Page 64 of Sorry, Not Sorry
42
‘What do you want?’
Noah’s eyes were like chips of brown ice, and Delilah flinched at the coldness in his voice. The loving, good-humoured boyfriend of the past three weeks had vanished, leaving in his place a man who glared at her with unconcealed hostility.
Delilah had spent a sleepless night tossing and turning while trying to prepare what to say to Noah, but she still didn’t have a clue how to tell him. Taking a tiny crumb of comfort from the fact he hadn’t shut the door on her, she took a cautious step up the stone steps leading to his front door in the hope of reducing the gap between them.
His eyes flashed a warning, and she stopped, uncertain whether to stand her ground or retreat, but the stakes were too high to back down, and she continued defiantly to the top of the steps. She was close enough to see his jaw tighten and for a split second she thought he was about to slam the door in her face.
‘I know I’m the last person you want to see, but I need to talk to you – no, actually, I need to show you something.’
His eyes narrowed, but he stood back and held the door open. Pulling her jacket tightly around her, Delilah stepped over the threshold and ran up the flight of stairs leading to his flat. His front door was ajar, and she walked in and made her way towards the lounge before turning to face him. He stared at her stonily, and it took everything not to give up and flee.
‘Thanks for giving me a chance to explain,’ she started breathlessly. ‘I?—’
‘What do you want to show me?’ he interrupted impatiently, his curt tone sending the clear message she was wasting his time.
She wrapped her arms around herself protectively. She had known this wouldn’t be easy, but it was agony to see Noah looking at her with such coldness when all she wanted was to be in his arms.
‘It – it’s not here. I need you to come with me.’
He looked sceptical, and she reached out and grasped his arm, feeling a stab of pain when he recoiled from her touch.
‘Please, Noah,’ she said urgently. ‘I promise I’ll explain everything and answer any questions you have – but not here. Please come with me…’ Her voice tailed off at his unyielding expression.
‘Give me one good reason why I should put myself through another round of you blowing hot and cold. I don’t know what you’re playing at, but honestly, I’ve had enough – Jesus, Delilah, why do you always make things so hard?’
‘I don’t blame you. I know I’ve been a proper nightmare, but even if you decide you can’t forgive me, I want you to understand why. Please, Noah. Just hear me out.’
He studied her face, and his mouth twisted into a humourless smile. ‘I really don’t have a clue how your mind works,’ he said finally. But his voice had lost its edge, and she waited, hardly daring to breathe.
Just when she thought her lungs would burst if he didn’t speak, Noah nodded. ‘I probably need my head examined for agreeing to this but give me a minute to put some shoes on.’
43
The cemetery was quiet for a Saturday morning, with only a few people to be seen tending to graves. Delilah tramped through the grass, still wet from the previous day’s downpour, conscious of Noah beside her, his long legs easily keeping up with her pace. This was the first time she had brought him here, and after explaining where they were heading, he had lapsed into silence. He was clearly still furious with her, and on the short bus ride over, he had carefully positioned himself on the seat to ensure their bodies didn’t touch.
They walked down the path skirting the chapel, and as they approached the roped-off section of old graves, Delilah glanced at Noah with sudden apprehension. Noah wasn’t Arne; it wasn’t his job to listen without prejudice and understand the complexity of trauma and emotional dysfunction, and there was every chance he would reject her when he learned the truth about her family. But they were here now, and there was no turning back. If she wanted to keep Noah in her life – assuming he was even still interested – she had no choice but to come clean.
Leading the way, Delilah picked a path around the muddy ground between the graves and past the statue of the cherub, coming to a stop in front of her mother’s grave. The brass vase had tipped over, spilling a bedraggled, storm-battered posy of flowers onto the white marble, and she crouched to set the vase straight. She thought back to the painful conversation with Arne and felt the prick of tears behind her eyes. As children, she and Salome had sought comfort and protection from the person they had loved and trusted the most and, hard as it was to admit, she had let them down.
‘We needed you, Mum. You should have put us first,’ she whispered under her breath.
Perhaps it was only the rustle of leaves from the breeze sweeping through the branches of the oak tree overhead, but as she contemplated the gilt inscription on the marble headstone, she heard her mother’s voice. Forgive me, Del. Delilah closed her eyes for a long moment, absorbing the healing words she had so needed to hear. Help me make him understand, Mum, she pleaded silently.
Straightening, she walked back to Noah and looked up at him, trying to muster the courage for what was needed. His earlier grim demeanour was now one of wariness, as if uncertain about what was coming.
When she opened her mouth, however, the lines she had rehearsed on the bus ride to the cemetery disappeared, and she stared at Noah blankly. Then, Arne’s words pushed through her mental haze. ‘We can avoid conflict if our partner is aware of the wounds from our past. When we share information, we are giving them understanding about why we react, or overreact, in certain circumstances.’ Arne had urged her to be open and vulnerable and now, under the shade of the giant oak tree, for the first time, Delilah let down her guard with Noah.
When Delilah finally stopped speaking, there was silence. Noah had listened without interruption and now he knew everything. She didn’t dare look at Noah, but when the silence stretched out, she forced herself to look up, and for a long moment, they gazed silently into each other’s eyes. What if, for once, Arne was wrong?
‘Noah?’ she started tentatively, her throat tight with fear.
Without saying a word, Noah reached for her and wrapped his arms around her. At first, she stood rigidly, unsure of what it meant, but then she relaxed into his hold.
‘I’m sorry,’ she choked, her voice muffled against his shoulder.
‘You have nothing to be sorry about, Del. It wasn’t your fault.’
