now? The last time had been four months ago, on the anniversary of Jamie’s death. He had written her a brief, stilted email and she had sent an even more stilted one back.
It was all her own fault and she hated herself for it. Todd and Jamie had been so close; Jamie had loved Todd like a brother. And the three of them together had been a team. That they wouldn’t stay friends for life had been unthinkable.
But that was then, before the unthinkable thing had happened, altering their lives for ever. Ellie swallowed with difficulty as all the old feelings came flooding back. Following Jamie’s death, they had both been overwhelmed with guilt and grief. Todd had blamed himself; with a reputation for turning up late wherever he went, it haunted him that on that night he had arrived at the flat early. It was all his fault; if they’d left at the right time—the late time—the accident wouldn’t have happened. He had told her this before the funeral. Up until then, it hadn’t occurred to Ellie that it might have made a difference. But once he’d said it, the seeds were sown and resentment had begun to grow. His untimely arrival had interrupted her and Jamie. Thanks to Todd, they had missed out on the last sex they would ever have. And he’d been right about the accident not happening if they’d left the house thirty minutes later, because by then—she knew this for a fact—the gritting lorry would have been along to make the road safe.
By the time she’d come to her senses and realized that, of course, Todd wasn’t to blame, it was too late. The damage was done, the awkwardness between them had been too much to overcome, and they had done their grieving separately. Three months after the accident, Todd had moved over to the States and Ellie had been relieved. She still hadn’t been able to stop wishing that, out of the two of them, Jamie could have been the one to be saved.
It was shameful, unfair, and she hated herself for thinking it, but that was the way she felt. Basically, she was a horrible person.
Unable to bring herself to delete the message without opening it, she clicked on Todd’s name and brought his email up onto the screen:
Hi Ellie,
Well, it’s been some time, hasn’t it? Hope you’re doing OK and work is going well.
My news is that I’ve left my job here in Boston and I’m coming back home next week, going back to work at the London branch. One year was enough. Once I’m back, I wondered if we could meet up. I’d like to see you again, talk about old times.
Hope you’d like to see me too. Let me know. Are you still in Hammersmith?
Love,
Todd.
P.S. You have no idea how long it’s taken me to write this email. I hope life is as good as possible for you, Ell. I’ve missed seeing you.
Ellie sat back. There was that familiar feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach, the one signaling that something was going to happen whether you wanted it to or not. Like opening the post and getting the appointment for your next smear test.
But what could she do? Pretend the email had got lost in the ether? Change her email address? Todd didn’t know where she was living now…
Oh, stop, stop. Hiding from him wasn’t the answer. Besides, he could find her in five seconds if he wanted to, just by—
‘Hard at work, Ellie?’
Shit, Michael was right behind her. Damn those Hush Puppies of his, enabling him to creep silently around the offices.
‘Sorry.’ Hurriedly she clicked the email off the screen, although he’d probably already read it.
‘You know what company policy is where personal emails are concerned.’ Michael had an irritating habit of sucking air in through his lower teeth when he was being ‘the boss.’ Ellie squirmed as he did it now, then squirmed again in response to his hand on her shoulder. ‘But under the circumstances, I’ll let you off. Todd,’ he said. ‘That’s Jamie’s friend, am I right?’
She nodded, bracing herself for the inevitable squeeze. Michael probably thought he was being sensitive and sympathetic but his touchy-feelyness, quite frankly, gave her the creeps. Amongst all the hideous aspects of being a widow, submitting to unwanted hugs was one of the worst. Michael felt compelled to comfort her, and it would be churlish and mean to complain about it. Poor chap, he meant well.