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Chapter Thirty-three

Francesca

The terminal looks almost empty compared to earlier, and the crush of movement that drove us upstairs has fallen into a near-silent lull.

The dads have disbanded; I can see them scattered sullenly in different corners of the terminal, all a bit dishevelled and browbeaten.

Nobody pays me any attention as I fling myself down the last couple of stairs and make a break for the toilets, fully intending to shut myself inside a cubicle and sob my heart out.

Because – oh, he’s right, isn’t he? Leon’s right .

If Marcus was going to choose me …

He would’ve said something before now. He would’ve held off his relationship with Kayleigh to see if there was anything between us, or spoken to me about it. He’s not afraid to put himself out there and take risks like I am.

He would’ve come back that morning with coffee and pastries, instead of leaving my bed to immediately message another girl and then hook up with someone else all weekend.

He’s had so many opportunities to choose me, and he never has.

It’s a joke. I must be a joke to him, just like Leon says.

Mocking me behind my back, like I overheard them saying earlier – and who can blame him?

Who wouldn’t laugh at the pathetic girl at the office trailing after him all moony-eyed, giving him home-cooked leftovers for his lunch, fawning all over him on a night out, bringing him slices of birthday cake just to see him smile …

There are tears already pouring down my cheeks, and a hysteria building in my chest that threatens to crush my lungs.

I can’t believe I’ve been such an idiot.

‘Wait! Francesca—’

Oh, God, no, he’s not …

He’s not following me , is he?

I glance back, shocked, and – he is. He’s come after me. Leon stumbles off the end of the escalator, and I let out a high-pitched noise of surprise, freezing. He catches my eye, looking stricken, and I can only imagine how I must look in that moment.

What is he doing? Why is he chasing after me? Is it just to lecture me some more about what a worthless idiot I am? To shout at me for getting involved with Marcus at all, like he obviously wanted to when this whole layover began and he realised who I was?

Well, he won’t follow me into the toilets, will he?

He’ll have to go away and leave me to cry in peace, then. Maybe he can rant to Gemma about how much he hates me instead.

I bolt down the corridor, past our picnic spot, down Gemma’s makeshift catwalk.

This time, the ladies’ bathroom is blessedly silent. The stall doors are all open and empty, there are no hand-dryers blaring, no overlapping voices …

Just my own racing heart and ragged breathing.

I hunch over the sink, trying to steady myself, and that headache that began to threaten when I was in here a little while ago with Gemma returns full-force.

I screw my eyes shut, but the pain only intensifies as memories flood in – the guys ribbing Marcus and jeering, joking, the second I leave the table on a night out; Kayleigh’s curled lip and disdainful look up and down when I would arrive for a dinner party; that little sinking feeling I’d push aside whenever Marcus didn’t really reply to something I’d said but started talking about his own day instead …

But, but, but.

That kiss. Those sparks. The way he smiles at me.

Is it really all in my head?

A sob breaks out of my mouth, and I grip the porcelain ledge of the sink tighter.

I’m suddenly aware of a presence next to me, the warmth of a body near my arm.

‘Here.’

I force my eyes open and find Leon holding out a wad of toilet roll to me, for me to dry my eyes.

I take it, trying not to think about how wretched my face looks in the mirror.

I can’t show up to the wedding like this, I need to look my best. Why would he ever fancy me and leave Kayleigh for me if I look like I’ve spent my whole night sleepless and crying and drunk?

That only makes me cry harder, though. I wipe my nose and eyes, but Leon doesn’t go anywhere. I’m surprised he followed me in at all; he must be very determined.

I sniffle. ‘Go on then.’

‘What?’

‘Carry on telling me how little you think of me, and what an idiot I am. How delusional I am to think Marcus might ever pick someone like me . What a horrible, conniving person I am to want to steal him.’

‘That’s not—’

I let out a laugh that sounds nothing like me.

It’s a bit wet, with all the tears, but it’s a sharp, short bark of a sound, and I even manage to cut Leon a no-nonsense look.

‘Please. You made it plenty obvious earlier that you can’t stand me.

You wouldn’t have stuck around with me if Gemma hadn’t corralled us together, and the only time you did look comfortable hanging out with me was after a few drinks, which is hardly a ringing endorsement.

And you’ve clearly only followed me in here to carry on berating me for being so worthless and stupid, so—’

‘No, I didn’t.’

I scoff, wiping my nose again.

I thought we might actually be on better terms, given everything that’s happened and all the confessions we’ve made, but I was obviously wrong about that.

He’s exactly the mean, sullen, standoffish person he first showed himself to be, and his friendlier attitude is just one more thing I’ve fooled myself into believing.

He’s another guy I let myself think the best of, see the potential in, only to be proved wrong yet again, and made the fool.

‘I don’t think you’re worthless,’ Leon says, and moves closer.

His fingers graze my elbow and I jerk my arm back when the gesture takes me by surprise.

He hesitates, but I don’t quite move away, too confused by the sincerity in his voice and the seriousness in his features.

I could be mistaken for thinking he looks ‘like a broody bastard’ again, as Gemma put it, but it’s more like – resolve.

Something very focused, and very intense, and which I’m suddenly finding it very hard to look away from.

This time, when he touches my arm, I let him.

‘I don’t think you’re worthless,’ he repeats.

‘That’s not what I meant by it. It’s just …

It’s more like you’re letting him treat you like you are.

Like it doesn’t matter how you feel, or what any of this is like for you.

Like he matters more than you do, his feelings are worth more than yours somehow.

Which they aren’t. Because you don’t … What I’m trying to say is … ’

He’s stammering again, like when Gemma asked him about my new underwear choices in the Victoria’s Secret section. It’s endearing, oddly vulnerable, and I wipe away a couple more tears. His grip tenses around my elbow.

‘What I’m trying to say,’ he says tightly, looking me in the eyes so fiercely it’s like he’s daring himself to do it, and all I can do is stare back, ‘is that you’re worth a damn sight more than someone like Marcus, and I think it’s a real fucking shame you can’t see that.’

‘I …’

I have no idea what to say to that. It’s not what I thought he’d followed me to say, not what I took from his tirade earlier, but – I believe him, when he says that’s what he meant.

And I’m not sure what to do with it.

Another sob bursts out of me, and I’m leaning forward before I can think twice about it, burying my face in Leon’s broad, solid chest. My fingers bunch in his shirt.

He doesn’t hold me, which makes me feel like a colossal idiot for throwing myself at the nearest source of potential comfort, only moves his hand from my elbow.

I expect him to prise me away and push me out at arm’s length, but instead his hand anchors between my shoulder blades.

It’s only a scrap of kindness, but haven’t I already proved that I’m happy accepting scraps of affection and attention from Marcus all this time?

Leon’s right – I have exactly zero sense of self-worth.

It’s a vicious pain, right between my ribs, and I fight to get myself at least a little bit under control.

I manage to swallow down a few gasping breaths, and shove myself upright, away from Leon.

His hand falls back to his side, clenching and unclenching.

I unfurl my own fingers from their death-grip in his shirt.

‘I’m sorry it came out so … harsh,’ he tells me.

‘I just … I think I can see he’s doing to you what Kay’s been doing to us , and I just can’t figure out why you’d choose that.

Why you’d go after it, when you don’t have to.

She’s my sister, I have to carry that pain.

But he’s … You can walk away. You should walk away. ’

I sniffle. I guess it never felt like I had much of a choice, if only because I didn’t give myself one. It was comfortable. I told myself I was happy. Told myself it was inevitable, it was a storybook romance, it was bad luck, it was … something I couldn’t walk away from.

Could I? Could I be that person who wears the bold lipstick, the nice underwear for no reason, who walks away from this emotional affair that’s no good for her? Someone who takes risks – takes charge of her own life a little bit?

I thought I was finally doing something that would stop me being a side-character in someone else’s story, but he’s right.

I’ll always be exactly that with Marcus.

Just like with all the other guys I’ve dated before him.

All those fixer-uppers I fell head over heels for, wilfully blind to a litany of red flags before they moved on to someone else.

Don’t I want more for myself than that?

‘He won’t pick you over Kay,’ Leon carries on now that I’ve fallen quiet, ‘because even a self-centred prick like Marcus can see you’re too good for him. You’re everything he’s not. You’re kind, and sweet, and – and gentle, and … He’d never be able to live with himself if he picked you.’

‘Oh,’ I say, and it’s all I can say, apparently, because even after I swallow the lump in my throat and try again, all that comes out is, ‘Oh.’