Page 40 of The Truth About You and Me
‘For suggesting you see a therapist who could turn you into a giant squid?’
‘No.’ I scratch the back of my head. ‘For this. For, you know, helping.’
‘Help is my middle name; actually it’s Gertrude but we don’t talk about that.’
I laugh, the sound lightening Maggie’s expression, and filling the corners of the empty shop.
‘Gertrude?’
‘Mmmhmmm.’ She winces playfully. Her cheeks are flushed. Maybe it’s from the warmth of the sun streaming through the clear windows, but part of me wonders – or hopes? – that it might also be because of me.
‘Promise you won’t tell anyone.’
‘I shall take it to the grave.’
Her phone pings and she swipes the screen, eyes scanning the message easily. She looks up, eyes bright.
‘He’s replied. He wants to see me in half an hour.’ She glances up at the recently hung clock and smiles. ‘Look, it’s happy time!’
I frown. ‘It needs new batteries. That’s not the right time. It’s half four.’
She dismisses my comment with a wave of her hand. ‘Doesn’t matter, it still says ten past ten, like a smiley face…’ she explains. ‘Maybe it’s a good omen?’
I love these things about her, the way she finds joy in the smallest things.
‘And if it was twenty past eight?’
‘Bad. Baaad juju.’ She pitches her head towards the door. ‘I don’t suppose you have your fancy car here, do you?’
20
MAGGIE
I scan the small park. The playground that is usually full of excitable kids in the summer months is empty. Apart from a few determined joggers, it’s quiet, the clouds heavy and promising rain. I spot Luke sitting at a picnic table next to the old bandstand. Drinking what I’m guessing is his usual takeaway oat-milk latte. It’s been almost a year since I’ve seen him and in that time he’s decided to grow a beard. An unkempt beard. I still feel the sting of rejection, of anger, even more so since discovering what happened to Jack. But, I suppose I appreciate him agreeing to meet me in a place where he knows I can keep my distance from people. I never did get the chance to tell him that I could read his thoughts. I’d tried a few times, but in my gut, maybe I knew he would never understand. But that was before he kissed me and I heard him thinking about the previous night spent in Becca’s bed.
‘That’s him,’ I say to Jack, nodding to his table. ‘Ring any bells?’
Jack slows his steps and looks over. ‘Not really, it might not be him. He didn’t have a beard.’
‘Oh the beard is new. You OK? I can do this on my own and tell you what he said?’
He digs his hands into his pockets. ‘Thanks, but I want to hear what he has to say. Look him in the eyes. See if I can remember anything else.’
I’m still hoping that Luke isn’t the one who caused Jack’s stroke. Or that my words spoken in anger started the chain of events.
‘Hi, Luke,’ I say. He looks up, bits of coffee froth on his moustache.
‘Mags.’ I can’t pretend that I don’t feel a little buzz as he looks up at Jack. I know that we’re only friends, but still, it feels good to be next to him. Albeit with some distance.
‘Good to see you,’ I begin, even though it’s not. He was the first person I slept with, had a relationship with, which made his infidelity hit even harder. I sit down, shifting to the edge of the bench. ‘This is Jack.’
Jack, to his credit, puts out his hand, which Luke limply shakes, eyes widening a touch.
Jack takes a seat, far enough away that we’re not touching.
‘How’ve you been?’ I ask.
‘Not bad. Yourself?’
