Page 79 of When We Were Young
Emily
A boat passes on the canal, ‘Dancing Queen’ blaring and disco lights flashing. How can anyone be having fun when my world has turned upside down? I check my phone and the page has finally loaded:
Reu Brody is a British drummer who played in the band of Will Bailey, appearing and co-writing one song on his album, Fragments , as well as several live releases and EPs.
I’m bawling now. Spluttering, gasping sobs shake my entire body. At first, I’m crying because I’m relieved Reu made it. He was – is – such a sweet soul. So positive, full of energy and talented. But then, I’m crying because I feel sorry for myself.
I will never be happy. Because I don’t deserve happiness.
The same old feelings resurface. The pain is not raw. It’s a dull, yet excruciating, chronic ache.
A couple loiter nearby. The girl speaks to me in a language I don’t understand.
‘It’s okay,’ Scott calls from behind me. ‘I’m with her. She’s okay.’ The couple glance at each other and move on.
But I’m not okay. I will never be okay.
I walk until I can’t walk any further, so I turn and retrace my steps. Scott stops in his tracks as I pass him.
How could he have kept this from me for all these years? Will must have thought me heartless when I didn’t get in touch. Or did he suspect I didn’t get the note?
After a while, I hear Scott’s voice behind me. ‘The hotel’s this way.’ His face is lit by the glow of his phone. He must be following our route on a map. I’m too tired to argue, so I follow him.
The smiling doorman wishes us a good evening as he holds the door for us.
When the lift arrives, Scott offers to take the next one.
I ride the lift alone, walk the corridor to my room, and collapse, fully clothed, onto the bed. He knocks at the door. ‘Em?’
‘Please go away.’
‘Call if you need anything.’ There’s a long pause. ‘I’m so sorry, Emily.’
I sleep for about an hour. When I wake, my feet are throbbing and my head aches. I need to talk to someone. I need a friend.
I pick up my phone and dial.
‘Emily, are you okay?’ Magda sounds sleepy and worried at the same time.
‘No,’ I say, and the tears come again. Magda says soothing things I can’t decipher over my noisy crying. When at last I can, I tell her everything. I talk non-stop, for I don’t know how long, and when I’m done, there’s silence.
Did we get cut off? Have I been talking to myself the whole time? ‘Hello?’
‘I’m here,’ she says. There’s a pause, then she adds, ‘So, he made a mistake?’
‘It was a big mistake, Magda––’
‘Are you so perfect? You have never made a big mistake?’
‘Of course I have––’
‘You love him?’
That word shocks me a little. I didn’t use that word, but – yes – I had thought I loved Scott.
She doesn’t wait for a response.
‘He made a mistake twenty years ago and you can’t forgive him? No, you don’t love him.’
‘It’s not that simple, Magda.’
‘Yes, it is!’ she snaps. ‘It is simple – you love him, you forgive him. You don’t love him, forget about it. Life is too short. You, of all people, should know that.’
I thought she was my friend. I phoned her because I wanted sympathy. Someone to take my side, to wallow in my sorrow with me. But she’s no help at all.
I hang up without even saying goodbye.