Page 15 of One Moment in Time
‘Hi, Pam,’ Aiden said, deploying every bit of civility he possessed. After all, other than being mildly terrifying, Pam had never been in any way negative to him. In fact, maybe Layla’s mom could give him answers.
‘Before we start, I’m not here to discuss what happened with you and my daughter. I’m just here to collect her things.’
Or maybe not.
She pulled down the hem of her pink tweed jacket. Aiden knew it was probably Chanel, given that she’d passed her fondness of designer clothes down to her daughter.
‘Layla isn’t coming?’ he asked hopefully.
‘No. She’s taking a moment to think about things. Practising some self-care. It’s been a tough time for her.’
Aiden was desperate to say that it had been two whole weeks – how much thinking did she need to do? He also wanted to throw in that it hadn’t been a walk in the park for him either, but he held back on the pettiness. It wasn’t his way.
Instead, he went with, ‘I understand. Please ask her to give me a call when she’s ready. It would be good to talk to her.’
He tried to make it sound as amicable as possible. Wasn’t that what he advised his clients to do every day? Stay amicable. Communicate. Work things out one way or another but never block the conversation. He wasn’t sure he was achieving that here, and he definitely hadn’t managed to facilitate that with his parents. Those two were a war zone that had an occasional ceasefire. Maybe he should give up his career and settle for work in a more appropriate field, one that fitted with his current existence. If you could earn a living moping, drinking beer and bouncing a ball against a wall, that would be the job for him.
Or maybe a doorman, because he ended up, without another word being spoken, grabbing the suitcases he’d filled with all Layla’s belongings as requested, and taking them down to Pam’s car, where she waved him off with a vague promise that his ex-fiancée would ‘be in touch when she has processed everything and feels ready’. Not exactly the kind of news that called for a victory parade and a brass band.
‘Thanks for your help there,’ he said to Trevon when he got back upstairs.
His mate shrugged. ‘You had it covered. I was waiting in the background, ready to go. You know, like my man, Shemar.’
Despite this being yet another low point in his life, that made Aiden laugh. For years, people had compared the two of them to famous names – Trevon bore an uncanny resemblance to Shemar Moore fromSWAT, and in a dim light, Aiden was a dead ringer for Jamie Dornan from the Fifty Shades movies. Without the controlling nature and the natty leather whips. Anyway, their famous-adjacent looks had earned them many free drinks from inebriated or gullible bartenders over the years.
‘Okay, now that you’re out of immediate danger, I’m just going to stop by the office and make sure my empire hasn’t crumbled while I’ve been babysitting you,’ Trevon told him, picking up his backpack and then doing that whole handshake, semi hug thing. ‘The office’ was a bit of an understatement. What he was actually referring to was a 40,000 square feet, state-of-the-art fitness complex that was the flagship of his lifestyle brand. His chain of gyms stretched across South Carolina and were hugely popular, training a healthy percentage of the weight-lifting, cardio-busting, basketball-playing, cross-fit-loving population of the city, including – and Aiden thought this was brilliant – one Eileen Gregg, who never missed a cross-fit session in the Harleston Village branch of Trevon’s empire.
The loft felt strange when Trevon left. It was the first time Aiden had been alone there since the wedding and he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with himself. Work. It was the only thing that was going to take his mind off his shitshow of a personal life. He grabbed another beer, then headed to his home office, a glass-fronted space in the corner of the living area, and fired up his computer. He usually paid no attention to the social media apps on his home screen, but today his eye caught the blue square in the corner. Facebook. He kept his notifications switched off and he hadn’t checked it for weeks. Now he opened it to see fourteen new messages. Shit.
One by one, he opened them, not surprised that they were mostly from guests who’d been at the wedding, or people who hadn’t been able to make it and who were now probably kicking themselves that they’d missed the drama. Nothing from Layla. He didn’t think for a second that there would be and he hated himself for hoping. He clicked on to her profile, expecting to see nothing for the last two weeks, but he was wrong. There was a photo, loaded yesterday, of her naked back, long dark waves flowing down her spine, sitting on a beach, staring out over the ocean. The caption simply said, ‘Life’.
Great. Here he was, heart shattered and she was posting artfully taken pics on Facebook. Where the hell had he gone wrong in ‘life’? He’d cancelled his honeymoon and gone back to work instead of spending two weeks in the Bahamas with his new wife, yet here she was, lying on some mysterious beach. He gave up trying to make this make sense. The only consolation was that he’d booked refundable flights and hotel on the honeymoon, so he hadn’t lost out financially. He just hoped that one day they’d get to rebook it all and this time Layla and her standard six pieces of matching luggage would actually be there too.
He was about to shut down Facebook and get to work, when he spotted a tiny number one next to the Message Request header. Must be someone from the wedding that he wasn’t friends with. Maybe someone from Layla’s side. Great. More sympathy and reinforcement that he’d been completely humiliated.
He clicked on it anyway. Nope, nothing to do with the wedding. In fact, at first, he wondered if it was some kind of sales spam and was ready to delete it when he saw the picture at the bottom of the message. It didn’t take too close an inspection to realise who was in it. His dad. His mum. And they must have been in their early twenties when it was taken.
He went back to the beginning of the message and saw that it had come in a couple of days before.
Dear Aiden,
Sorry if this is the strangest Facebook message you’ve ever received, but please don’t delete it before I can explain the reason for reaching out to a stranger thousands of miles away.
I’m Zara Jones, I live in Glasgow, my parents are Colin and Brenda Jones and I believe they were friends of your father, Gary Gregg, back in the nineties. At least I think so. I’m rubbish at this investigative stuff, and I only had the photo below to go on. I did try to contact Gary directly but he didn’t reply, so I might have got this all wrong.
The reason I’m practically stalking members of your family is that my sister and I are taking my parents (the two people in the middle of the photo) on a surprise trip to Las Vegas, where they got married thirty years ago, to celebrate their anniversary. We’ll be there for five days, beginning on 16 May. I think your dad was their best man and I know this is a ridiculous long shot, but it would be incredible if your dad could make it there so we can surprise them with a reunion.
I know, crazy, because the 16th is really soon, and this is impossibly short notice, but how amazing would it be????
Anyway, if you’re not totally freaked out by this random woman contacting you, then I’d love to hear from you or your dad. Even if it’s not possible for them to meet up, maybe your dad could send a message to my parents? He was obviously part of their lives at a really special time, so I’m sure it would mean the world to them.
Hope to hear from you,
Zara. ??
PS: my UK phone number is…
Aiden’s stare went from the bottom of the message to the picture again and he realised he was smiling. Wow. Look at his dad. And his mum! So young. So happy. So carefree… So different from the bruised, unhappy people that they were now.
