I frown when he shakes his head, when still he insists…
‘Nothing’s happened. I did everything I could to keep away.’
I don’t believe him.
‘I tried once.’
And then I do.
Believe him, I mean.
Nothing has happened.
‘I tried a few months ago, after Jess and I had broken up but Lucy told me to fuck off,’ Luke explains. ‘Told me that she’d never do that to her friend and I got a slap,’ he lifts his head. ‘She’s not interested.’
She is.
I know she is.
I know that this is love.
And I want Luke to have it, I want Luke to be happy, I’m not sure that he ever has been, properly happy I mean.
‘You need to speak to Lucy.’
‘I don’t want to lose our friendship. I don’t want to make things awkward between us again, because that wouldn’t be fair on Charlotte. I know Lucy will be okay now,’ Luke says. ‘I know that she will. And I know she’s a bit crazy, but she’s…’ he shakes his head. ‘I just hate the thought of her and Charlotte rattling along in the world without me.’
‘Have you told her how you feel, Luke?’
‘I’ve told you,’ he says. ‘I tried to kiss her.’
Men!
‘Go to the cemetery,’ I tell him, because I think Luke feels he needs his permission on this. ‘You need to speak to him.’
He shakes his head.
‘You do.’
‘I have to go back to the office.’
‘I’ll meet you there,’ I tell him. ‘I’m going about one.’ He gives me a kiss on the cheek and says that he’ll think about it.
I’ve a feeling I’m meddling.
But I sit there in my living room and, despite all that’s gone before, despite evidence to the contrary - I don’t just believe what Luke told me.
I’m starting to believe in Lucy.
CHAPTER SIXTY EIGHT
I'm incredibly nervous walking in.
I look around the pub but I don't have to look for long. She's sitting at the seat where I used to sit with him and I know then he must've brought her here to.
I'm not quite ready to go over. I give her a nod. I can see that she's got a drink and I walk over to the bar and I go to order a glass of wine but I order a soda water – I think I might need it.
‘Thanks for coming.’ She gives me a nervous smile. ‘I didn’t think you’d actually come or if you did…’
‘I don't want to row.’
‘You look well,’ she says and I do.
I feel well.
I'm wearing my red dress that looks like a sarong but with flat silver sandals this time.
Maybe people think I should be wearing black.
I don’t feel black though.
It’s spring.
‘How are you?’ I ask and I watch her crumple.
‘I'm sorry,’ she says. ‘I'm so, so sorry.’
I can feel her grief and her shame and I recognise it.
‘I tried to ring you so many times but I keep hanging up the phone.’
I get up and walk around the table and I slip in the booth beside her and I put my arms around young shoulders and I feel as if I'm holding me. She tells me how much she loved him, how special he had made her feel, how she’d always been awkward and shy, how, in fact, she’d been a virgin.
I hold her as she sobs it out - to me, and she can sob it out to me because of all the work I’ve done on myself.
‘You should write it all down,’ I tell her. ‘Keep a journal - I know it sounds mad, but it actually helps…’
‘Oh I do,’ she says. ‘It's the only thing that’s kept me sane. Not that you'd think that if you read it.’
‘You should see mine,’ I say.
And then I tell her something a woman once told me.
About nuclear reactors and that toxic shame and loathing we all hold inside and I tell her to keep pouring cool water, to simply dilute it. I know that she gets it and that she’ll be writing about it tonight.
‘You’re going to be okay,’ I tell her.
I have to go, I really do, because I'm picking up Charlotte at the end of her lunch break and I promised I’d bring the puppy to show her dad, so I have to go home and get him.
We walk out of the pub together and I feel the warm breeze as I farewell her. Somehow I know it's not quite goodbye - that next year this is where we will be.