Page 80 of When We Were Young

Emily

I alternate between pacing the room and lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling until the sun comes up. My second night without sleep.

I need air.

I grab my room key and head down in the lift. I exit through the main doors and bump straight into Pierre.

‘Good morning, Emily. You are awake early. No Scott?’

‘Er, no. I wanted to get out and, you know… see Amsterdam.’

‘I can recommend a great place for coffee?’

The café is easy to find, following Pierre’s directions. I sit outside despite the early morning chill. When my coffee arrives, it has a thin syrupy waffle covering it like a lid. I take a bite. It’s gooey and sweet but as I swallow it sticks in my throat and I feel sick.

My thoughts turn to Magda. I don’t know if it’s her accent or whether she’s really that blunt.

She didn’t sugar-coat things, but maybe that’s exactly what I needed.

I’ve never hung up on anyone before. I feel terrible.

She was only trying to be a good friend.

What was I thinking? It must have been 3 a.m. The only friend I could call in the middle of the night like that was Miranda.

After Liv was born, we drifted apart. No, that’s not true – I pushed her away.

She was starting out as a designer, and I was a mum.

We had nothing in common anymore, and I made no attempt to maintain our friendship.

She put a lot of effort in, but I think I wanted us to lose touch.

It hurt to see her pursue a life that was lost to me.

After she graduated, she moved to America.

We sent each other messages on birthdays and Christmases, but after a while I didn’t even bother with that.

Where is she now? What would she say about all this?

Her voice in my head says, What do you want from life, Emily?’

The answer to that question comes quickly – I want Scott. But the note – the betrayal of it. Do I even know him?

I get up and go inside to pay my bill. As I’m leaving the café, I see Scott approaching. He stops and holds up his hands like I’m a wild animal he doesn’t want to startle.

‘I know you want space,’ he calls. ‘I was worried when you didn’t answer your door. Pierre said you might be here. I’ll leave you alone now.’

Please don’t leave me alone . ‘No, come and sit down.’

He walks towards me, and we sit. He spreads his hands on the table and looks at them as though they will tell him what to say.

‘I knew I’d have to tell you one day, and I knew you would hate me for it. I expected it, but it still hurts.’ He delivers most of this to his hands but drags his gaze up to meet mine for the last word.

‘I don’t hate you.’

He drops his eyes again.

‘I hope you can forgive me one day.’

‘You made a mistake. I know all about making mistakes.’

‘I think about it every day. Will wanted to talk to you. I didn’t know how desperate he was, or I would’ve given you the note. What if I’d given it to you? He might still be here.’

‘I’ve wasted so much of my life on what-ifs.

What if I hadn’t split up with him? What if I’d been in the night he broke into the flat?

What if writing the second album had been as easy as the first?

But it’s all pointless. I know that now.

When he ended his pain, he gave it to me to carry for the rest of my life. ’

My cheeks are wet with tears.

‘But it’s not only me,’ I continue. ‘He gave it to Reu, and Matty, and his parents, and the person who found him. You carry some of it because of that note. We all carry it. And he wouldn’t want us to. The pain was too much for him to bear. He wouldn’t wish it on us.’

Fatigue is seeping into my bones. I’m heavy.

‘I’m just so tired ,’ I say. ‘I’m tired of feeling guilty.’

‘You need to get some sleep. Let’s get you back to the hotel.’

He takes my hand as we walk. I haven’t walked down the street holding hands with anyone since Liv was small.

He walks me to my room.

‘Do you want to be alone?’ he asks, lingering by the door.

‘No.’

He follows me inside and looks uncomfortable as I kick off my shoes and unbutton my jeans.

He busies himself drawing the curtains and getting a bottle of water from the mini fridge.

I’m under the covers when he puts it by my bedside.

He says nothing but climbs onto the bed and lies alongside me on top of the duvet, fully clothed. I expect he still has his shoes on.

He strokes my hair like he used to for Liv when she was poorly.

Then he lies down with his arm over me, and I drift into a dreamless sleep.

I wake to the sound of my phone ringing. Scott is gone. I rummage through my bag but get there too late. FHD missed call.

I feel a pang of guilt, but I can’t deal with that now.

I text Scott: Where did you go?

A moment later, my phone rings. ‘You’re up?’ he asks.

‘Yes.’

‘Feel better?’

‘Much. Where are you?’

‘In my room. I had to make a few calls. Can I come over?’ His voice is husky down the line.

‘Give me five.’

I brush my teeth, splash my face, and pull my jeans back on before he knocks.

I let him in and close the door behind him. We stand facing each other.

The sound of suitcases trundling past echoes in the hallway outside.

He goes to say something but changes his mind.

I open my mouth to speak but the words die in my throat.

‘Give me a chance,’ he says at last. ‘Please. Let me make it up to you––’

‘I don’t want you to feel guilty anymore.’

He closes his eyes for a moment. ‘I wish I’d given you that note.’

A door slams down the corridor. Distant voices.

‘Neither of us is to blame for what happened,’ I whisper.

Seeing someone else’s guilt so plainly, helps me see my own more objectively.

Everything has changed. I couldn’t have said these words before.

And I know, even before I speak, that this time I believe what I’m saying.

‘We both made mistakes, but we’ve more than paid for them. ’

He steps closer, cups my face in his hands, searching my eyes for answers.

Then he’s kissing me. Gently, carefully like I might break. As I close my eyes, I sense an energy vibrating beneath his skin, like he’s holding back. But I want him to let go.

I want to let go.

I get wrapped up in his kiss, but a ball of panic forms in my gut, and I pull away.

‘What is it?’ he asks.

‘I’m afraid,’ I whisper.

‘Afraid of what?’

‘I’m afraid I’ll make you miserable.’

‘The only way you’ll make me miserable is if you leave me hanging for another twenty years.’

‘I’m serious.’

‘I’m afraid too. It’s different, it’s a change, but it’s what we both want, so we owe it to ourselves to give it a go. You said yourself, you’re sick of what-ifs. Let’s see how it goes. No pressure. Okay?’

‘Okay.’

‘Fancy checking out Amsterdam?’

‘Now?’

‘Why not? We’re leaving in the morning. The concierge told me all the best things to do in half a day.’

‘We have an itinerary?’

‘And dinner reservations. Are you ready for this?’

‘I’m ready.’

We grab a bite to eat at a street food market before heading off on a gallery tour.

We chat, we laugh, we video call Liv. I thought it would be difficult visiting the city where I was supposed to pursue my dreams, but it isn’t.

Not now I’m so full of hope for the future.

Not now there’s an art commission if I’m brave enough to take it and not with Scott by my side.

Spending time with him is easy, but there’s something else now.

We’re more tactile than before. There’s a flirtatious edge to our conversations, but it’s not forced.

I suppose, if anything, it was forced before.

I would keep my distance, make sure I didn’t get too close or look too long. This is more natural. It feels right.

Scott says we don’t need to change for dinner. The restaurant isn’t fancy, but it’s packed with people and the food is amazing.

‘Oh, I’ve been meaning to tell you…’ he says while we wait for dessert. ‘Guess who I got in touch with?’ He smiles as he pulls out his phone.

‘Who?’ I take his phone and there on the screen is a photo of my old friend Miranda, our long-lost flatmate. Happy tears spring to my eyes at the sight of her laughing with a redhead by her side as they tickle the small boy between them.

‘That’s her wife and son.’

‘She’s married?’

‘Yep, living in Santa Barbara. She asked about you.’

‘How did you find her?’

‘She popped up on LinkedIn, so I sent her a message. She said she’d love to hear from you.’

I hand back his phone. ‘Oh, wow… well, I’ll definitely contact her when we get back.’

On the walk back to the hotel I ask, ‘Why did we need three nights in Amsterdam, again? We’ve done no work today.’

‘I wasn’t sure how long everything would take. It was just a contingency.’

I smile. ‘Contingency?’

‘You can’t come all the way to Amsterdam and not explore the city.’

As we ride the lift to our floor, there’s a fizzing in my stomach. As usual, we reach his room first.

He says, ‘I’ll walk you to your room.’

When we reach my door, he kisses me. It’s a long, slow, delicious kiss.

Then he says, ‘Goodnight.’

I’m a little surprised because I sensed an urgency in his kiss that I hoped would lead to more, but perhaps I was mistaken.

We shouldn’t rush things, anyway.

‘Night,’ I say.

In my room, I take a few deep breaths to steady my heartbeat. I change into my nightdress, brush my teeth, and climb into bed when there’s a knock at the door.

‘Hello?’ I call through the door.

‘It’s me.’

I open the door a little. Scott stands there looking apologetic. ‘Can I come in?’

This time when we kiss, he tastes of toothpaste.

I undo each button on his shirt with trembling fingers, my breaths coming fast and shallow.

He steps out of his jeans and shorts, and lifts my nightdress up and over my head.

I haven’t seen him naked for years. Never had the chance to look, anyway.

He’s lean and tanned. I take his hand and lead him to the bed.

He lies down beside me, his eyes exploring my body, but I’m not self-conscious.

He brushes my hair from my shoulder. He runs his fingertips along the length of my collarbone, touches the curve of my breast and traces a line down to my navel. I hold my breath as he runs his thumb along the line of my caesarean scar. I know he doesn’t see it as ugly, what it means to us both.

I lean in and kiss him, the tips of our tongues dancing around each other.

He takes hold of my hip and rolls me onto my back.

He trails his fingertips slowly up my inner thigh and by the time I feel his tongue on me, I’m desperate for it. I wind my fingers into his hair. With every stroke of his tongue, I open my legs wider, arch my back a little more, until my muscles tremble with the effort.

And just when I’m about to come, he stops.

A little whimper escapes from my lips.

He scoots up the bed, presses his body against mine.

My breath catches in my throat as he pushes into me.

The slow back and forth of him takes me to the edge of everything.

When I come, the sensation ripples through me; he moves his hips in slow circles, making it last forever.

He’s not far behind me. He closes his eyes and makes a quiet noise, like a sigh.

I’ve never felt this close to him. He’s lost inside himself and me.

He rolls onto his back, spreadeagled. His chest rising and falling. He looks at me, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. I must be wearing a similar expression.

‘That was nice,’ he says.

‘Better than nice.’

He lays his arm out in invitation, and I move into the space he’s created, my head on his chest. He folds his arm over me.

I listen to his breathing and heartbeat slowing.

I lie there, knowing I don’t have to rush away.

This is my room, my bed. He came to me. He wanted me as much as I wanted him.

We don’t have to pretend it never happened.

We share a bed, just the two of us, the whole night, for the first time in more than sixteen years.

And I dare to hope it won’t be the last.