Page 54 of The Truth About You and Me
He walks slowly around the circular rim of the fountain. I analyse his movements, the way his shoulders have tightened and lifted, the tension corrugating the muscles along his jaw. He does two full circles of the fountain, finally stopping to look up at the woman on the horse. He turns then, leaning back, hooking one leg behind the other, and fixing me with a stare I can’t read. ‘Let’s say what you’re saying is real?—’
And there it is. This is always how it goes. I don’t know why I hoped this would go any other way.
‘Itisreal.’ He looks away. ‘I’m not a charlatan, Jack. Why would I lie? Why would I tell you this if it wasn’t true? Surely you must know how I feel about you?’
‘Maybe you’re trying to figure out the world’s most original way of dumping someone?’
‘That isn’t what this is. I didn’t want to lie to you.’
‘But you did.’
I nod, swallowing hard.
‘I did. Can you imagine how this would have gone if I’d told you when you found yourself locked in a cinema with me?’
‘You’ve had plenty of opportunity to try to explainthat…’ The way he saysthatis enough to tell me that he doesn’t believe me. And I get it. Who would? ‘Before I—’ He looks away then back at me. ‘Before I let myself get close to you.’
‘I know. That’s why I’m telling you now, before this goes any further. Do you have any idea how much I want to kiss you?’ His dark eyes skirt over my mouth before they sear into my own. I swallow the desperation in my throat. ‘How all I’ve been able to think about over the past week is that I needed to tell you the truth while at the same time wanting one more night with you?’ He looks away, eyes off in the distance, his stance fixed, defensive, unbending. ‘I can never have a normal relationship, Jack. You’d never be able to have secrets, privacy,’ I say softly. ‘I can never have the happily ever after that I yearn for, or that you deserve.’ His eyes are fixed on the ground. A flock of leaves gather around our feet before a gust of wind makes them take flight. ‘Say something.’
‘I don’t know what to say.’ His voice is exasperated. ‘You tell me you can hear people’s thoughts, Maggie. Do you know how?—’
‘Insane?’
Jack looks towards the way we came, to the road that leads him back home then comes back to me. He lowers his voice, but it wavers. ‘You tell me you canhearthoughts? That you want to kiss me, but you can’t. You tell me you can’t have a relationship when for the past few weeks all I could think about was you. What do you want me to say, Maggie?’
‘Tell me to leave, tell me this was a mistake, tell me you wish you’d never decided to go to Flicks that night. Something!’
‘I. Can’t.’ The words slice out of him. Jack is a man who lives his life through knowledge, through the need to be in control of his own destiny. His stroke stole that from him and now I’ve taken the only piece of stability that has grown from our relationship and broken it. He clutches at the thick hair at the nape of his neck, eyes back on the road home. He doesn’t need to say anything. I don’t need to touch him to know he wants to leave, to go back to the warmth and safety of his shop, to Nell, to the people he surrounds himself with; a place I can’t be part of.
The colour has drained from his face and he steps back. The truth is too much. I take off his jacket and fold it up then place it beside him. ‘I want you to know that I’ve never hated what I am… more than when I’m with you.’ He nods, eyes fixed back on his boots. ‘I will always be glad you walked into my cinema.’
For a small moment, it looks like he’s about to say something, but those words are locked away under the weight of my truth.
He looks away.
Doesn’t respond.
And I know this is the end.
‘Goodbye, Jack.’
I turn my back on him. Hot tears are already falling from my eyes as I pick up the pace, but they can’t wash away the truth, and I can’t outrun the loss of the only relationship I’ve ever wanted.
25
FRIDAY 25TH OCTOBER
Jack
It’s Friday. I know where she will be tonight, just as I have for the past three weeks.
Outside the train window, the edges of Guildford come into view; the sun sinking behind the crooked buildings; the cathedral bruising the sky. The train is busy and each time a person bumps into me, each time there’s a nudge against my shoulder, I think of her.
I’ve replayed that conversation over and over. Questioned if she’sjustreally good at reading people. But she believes she can hear thoughts,seethoughts. It’s ludicrous. I must be mad to be even considering this.
I rub my forehead, a migraine already on the way.
Then again, I can write but not read… how many times have I had to explain that? They’re the thoughts that have been turning around in my mind for the past three weeks, like a scratch on a broken record.
