected blast from the past. Jackson told me last week, at Candice’s wedding as we waited for her to finish getting her bridal photos done. They aren’t in touch often, partly because of Nic’s move, partly because of me, and partly because Jackson and Nic’s brother Ollie had an ill-fated month-long secret shag-fest of a relationship two years ago that left Ollie heartbroken when Jackson didn’t want any more than that. Ollie’s first heartbreak. Nic chose blood over water, despite Ollie ultimately being happier than ever after embracing his full sexuality at Jackson’s encouragement – or so I heard. Still, it ended up being a bit of a mess. Everything got reported to me second-hand, through Candice, in breaks on set or writing binges with Harry.

He looks almost the same – Nic. There’s a softeningaround the eyes, a thin new dent between his eyebrows, almost as if a thumb has run the breadth of his face and smudged his wide-set features. His eyes sit pool-like and dark, those full, pink lips parting just enough to reveal his enviably perfect teeth, that thick neck sloping deep into his starched white shirt, the black tie loosened by a centimetre or two, his top button undone in the smallest nod to casual, despite the expensive-looking suit. His broadness hasn’t changed, but it’s settled into something less lithe, less gangly. What I’m saying is, I suppose, is that he looks exactly as old as he is, and I’m suddenly aware of it because I wonder how different I look to him. I’m just shy of thirty-five, but the late nights, early mornings, endless meetings and working weekends – all of that means I know, factually speaking, I’m not as fresh-faced as I was. That’s not me being paranoid. It’s true.

‘I hope it’s okay that I came,’ he adds.

I pull up my sunglasses and perch them on my head.

‘Of course it is,’ I say. ‘That film was as much a story about you and me as it was JP. He’d be touched that you made the effort.’

‘It seems he touched a lot of people,’ Nic comments, motioning to the dispersing crowds outside of the church. It’s a beautiful day: there’s a cloudless June sky, and it’s warm enough that men have shed their suit jackets and a few people are sitting on the grass, waiting for the pub across the road to open at midday.

‘Are you coming to the pub now?’ I ask. ‘There’s food, and coffee.’

William and Sophie walk past us, her bulging pregnant stomach coming into view before anything else. William touches my arm and smiles, Sophie sayingbonjour, but theydon’t slow. They told me earlier that they’re having a boy, and he’ll be called Jean-Pierre: a French nod to his great-gramps. Life goes on, even in death. JP would be thrilled at the namesake, of that everyone is sure. He loved that William and Sophie had the chance for the love story he didn’t, and whilst he might not meet his great-grandson, he did get to watch William walk down the aisle at least.

‘Erm,’ Nic says, smiling at William and his wife. ‘I don’t know. Yes? I don’t want to intrude. I just saw the piece in theGuardian, and then downloaded the doc to watch again, like everyone else I suppose, and I had all thesefeelings.He was so kind to me at that dinner. I don’t know if you remember. Probably not. But we had a dinner, at your flat in Manchester, and he was there and … I don’t know.’

‘I get it,’ I tell him. ‘That’s how JP made me feel too. Thank you for coming. It’s really nice to see you.’

Nic looks chuffed to hear me say that, and I feel chuffed to be saying it. I’ve thought of him, over the years. Especially in the beginning. I always assumed he’d found someone, probably got married, probably had another kid. I look down at his left hand reflexively: no ring.

‘Nic? Hey!’ Harry waves as he approaches, Beau by his side, and everything unspoken between us vanishes as Nic reaches out a hand and greets them both exclaiming, ‘Harry, mate, how are you? Beau, isn’t it? Hey, Beau.’

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