Page 69 of The Love of Our Lives
‘How’s what going?’ he says gruffly, looking back. ‘Such nonsense, I’m too old for any of that anyway.’
‘No, you’re not,’ I start, surprised by the turn in events. ‘Why don’t you just give it a shot?’
‘Why don’t you give it a shot with Adam?’ He fires back, and I close my mouth.
‘That’s what I thought,’ he says, letting himself into his flat now. ‘But run away back to London now, don’t mind us.’
‘William,’ I start, moving towards him.
‘Just remember it’s three months’ notice on the flat,’ he says before shutting the door firmly.
And all I can think is,I’ll be gone by then.
A little later, I’m on the train, cream cheese bagel and hot coffee on the table in front of me. People are still walking into the carriage, checking the tickets above the slightly cramped seats, saying ‘sorry, sorry’ as they stuff bags up on to racks and slide into seats.
Taking a sip of the rich liquid, I lean my head back against the headrest, try to calm myself after that tense chat with William. He just doesn’t understand what I’m going through, how hard this all is for me too. I barely slept last night; tossed and turned until the early hours as I thought about Adam, thought about Simon, until I finally woke up drenched in sweat. Because it stillfeels so wrong, leaving Adam like I am, like some invisible bit of string is holding us together somehow. And even the thought of going to London in itself is causing some discomfort I can’t quite explain, but I know I have to explore this for Emily. I have to see Simon again and find out if there’s still something there between them.
If that’s what she wanted.
I suppose, when I really think about it, why would Emily not have loved Simon still? They had the most passionate of starts and he’s everything any woman could possibly look for – and not just in terms of the glamour and the wealth. From that short meet-up we had, from all the glimmers of the past, I know that he was kind too. I can feel it. Plus, maybe she realised that she’d played some part in it all too, what with her awful work hours.
But what about Adam?
What aboutmylist?
Because it really is clear now what I was trying to do before – and it wasn’t about Emily. None of it before Charlie’s accident was really. It was me who wanted to drive and to dance, to go out till dawn and ski down a mountain. But although I might wish I could go travel the world now and have those big experiences I always dreamed of, this is not my life to mess up, and I have to think about Emily and her loved ones too. Make sure nothing else gets thrown off-course.
The thought unsettles me and I can feel something else prodding at me. But a moment later, the whistle sounds, and the thought is gone. The carriage jolts forwards and then we’re off, slowly at first, then faster and faster, out past the great Georgian structures of Edinburgh I know and love so well, out past trees and houses and gardens, out past washing fluttering in the breeze, out past trees and fields towards the unknown. I turn to the glass, see my reflection looking back at me, and for the briefest of moments, I see her smile back at me, and I get one ofthose sensations again, that inexplicable feeling that our tracks are aligning perfectly: Emily and I, together on the train, down to London.
Then, just as quickly, our tracks diverge in a rush of metal and noise and the moment is gone. I turn back to the table, feeling all shades of strange, but confident at least that I’m going in the right direction again.
The train bullets down the length of the country – past the Millennium Bridge at Newcastle, Darlington, the ancient city of York, all the way down to the country’s capital, and all I can do is stare out the windows, thinking that in all my thirty years, this is somehow the furthest I’ve ever been. I don’t know why exactly, given my parents liked to travel so much before they had kids. Mum used to tour the world with the orchestra after all, but then three girls and one heart condition later, I suppose it got harder to go away. But I wish she would. And perhaps she might again, if I branched out first – showed her that I can live differently too.
I just wish I could talk to Mum properly – Iwilltalk to her about it, when I’m back in my old life.
An announcement on the tinny speaker ahead; the iconic King’s Cross Station suddenly emerges outside. The train pulls to a stop and, after collecting my suitcase from the luggage rack, I step down on to the bustling platform, in the heart of the country’s capital. I feel a rush of anxiety at the prospect of what’s ahead of me, but also a buzz of excitement too, this sense of coming back to somewhere special.
And as I walk up the platform, I put all thoughts of my family, and of home, away again.
Sunlight glints through the blossom trees as I walk along the neatly kept pavement. To both sides of me, beautiful white and sandstone houses sit back in closely cropped gardens, pastel flowers lined orderly up their driveways. A mother and daughterdressed in matching white summer dresses and beige sunhats walk smartly past me. Even the bus that goes by seems shinier somehow, and I try to swallow down my nerves.
Then I see it, the street number I scribbled on a piece of paper before I left Edinburgh. I’d found Emily’s parents’ address eventually in a floral address book at the bottom of a box, and although I knew the area would be affluent, I’m not sure I really got how much. Looking up at Emily’s pristine childhood home, behind wrought-iron gates, I feel incredibly intimidated. It exudes money and power, in a way I’ve never really seen up close before, the nameMorton Houseetched on a gold plate. Going to press the fancy-looking buzzer beside the gates, my heart catches in my chest and I feel sick. Because why the hell would I put myself through this again, after that awful argument at Christmas? After Emily’s mum made it perfectly clear that she didn’t want to see me. But then, I really am running out of time now – there’s only three and a half months left, and if there’s one thing Emily must have wanted, I’ve got to think it’s making peace with her mother. But even though I know they never made up, I’ve still got to come here, so her mother always knows Emily tried.
A second later and the gates start to open. As I walk up the perfectly paved red drive, I can’t help but feel like an imposter here. It was one thing going about my business in Edinburgh but quite another actually coming down here to Emily’s world. As I stand on the step of the grand entrance, all stone arches and golden door knockers, I tuck my hair behind my ear and smooth down my sky-blue blouse. I thought jeans would be OK for today but after seeing that mother and daughter combo, I feel underdressed suddenly.
I’m about to knock again, when the door opens up, but instead of Emily’s mother, I’m surprised to see someone else, someone I don’t know initially, until I tilt my head to the side, and as thesensations wash up and over me again, I see it: strawberry hair now flecked with grey, beady green eyes that crinkle at the side from years of laughter.
‘Jackie,’ I say slowly, as the name falls from my mouth.
‘Darling, girl,’ she says, rushing to greet me, and as the familiar form of her presses against me and I smell lavender and peppermint around me, it all comes rushing back.
‘You came home,’ she whispers into my hair.
A little while later and I’m settled with a tea by a vast marble island in an extensive kitchen. Everything in the open-plan room is white and cream and glass, a sort of New England look mixed with something shinier; harder. And the rest of the house is largely the same, like it’s trying to be inviting but falls flat in its neatness. As Jackie stirs a large vat of soup on the shining Aga, I recall how she always used to warm up the place somehow. She was who I came home to every day, after all.
It didn’t take long to realise that no one else was here, and when I asked where Mum was, she told me they’d just left for one of their European social tours again – partly to do with the business and partly just to ‘schmooze’, as she put it. They had obviously not been invited to Fran’s wedding, and I got the feeling that these trips were a fairly regular feature of life – a memory too of being left here with Jackie for long stints when I was a teenager.
I was always so alone, a voice says from somewhere within, and I shiver.
