Page 7

“Put the linens into the bags for the laundry service and then you’re free for the afternoon after you pick up the buns at the bakery,”

Rachel said.

“Linens are already done,” said Mia.

Rachel sighed. “You must have been one of those horrible children that always does what they’re told.”

Mia laughed at this. “Yes, I absolutely was.”

She picked up a dish towel and started drying the dishes that Rachel was washing.

“How terrible,”

Rachel said.

“My mum always said I was a little angel.”

Mia put a glass down and picked up another. “Said I was no trouble at all.”

“I bet you weren’t. Let me guess, a star student?”

“All As in my GCSEs,”

Mia said. “And four As and a B at A level.”

“Let me guess again, that B was the worst thing that had ever happened to you?”

Rachel ran more hot water into the sink.

“It was,”

Mia admitted.

She remembered it now, opening the envelope and seeing that B. In history of art, of all things. The one course that she’d taken to bring her qualifications up to the nice, rounded number of five, the one thing she’d done because she thought she’d like it, rather than because it would be good for her CV.

Her heart had sunk. She’d felt breathless and sweaty, shaky, and had dreaded going home with the news.

“How did it turn out, then?”

Rachel asked.

“The grades?”

“Mmm. Was it the worst thing ever?”

“Well, no,”

Mia said, after considering it for a second. “My mum wasn’t happy. My dad asked if I was going to be an art historian, and when I said no, he said it didn’t matter then and that a B was better than most people got.”

“Still, a stain on your reputation, though, wasn’t it?”

pushed Rachel.

“No!”

Mia put down a plate. “Well, yes, sort of.”

“You like being perfect, you like being a good girl.”

“It’s not so much a question of like. It’s… just the way things should be. We should all try to be our best selves, shouldn’t we?”

Mia asked. “We can’t all go around robbing banks and telling lies.”

Rachel made a sound that intimated she didn’t necessarily agree. “There’s a big difference between not getting an A in, what was it, basket weaving or psychology, and robbing a bank. Besides, think how boring the news would be if no one ever robbed a bank. And all those Matt Damon films and documentaries on the History Channel would be very dull with no heists.”

“I’m not robbing a bank,” Mia said.

“Did I tell you to?”

asked Rachel, shaking water off her hands and then grabbing one end of Mia’s tea towel to dry them with. “I’m just trying to make the point that perfection is, well, a bit boring. Not to mention unrealistic. And doing things because other people expect them of you, or because it’s just the right thing to do, can lead to, well…”

“Running away from a wedding?”

suggested Mia, drying the last dish. “I get your point. I’m not sure I agree with it. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being good.”

“There’s not,”

agreed Rachel. “There’s nothing wrong with being inherently good. Although one could argue that if you’re only doing a good thing because people expect you to do a good thing, you’re not inherently good at all. You’re simply fulfilling expectations.”

Mia narrowed her eyes. “Philosophy degree?”

she guessed.

Rachel snorted. “A lifetime of experience speaking. I don’t need a degree to tell you that constantly pleasing people isn’t the path to happiness.”

“I didn’t agree to marry Mikey to please anyone else,”

Mia protested, leaning back against the kitchen counter.

“Why did you agree to it, then?”

Mia shrugged. “He’s nice and kind and funny. He’s gentle and he’ll make a good father, a good husband. I like him.”

“All very nice,”

Rachel said. “But does he make your heart pound? Do you look at him and want to rip his clothes off? Could you do unspeakable things to him if left alone for five minutes in a dark cupboard? Does he make your soul catch fire?”

“My soul catch fire?” Mia said.

The telephone at the front desk rang. “Hold that thought,”

Rachel said, dashing to answer it.

Mikey was good and kind and handsome. He was a caring lover. They had fun in bed. She wasn’t going to deny that. She liked seeing him. He made her smile. But, and if she was being really honest with herself, there was no fire involved. Definitely not when it came to her soul.

Is that what was necessary? Is that what people looked for? Was everyone walking around aflame all of the time? That seemed… dangerous. Unrealistic.

There was a deeper question here, one that had been lurking in the wings for the past few days. One big enough and scary enough that she’d avoided asking herself. She closed her eyes now in the sunny kitchen. An unavoidable question, really.

Did she love Mikey?

She gave a shudder and when she opened her eyes, Rachel was standing in the doorway. “It’s for you.”

“What is?”

“The phone, it’s for you, love,”

said Rachel.

Mia frowned and skirted her way around Rachel to go to the front desk.

“Hello?”

she said, picking up the receiver.

“Mia.”

There was the sound of a deep sigh. “Mia.”

Oh Christ. “Mikey.”

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes, fine. You?”

What was she doing? Why was this turning into a polite conversation? Who did she think she was speaking to?

“I’m… alright. I mean, given everything. I suppose I could be better. Slightly shell-shocked, maybe, to tell you the truth.”

She swallowed. “Right, um, yes, obviously.”

She cleared her throat. “Um, how did you…?”

“Find you?”

filled in Mikey. “The car.”

“The car?”

She really should do something about that. She couldn’t just leave the car wherever it was. Maybe she could persuade someone to fill it with petrol for her, or at least to lend her a can so that she could walk up and fill it herself.

“There’s an AirTag in the glove compartment,”

he said. “Remember? We put them in both the cars in case they got stolen.”

Right. Ever practical Mikey. “Right, yes.”

Mikey sighed down the phone, a rasping, whistling noise. “Mia, we need to talk.”

Light was coming in through the window by the front door, painting the wooden floor a beautiful, creamy orange color. “Mmm.”

“Is that a yes?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“For Christ’s sake, Mia. You left me. You left me standing at the altar. Do you not think that you owe me some kind of explanation? Do you not think that you owe me at least a conversation?”

She took a deep breath. She’d barely had time to sort out her own feelings, let alone consider his. She didn’t want to hurt him, but that didn’t mean that she hadn’t. “It’s not you,”

she blurted out.

“What?”

“It’s not you,”

she said again. “You’re… you’re amazing. You really are. It’s not you, Mikey.”

“I find that a bit hard to believe,”

he said. “Given that there are only two of us in this relationship.”

He paused. “Or there were only two of us in this relationship. I’m not really sure where that stands now, past tense or present tense.”

Mia bit her lip but didn’t answer.

“I see,”

said Mikey after a long minute of silence. He sighed and she could almost hear him rein his patience in. “Mia, we need to talk about this. You can’t just run away from life. You can’t just assume that you can leave and then walk back in after however long it takes you to figure things out. You have to talk to me. We have to decide what we’re going to do.”

“I’m not… I’m not ready,”

she said, her voice sounding weaker and higher than she’d like.

“Ridiculous,”

Mikey said. “You’ve had a week. An entire week since you left me at the altar in front of everyone we know. And I deserve an explanation.”

“Not yet,”

she said. “Please, not yet.”

She needed time, space. She couldn’t deal with this yet. She had no idea what she would say to him. What was she supposed to say? You make me unable to breathe and you don’t set my soul alight? That sounded stupid, even to her.

“Mia Tate, you listen to me. You owe me an explanation and I’m going to get one. And I swear to you, if I get to this place, wherever it is you are, and you’re not there, I’ll file a police report so that every officer in the country is looking for you. Do you understand?”

“Mikey…”

“No, enough is enough, Mia. We’re in this together and you’d better be there waiting for me when I get there.”

There was the sound of the phone crashing down and Mia stood there for a long second, not knowing what to do or say.

She had to leave. Didn’t she?

She had to find petrol, find her car, pack up the few things that she had and go? Did she have a choice?

“You alright out here?”

Rachel said, coming out to the desk.

Mia let out a breath. “No, not really.”

“The ex?”

Ex. Was he an ex? Didn’t things have to be ended for him to be an ex? Or was walking out on a wedding enough to make him an ex?

“Mia, what is it?”

Rachel asked, stepping in closer and taking Mia’s hands.

Mia shook her head. “He’s coming,”

she said in a whisper. “I have to leave.”

Rachel’s hands tightened around hers. “You can’t spend your life running away.”

“Can’t I?”

Mia asked miserably.

“No,”

said Rachel firmly. “You’re staying.”

“But…”

“But we’ll think of a way to deal with him. Now come on, let’s get you a cup of tea.”