Page 17 of Sorry, Not Sorry
Delilah rolled her eyes in exasperation, only just resisting the urge to hurl the phone onto the floor. ‘That’s so mature,’ she muttered.
Salome giggled, and then after a moment, her voice sobered. ‘Seriously, hon, I’m glad you’re ready to give it a try. I know it’s a big ask, but taking accountability for hurting someone can only be a good thing, right?’
Can it? Delilah wondered grimly as she ended the call. She wished she shared Salome’s optimism because from where she was standing, opening up the past to put things right was risking an awful lot more going wrong.
12
Delilah walked slowly up and down the short cul-de-sac of identical red-brick terraced houses, keeping a wary eye out for twitching curtains. It would be beyond embarrassing if a suspicious neighbour were to report her to the police for loitering – or worse, for stalking her ex-boyfriend.
When Salome had texted Delilah a list of her five ex-boyfriends a couple of days earlier, Desmond had been the easy first choice. It had been more than ten years since Delilah had ended their seven-month post-college romance, and while she had spotted him around town a few times over the years, not having any idea what to say to him, she had simply kept her distance. Now Desmond was happily married, she was hoping he would be amenable to accepting her apology.
After fifteen minutes, she pulled out her phone and sat on a low wall to scroll through his Instagram account. She knew she was in the right place because the white door with the number 23 directly across from where she sat was clearly visible in several pictures Desmond had posted of himself holding a little boy with the same square jaw and dark eyes. From the outside, his house looked exactly as she would have imagined: neat, conventional, and with nothing out of place. When she’d first met Desmond, his need for order and predictability had been a big part of his appeal. Until it hadn’t.
Ten minutes later, Delilah’s patience was wearing thin, and she checked her phone again. Today was Thursday, which meant that according to the humble-brag reel Desmond had posted on TikTok about the joys of fatherhood and doing nursery pick-ups on Tuesdays and Thursdays, Mr Predictable should have been home by now. She exhaled with relief when Desmond, wearing the fleece-lined jacket that featured in a number of his selfies, rounded the corner a few moments later pushing a stroller. Less predictably, a dark-haired woman, who Delilah could only assume was his wife, followed close behind, carrying the child featured in Desmond’s photos.
Delilah got off the wall and brushed down the seat of her jeans, in two minds about her next move. She hadn’t factored in the possibility of an audience while she tried to apologise, but, on the other hand, having mustered the courage to finally face Desmond, she didn’t have much choice other than to go through with the plan. Neither Desmond nor his wife had noticed her, and they were now almost at the gate to his house. Before she could talk herself out of it, Delilah ran across the road and stood in front of him, blocking his path.
Desmond reared like a startled stallion and stepped back clumsily, almost bumping into his wife. He gaped at Delilah and then, as recognition dawned, his eyes widened.
‘Delilah! What the hell?—?’
‘Calm down,’ Delilah said breathlessly. ‘I just wanted a quick word.’
Her cheeks were hot with embarrassment as she smiled apologetically at Desmond’s wife, who was looking her up and down with open curiosity while she gently rocked the sleeping child in her arms.
Looking from Delilah to Desmond, the woman broke the tense silence. ‘It’s cold out here, Des. I’ll take Damien inside and leave you two to chat.’
After a last quizzical look at Delilah, she turned and walked down the path, letting herself into the house and shutting the door.
Delilah turned her attention back to Desmond, who was staring at her as though in a trance. He hadn’t changed much over the years, other than a few more lines around his eyes and a hairline that was starting to thin.
‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded. He didn’t sound particularly pleased to see her, and now she was actually in front of him, the speech Delilah had rehearsed died in her throat.
‘Um… okay, first off, I’m sorry for turning up out of the blue. I would have called you, but I don’t have your number and?—’
‘How do you know where I live?’ he interrupted brusquely.
After sheepishly confessing to tracking him online and wishing she sounded less like a stalker, she added defensively, ‘You might want to rethink posting pictures of your house on social media. Any weirdo could come looking for you.’
‘I only know one weirdo, and it looks like she’s already found me,’ Desmond said pointedly. He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. ‘What’s all this about, Del? It’s been, what, ten years or so since I saw you last – or to be precise, since you ghosted me – and now you just show up outside my house without any warning?’
His eyes widened and he suddenly sounded panicked. ‘Christ! Please don’t tell me you’ve secretly had my baby or something?’
‘Of course not!’ Delilah denied indignantly. ‘You know I’d never do that.’
‘I didn’t think you’d just dump me without a word either, so who knows what you’re capable of. Anyway, what are you doing here?’
When she hesitated, he shuffled his feet impatiently. ‘Look, I’m not being funny, but it’s bloody cold out here and my missus and my boy are waiting inside for me. So before we both end up with pneumonia, what is it you want?’
‘I want to apologise,’ she blurted out.
‘You want to what?’
‘I want – I want to say I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have ended things with us the way I did. It wasn’t fair and I’m really very sorry.’
Desmond stared at her with incredulity and then turned to scan the street before eyeing her suspiciously. ‘Hold on, is this some kind of joke? Am I being filmed or something?’
Delilah closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, trying to rein in her irritation. After all, she was here to apologise to him, not snap at him.
