Page 73 of A Smart Girl's Guide to Second Chances
I knew the right thing to do was give it back to Matt. But I also knew he wouldn’t take it. In which case, what was I meant to do?Sell it? No, I couldn’t do that. This piece of metal and colourless stone meant too much to me.
Then I had a thought. I rolled out of bed and opened the spare wardrobe. When Dad had sold our house, I’d left a few boxes of stuff at Mum’s place.
I slid a bunch of clothes in dry cleaner’s plastic wrapping down the railing and there they were – Mum hadn’t moved them. I pulled out the box at the top of the stack. It was full of old school stuff. The first layer was my diaries, then a smattering of school reports. Under these were a stack of UMAT practice test books. I don’t think I’d cracked the spine of any of them. But I’d kept them. Had I felt bad about how much they’d cost? Had I thought I could pass them on to someone who needed them?
I stuffed everything back into the box and opened the next one. This one was from uni, though I hadn’t kept very much, considering it had been a six-year chunk of my life. Most of the box was filled with stuff from Oxford. From my final term at Oxford.
I picked up the menu from the Shelley Society dinner, then the fabric wristband from the Trinity College ball, then a photo of a tree at dawn. I’d been heartbroken when I’d packed this stuff away. Part of me had wanted to burn it. But I think I’d also needed proof, tangible proof, that it had happened.
I sighed as I pulled the final notebook, the one with the ‘Salad Days List’ in it, out of the box. And then I spotted it. There it was, glinting, loose in the corner of the box, half tucked under the taped-down flap.
I picked it up. It was a delicate silver band with a tear-shaped turquoise in the centre. As Alex had said, I could tell it wasn’t expensive. But I must have instinctively known when I was packing up this box that it wasn’t junky costume jewellery that had been bought at Claire’s or Primark. Had I tried to give it back to Lily? Had she said it wasn’t hers and then I stuffed itinto this box with the rest of the Oxford mementos? Or had some part of me known that it meant a lot to someone? I truly didn’t remember.
I slipped the ring onto my bare finger. It had only been there for a few hours. Hours that had been lost to the ether. How could this ring have any meaning? Why did we let these inanimate pieces of metal and stone take on so much emotional significance?
This ring didn’t mean anything to me. But I knew it meant a lot to Alex.
I pulled out my phone.
Do you have time to meet up today?I asked. Then I realised it was only 5 am – an antisocial time to message someone.
Yes. What time?He wrote back instantly. So, he still didn’t sleep.
I stared at my phone.
Lunchtime? Let’s meet somewhere near the office.
In the end we met up at a cafe between our houses. He was wearing shorts, a T-shirt and Birkenstocks – I guessed he’d been working from home. I hadn’t seen him since Arlo’s party. His summer tan had deepened since then. How had that only been two weeks ago?
‘I know we were going to steer clear of each other,’ I said. ‘But I wanted to return your mum’s ring. I found it with some stuff I’d kept from Oxford. Sorry I had it for so long.’
I carefully placed it on the table. He paused for a moment then picked it up. The ring looked even more dainty in his large hands.
‘So, you really did propose that night?’ I asked.
‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘I did.’
‘I always wondered who did that. People who met someone and just... whipped out a ring,’ I said.
‘Well, now you know,’ he said with a shrug.
‘I always thought that it was so . . .’
‘Romantic?’ he offered.
‘Silly,’ I said. He laughed.
‘I’m really sorry I hurt you that night. You took a leap of faith, you opened yourself up and asked me to live life with you, and I left. I know, after what happened with your mum, how losing someone you loved with no warning would have been horrible. So, I’m sorry,’ I said.
He looked down at the ring and then finally met my eyes. ‘Thank you,’ he said.
‘Did someone give that ring to your mum?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I don’t even know if she ever loved anyone. Or if anyone ever loved her...’
‘I know she had a great love,’ I said.
He looked up at me blankly.
