Page 22 of The Truth About You and Me
‘Lies,’ she says shaking her head, curls skating along the pale skin of her shoulder.
‘I never lie. Well not never. I once told my fiancée she looked nice when she had her eyelashes done…’ I enact spider legs with my fingers in front of my eyes. ‘But that was a kindness.’
‘Fiancée?’ she questions gently.
‘Ex. Ex-fiancée,’ I clarify.
‘Sorry.’
‘It’s fine. Well, you know’ – I scratch along my jawline – ‘not fine. Nobody wants to be dumped a month before their wedding, do they? Pretty tragic, isn’t it?’ I’m being flippant, but the look she gives me, the sadness cuts through my chest. It’s been months since I’ve mentioned Vicky to anyone, and yet here I am.
‘Wow. So when you say fiancée, you really mean fiancée. Like not let’s get engaged, post it on Insta then never actually plan the wedding. You were one top hat and tails away from the aisle?’
‘One tux away… actually.’ Her eyes widen as she registers my meaning. I shrug. ‘I didn’t see the point in buying a new suit last week.’
‘Can I ask what happened?’ She shakes her head as if the action will rub out her question.
I think of the days and weeks after the stroke. Vicky was at my bedside, there to help me through for the first few weeks but then… she became more distant. There were excuses not to come over, to not attend the hospital appointments. Then: ‘You’re not the same man I fell in love with,’ she’d said. And I wasn’t. I’m not. That man doesn’t exist any more. Kudos to Vicky. She realised it before I did.
‘It’s fine. We didn’t fit any more. I changed and…’ I shrug. ‘She didn’t. That’s about it.’ That and the fact that she took the money she’d invested in the new shop with her. I push that thought aside.
‘I’m sorry. That it didn’t work out.’ Maggie looks genuinely upset. More upset than Vicky did when she told me it was over.
‘Thank you, but it was for the best.’
There is a pause and for a moment, I think she’s going to reach out and touch me but instead, her hands fold in her lap and she puts on a brave smile, shifts in her seat, and angles further away to the left.
‘I loved the book by the way. Addie LaRue? So beautiful and relatable.’ She frowns as she lifts her gloves and gives me a knowing look. Something changes in her demeanour, a kind of eagerness to hear what I have to say but something else.
I change the subject. ‘I watched?—’
‘The English Patient?’
‘Yes.’
‘And…?’
Her eyes spark with a challenge but then I nod. ‘You were right.’
‘Hah! Told you.’
We get a ‘shush’ from the friends behind, and grimace at each other, sinking down into our seats. The film is good but I’m finding it hard to concentrate with her next to me. Ten minutes in and we’ve had our second meet-cute: Julia Roberts has met Hugh in his bookshop and then they’ve bumped into each other on the street, orange juice spilt all over her top.
‘Classic,’ Maggie says quietly, grinning up at the screen as she pops another chocolate into her mouth.
‘Who knew finding love was so easy?’ I whisper, leaning towards her a little but still keeping a respectful distance. Maggie turns her head. Her eyes widen a touch and I realise the implications of that sentence. I rush on. ‘If I’d known I just needed to be clumsy with my orange juice, school would have been a whole lot easier.’
‘Huh,’ she replies, gently nodding, then she whispers, ‘It would have made my life easier, too.’
‘Good job we didn’t go to the same school and have this superior knowledge back then. It would have been orange juice chaos.’ What the frick am I actually talking about?Orange juice chaos?
‘Shush!’ one of the friends from behind reiterates. Maggie shakes her head at me and points to the screen, a finger on her lips. I glance back at her, but her lips are clamped, holding in a laugh.
As Hugh looks for his glasses and takes Julia Roberts to the cinema in a pair of snorkelling goggles, Maggie shifts in her seat, pulls out her phone and frowns at the screen.
I risk the wrath of the friends behind.
‘Everything OK?’
