Page 40 of The Rest is History

Elodie

‘ H ere you go, Liddie.’ Olive ventures towards me, setting a tray down in front of me. My eyes flick dully to it. She’s procured a glass of white wine and put a KitKat next to it. Random, but possibly just what I need.

My throat tightens. ‘Thanks angel.’

She hovers. ‘Would you like a hug?’

‘I’d absolutely love one.’ I shuffle away from the middle of the sofa so she can curl in next to me, folding up her lanky limbs and tucking her head under my arm. Her skinny little arm goes around my stomach.

I sit there like a zombie and allow the weight of her body against me to blunt the edges of my pain ever so slightly. My body feels leaden. Everything hurts, inside and out. Pain has hijacked my brain, shutting down its basic functionality.

I can’t think.

I can’t do anything.

‘Why did Charlie break up with you if he threw us all a big party together yesterday?’ Olive asks me, her breath warm through my t-shirt. Thank God for this kid. I love her too much.

I wrap my arm around her more tightly. ‘I don’t know, sweetie. I don’t understand it either.’

‘He’s really silly.’

I sigh. ‘He certainly is.’

‘He told everyone you were his girlfriend, and then he changed his mind.’

‘Exactly.’ I’m glad it’s not just me. Even a nine-year-old can see that Charlie’s actions are totally fucked up.

My sister comes in, a glass of wine in her hand, and takes the armchair next to us. She glances at the tray. ‘Would you like some crisps with the wine?’

I pull my mouth up into a weak smile. ‘No, the KitKat’s perfect, thanks.’ I keep my arm clamped around Olive and lean forward to grab my glass. May as well avail of the miraculous mind-numbing effects of alcohol.

‘Have you heard from him?’ Grace asks.

Numbly, I unlock my phone and hand it to her. He sent me a message while I was in the shower, attempting to drown out the pain under a torrent of water.

I can’t tell you how much I regret hurting you. I’ve never met anyone like you, and please know this isn’t a reflection of how strongly I feel about you. If that was the only consideration, I’d never let you go. But I promise you, it’s for the best. I’ll see you tomorrow.

She chucks it back. ‘Dear Lord. I don’t get this guy. Anyone can see he’s head over heels for you. He’s admitted it, for God’s sake. So what’s his problem? Is he some kind of self-flagellating monk who can’t allow himself to be happy?’

‘There was definitely nothing monk-like about his behaviour last night,’ I say, raising my eyebrows meaningfully.

Grace leans over and pats me on the knee. ‘She made a little joke! Well done, Lid.’

I lean my head heavily against the back of the sofa, wincing at the discomfort my wet hair is causing. The back of my t-shirt is damp, but I couldn’t be arsed to towel-dry my hair properly.

‘I don’t get this relationship thing,’ I tell my sister. ‘It takes two people to make one work, but then one person gets to decide all by themselves that it’s over, and the other person just has to sit there and take it.’

‘Tell me about it,’ she says quietly, and I shut my eyes in realisation.

‘I’m such an idiot. I’m so sorry. Whatever this is, you guys have had it worse.’

‘Just because we’re sad, doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to be sad too,’ Olive whispers.

I bury my face in the top of her head and squeeze her tightly. ‘You’re a wise little owl, aren’t you? How did you get so wise?’

She shrugs in my grasp. ‘Dunno.’

‘My amazing daughter’s right,’ Grace says. ‘There’s no hierarchy of misery. You’re allowed to be pissed off. Jake and Charlie are both twats. And no. There’s nothing more disempowering than having a guy walk out on you and being able to do fuck all about it.’

‘You sweared,’ Olive says, but there’s no conviction in her voice.

‘So sue me,’ Grace tells her, and they both giggle.

‘God.’ I stare at the ceiling. ‘How the hell am I supposed to go to school tomorrow and see him? How am I supposed to teach? Kids always know when something’s up. I’ll probably cry all night, and I won’t be able to function.’

‘I’ll give you one of my sleeping pills,’ Grace says. ‘The best thing you can do right now is knock yourself out.’

Grace is right. The pharmaceutical help is a lifesaver. I cry for a couple of hours, my body racked with sobs, before passing out hard. When I wake up, my body is horribly sluggish—whether from the pills or the grief, I’m not sure. Probably a double-whammy.

School.

I can’t imagine how it’s going to be today. I’ll have to focus with very fibre of my being on not losing my shit and not getting the slightest glimpse of him .

Because if I see him, I will fall apart.

I text Zara before I leave the house.

Charlie dumped me yesterday. I can’t see him. Any chance you can meet me by the bike racks? Need some moral support.

She responds with a flurry of outraged messages.

OMFG

Seriously?

WTF???????

Of course babe

I’ll get there early

Then I’ll kill that MF for you

I stare in the bathroom mirror. Jesus, I’m a mess. There’s not much I can do about my red, almost painfully swollen eyelids except cover them with shitloads of concealer. I slather the makeup on with a trowel and trudge downstairs.

The entire bike ride, I’m a mess of conflicting emotions.

I’m terrified of seeing him and desperate to lay eyes on him in equal measure.

I still can’t compute that our relationship has tumbled down around us so quickly.

Maybe I was being blind, but it came out of nowhere.

He’s pulled the plug and left me out in the cold, and no matter how pathetic it sounds, I feel like half a person.

I miss him already, and it’s only been one night.

I’m completely bereft.

My brain keeps ricocheting between small leaps of hope that I can convince him to change his mind and despair that what he did yesterday was one hundred percent deliberate.

Final. I know he still feels for me. Sunday told me that.

His text last night told me that. But whatever demon or general fuck-upness is making him cast his feelings aside is clearly a powerful force—in his head, at least.

But if I see him today, and he’s the old version of himself—cold, distant, dismissive, shut-off—I honestly think I will curl up and die.

I’ll prostrate myself at his feet and beg for mercy.

There’s a very real chance he will be a cold bastard from here on in.

After all, he’s admitted to having had feelings for me since we first met, and look how he treated me for months.

Emotional walls are Charlie’s best allies, so I can imagine what his coping method for this breakup will be.

Locking up the fortress that is his heart, basically.

Maybe I should consider doing the same.

I ride through the staff carpark to the bike racks, my stomach flipping as I spot his car parked in his usual spot.

So he’s here.

Oh, Christ.

And I bet he’s well rested and peppy and ready to educate the next generation.

Maybe he’s a sociopath. It’s definitely a viable explanation.

Except it’s not. The Charlie I knew before could have fooled me into thinking he was utterly devoid of emotion, but the Charlie I’ve fallen in love with is a man who feels things.

Deeply.

Zara’s standing by the bike rack in a pink polka dot dress.

She looks gorgeous and radiant, and what I wouldn’t give to have some of whatever she’s having right now.

Her arms are folded, though, and her mouth is in a grim line.

As soon as I slide off my bike, she has me in her arms, squeezing the breath out of me.

‘Oh my God, babe, I am so, so sorry. He is a monumental fucking twat.’

‘Thank you.’ I let my head collapse on her shoulder and allow her to hug me. It feels really good, and maybe some of her vengeful energy will seep into me via osmosis, because right now I have zero energy of any kind.

She releases me gently. ‘Wanna talk about it?’

‘Not really.’ I steer my bike into a slot and slide the lock on.

‘You look gorgeous, if that’s any consolation.’

I smile weakly. ‘I look like utter shit, but thank you.’

‘You really don’t. You probably think you do, because you feel like utter shit, but you look as stunning as ever.’

She links her arm through mine and we set off for the staff entrance.

‘I’m scared of going to the office,’ I tell her.

‘He won’t be there, I promise,’ she says confidently.

I stop. ‘What did you do?’

‘Sent him a text. I just said, You’d better not be in the fucking office when Elodie and I get there .’

‘Did he reply?’

‘He just wrote back OK . He knows hell hath no fury like the best friend of a woman scorned.’

I sigh. ‘Ugh. Thank you for being my pit-bull. I’d probably be puking with nerves right now if you weren’t here with me.’

‘You wouldn’t, because I would never leave you to do something like this by yourself. Now, come on. Let’s get you severely over-caffeinated before school starts.’

I don’t see him all day, and the relief and disappointment I feel are a toxic combination that curdles my stomach with relentless anxiety. At lunch, Zara grabs my lunch from the cafeteria and we eat out in the leafy teachers’ garden, though I couldn’t tell you what food passes my lips.

While a large part of me is grateful that he’s at least had the decency to stay out of my way, in some ways his absence makes it harder. My stupid, illogical brain keeps telling me that if only I can get in front of him, I can convince him to give us a chance.

This must have been how Anne Boleyn felt when the coup to destroy her came out of nowhere. Shut off from Henry. Completely isolated from her king, and desperately convincing herself that if only she could see him, she could sway him.

But she never got the chance to make her case to him.

Cromwell made sure of that.