Page 183 of The Grosvenor's Ghost
I walk off, stressed out, hot and nauseous.
I stand by the bar, order a Diet Coke because I’m a bit put off champagne now.
“Saw you with Lottie’s kid.”
I turn around, Arthur stands behind me.
“Yeah,” I nod. “She’s cute.”
He frowns when the bartender hands me my drink. “I bought you a bottle of Cristal.”
“Oh,” I scrunch my face up. “I over indulged. Not much of a fan at the minute.”
“You gone off champagne? Never thought I’d hear the words.”
“Thank you, though.”
We lean back against the bar, surveying the people around us.
“Remeber your seventeenth?” He nudges my elbow. “We watched the sunset and spat champagne out everywhere.”
“I remember that.”
Back of the loft. Still there. Tucked away.
“And then fucking Benidict popped his clogs.”
“Oh my god,” I face him. “I totally forgot! Is that bad? No one’s really posted anything or even mentioned it. I’m still kinda pissed he died on my birthday, though.”
He laughs. “No one gives a fuck about him, Phoebs. Why would they? He was a disease. In a better place now, I’m sure.”
“Could’ve been you,” I mutter.
He nods, licks his lips, still not looking at me. He blinks slowly. “Yeah, I know. That whole thing—that whole time of our lives—was so fucked.” He then turns to face me, leans in a bit closer. “You do know I’d never do that again, though? Don’t you? You know that, yeah?”
“Of course I know that, Arthur.”
He sighs, laughs to himself. “When I was away, on your birthday—all three that I missed—I made a cake and lit it, wished you the happiest of birthdays wherever you were, whoever you were with.”
Fuck. God, that’s really sad. I picture him in that big empty house all on his own, lighting a single candle and blowing the flame out, hoping it will reach me. I think it did. My birthdays were so hard while he was away. I never threw parties or did anything big. I couldn’t. Not without him. Felt weird. I knew I wouldn’t be able to enjoy myself but the fact he did that…? I don’t know. Has anyone done that for you before? It’s touching. It’s nice to be remembered.
I didn’t do that for him. I didn’t think to do that for him but he did. He thought about me to do that. He left, I also left—I forced myself to move on while he waited, and still waits.
“I don’t wanna do that again,” he tells me. “I don’t wanna celebrate your birthdays in private anymore. I want your next birthday and all the other ones you’ll give me.”
“I know, but—”
His shoulders slump and his eyes turn hooded. “I don’t want to wait. Waited long enough, haven’t I? I can wait foranything and anyone else but not you,” he shakes his head, staring at me. “I’m impatient when it comes to you. It fucking kills me, this waiting around. I don’t know what to do with myself.”
Before I can say anything, Connie shouts his name, nodding his head. He gives me a small smile before pushing away from the bar and walking over to him.
I don’t want to wait, either. I’m tired of it. I waited every day for almost three years for him. I never left where we were at eighteen. I’m still there, in my Darcy uniform, screaming at him to get clean. And even though it’s different now, it won’t ever go back to being like that. Any change is scary. It doesn’t matter if the before was turbulent and unsettling. I’m still stepping away, leaving that version of us that I hold so closely to my chest. Arthur shaped my childhood years, my pivotal years and I want him to hand craft the rest of my adult years.
I go over to the toilets to calm myself down a bit but before I manage to push the door open, someone grabs ahold of my elbow.
“Phoebe.”
His voice makes me feel prickly but I turn around anyway.
