“No. Definitely not,” Tom said firmly. He looked across at Dora, who was hitting something on the wall with her palm and talking to herself. “Caitlin and I—it was not meant to be, but I hated being apart from Dora. That’s why I moved ten doors down.” He sighed, but he was smiling. “We have a daughter, and she’s really, well, she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, even if she can only speak in a loud bellow and is pathetically afraid of imaginary cobwebs.” His dark gray eyes looked into hers. “It wasn’t what I expected, but it all worked out for the best.”
“Sounds like it did. I’m really glad, Tom.” Elle didn’t know what else to say. “Look—I’d better go.”
He looked around and said softly, “Elle—you know, I wasn’t with Caitlin when we slept together. It was long over by then. She’s with someone else, it’s great, everyone’s happy.”
“It’s fine.” Elle shook her head, wanting to say,
Well, I know that now.
“I wasn’t asking.”
“I know you weren’t, but I want you to know,” he said. “Because obviously, I don’t wish things had been different, with Caitlin, because of Dora. But in one way I wish they had.”
She could hear Gray talking in his low, charming voice to the girl at the counter, hear the rustle of his plastic bag as he took the book. Elle gazed at Tom, almost desperately. “What way?”
“Well… I fell in love with you that summer all those years ago, Elle. And I never really told you, because of everything that happened. But I suppose I’ve been in love with you ever since.” The hard lines of his face were rigid, his jaw tight, as he looked over at Gray. “Everything’s been wrong with us, timing-wise. Hasn’t it?”
“Tom—” she began.
“I just wanted you to know. To know I wasn’t an idiot, some stupid bastard who wanted to hurt you. I could never do that to you. There were reasons.”
She shook her head. “Don’t say anything,” she said, her voice thick. “Please, don’t.”
He lowered his voice. “I have to just say this one thing. I did love you and I’m glad we had that night together. It was—well, it was wonderful. I know what happened afterwards with your mum changes everything, but to me it was something special.”
His hand was on hers, crossed in front of her. Elle swallowed. She knew him so well, the amused, detached tone of his voice, the scroll of his ear, his eyes, his bony frame. Someone whom she always wanted to be in the room, someone who saw the world in the same way, and it had always been like that.
“I think,” Tom said, “I think sometimes the bits of your life happen in the wrong order, or all at the same time and you waste time feeling angry about it, but that’s the way it is, it’s real life. You meet the person who you think could make you happy for the rest of your life, but at the same time your ex-girlfriend who’s told you umpteen times she never wants to see you again tells you you’re going to be a dad.”
Elle took up the story. “And then you move to another country and then the next time you see that person, even though it’s like no time’s passed, you sleep together and then—your mum dies.” She gave a short, sad laugh. “Yep. That’s rubbish timing. But Tom, perhaps—”
Gray appeared between them. “Hello!” he said. “So, I think we should go, honey. Tom, it was great to meet you, and your beautiful daughter, and see the shop. They’re both a credit to you. Good luck.” He shook Tom’s hand graciously. “Elle?”
“Sure,” Elle said woodenly.
“Right,” Tom said mechanically.
She slung her bag over her shoulder, not knowing what else to do. “So—bye.”
“Bye,” Tom said. “I’m glad I saw you.” He turned away.
Gray put his arm around her again as they exited the shop together, and she didn’t look back once. On the pavement, he kissed her. “This has been a great trip, hasn’t it? I feel as if you’ve come through something. Laid ghosts to rest. Is that a terrible thing to say?”
“No, it’s not.” Elle gripped his arm as they walked away, pulling him as fast as she could. She couldn’t look back. She squared her shoulders, and glanced at him. “Thank you, darling, thank you for coming. I’m glad you came.”
“Sometimes it’s the only way with you,” Gray said. He stuck his hand out and cried, “Taxi!” A cab pulled over and Gray turned to her. “Honey, I’m going to miss you. I’ll call you when I’m in the hotel. I love you. I’m glad you’ve come back to me. It was worth it in the end.”
Elle kissed him. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know…” Gray smiled. “Sometimes I wondered if we’d make it. Or if it was just going to be too hard.” He nodded, and gripped her wrists. “But it was! It was, honey. I love you. See you back at home. At home!”
He climbed in, wound down the window, and leaned out. She walked towards him.
“Where you going?” the cabbie asked, annoyed.
“One second, please,” Gray said, frowning. “Good-bye, my darling girl. Keep yourself safe. Remember.”
Elle put her hand on his cheek. “Thank you,” she said.
The cab moved off, and she wondered why she’d said it.
Thank you
.
She stood alone on the pavement, watching the black cab disappear up the High Street, and then she looked at the books
in the shop window. Rows of beautiful books, different colors, sizes, promising different things, a new world inside each one. She didn’t know how long she stayed there, watching the movement inside, looking for someone she didn’t see.
The rain was falling lightly, a fine mist like a soft blanket. She could feel droplets of water soak into her hair, on the back of her neck, on her skin. The shop glowed warm in the gray light of a late London afternoon. She stared longingly at it. Someone was moving around by the shelf next to the window, a dark head. It disappeared from view.
Elle turned her back on it. She bit her lip, and started walking down towards Mayfair. She should call Courtney. She should pack and check her email. She had to—
“Elle?”
It was so faint, it could have been anything, not her name.
“Elle?”
She turned around. Tom was running up the street, towards her.
“Thank God, I thought I’d missed you.” He held out his hand. “Elle—”
“Yes?” she said.
“Here. You forgot your umbrella.” He put the small black object into her hand, and kept it there.
“Oh.” She gripped his hand for a moment, then took it. “Thank you,” she said. “How stupid of me.”
Tom said, “Well, I just thought… You’ll need it if you ever move back to London. Very important.”
“I’m not moving back to London,” she said.
“I thought you might.” He ran his fingers through his short black hair, brushing the rain away.
“Well, Gray doesn’t want to.”
“And you?”
She shook her head. “Don’t ask me that.”
“Why not?” His voice was insistent. “Why not, Elle?”
“Oh—” She put the umbrella up and moved towards him, so they were both standing beneath it. “A week ago I’d have said you were mad. But you don’t know what’s round the corner, do you?” She laughed, slightly hysterically—some inexorable emotion was creeping over her, what the hell was she doing? “I feel like… I just have this feeling. I can’t explain it. Like, it wouldn’t necessarily be better here. It’d just be
right
. Does that make sense?”
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, it does make sense.” His gray eyes were the color of the sky. “I don’t want you to go back, Elle,” he said. “I want you to stay.”
“Do you?” She brushed rain out of her eyes, and looked around.
“Come with me,” Tom said suddenly. He took her hand and she went with him, mutely. They walked up the road in silence, his fingers clutching hers, and he propelled her into a coffee shop, where she sat down at a table by the window, and he ordered.
“Shouldn’t you be at the shop? Don’t they need you?”
“They’ll know to look for me in here if they do, this is where we come for coffee,” he said, sliding a paper cup firmly over towards her. “Drink up.”
The coffee was strong, hot, and delicious. Elle closed her eyes, breathing in the smell. “I’m so tired,” she said.
Tom put his elbows on the table and rested his chin in his hands. “What have you been up to? Burning the midnight oil?”
She didn’t mean to pour it all out, but she did. She told him everything. About how her mum had died, about what it was like back in New York, how she couldn’t talk to anyone, about the image, the nights alone in front of the TV. Her mum and her mum’s father, the day he died, supper on Monday night and what had come out. And he just listened. He didn’t say
anything or jump in and tell her what to do, just sat there watching her intently and listening.
At the end, when Elle had finished, she added, “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.”
“I’m glad you did.” He took her hand, and held it. She let him.
“I have to go back tonight,” she said. “And I can’t. I can’t face it. I want to stay here, and I don’t know why. I’m having some kind of a moment of madness, and I can’t explain it. Because it makes no sense. It’s just that I don’t want to leave and I don’t know why. And I don’t know what to do.”
Tom turned her hand over, and ran his fingers over the creases in her palm. He pinched each of the tips of her fingers. Elle watched him. All of a sudden, she didn’t feel stressed, or hurried, or confused, or angry. Peaceful, as if it were just the two of them, and everything else was imaginary.
“Look, I have to say it again… I’m in love with you,” Tom said, after a moment. “I always have been. And I think you should come back here and be with me. And Dora, I’m afraid, but me mainly.”
He bit his lip, not looking at her. The coffee shop was quiet; they were alone in the world.
She squeezed his fingers and looked down. His hands, her hands, clutched together.
“The trouble is, I’m not very good at trusting my own instincts,” she said. “I’ve been wrong before. A lot.”
“About what?” Tom leaned forward and wiped a tear from her cheek. “You worry too much, Elle, about everything. You’re too hard on yourself.”
“I was wrong about Rory—”
“You were twenty-five, twenty-six! Everyone’s allowed to be in love with the wrong person at some point. In fact, it’s a mistake not to be. Come on.”
Elle cleared her throat, to try and quell the rising tide of emotion inside her. “Um—I was wrong about Rhodes and Melissa. I thought they were horrible, and they’re not.”
Tom cleared his throat. “None of my business, but seems to me they got you wrong too. And your mum.”
“Well, but that’s it. I was wrong about my mum, totally wrong. And that’s—”
She made a sobbing sound in her throat, and bent her head forward, her hair hanging over her face.
“That’s what?” Tom said softly. He tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear.
“That’s my fault most of all. I had my head in the sand, for years and years, and I didn’t notice, I should have, I could have saved her.”
Elle’s throat was aching with the effort of not crying. Tom reached over and rubbed her back and tears started falling onto the ground, more and more. “It’s OK,” he said. “You should just cry. A lot. It’s awful, what happened to her.” Elle shook her head, sobbing softly, not caring if anyone was watching, unable to stop. “But Elle, you’ve got something wrong, just one thing. You think you could have saved her. You couldn’t. No one could. She was ill, Elle. She drank in secret for years, and she knew it would kill her. Honestly, you may think you had your head in the sand, but that’s a totally separate thing. There’s nothing you could have done.”
Elle’s shoulders heaved. “If I’d got home earlier that night—”
“No,” Tom said firmly. He bent forward so his breath was in her ear. “I persuaded you to stay with me. She’d have done it again, the next night, the night after you left. Elle, there isn’t anything you could have done. And I met her, I saw how much she loved you, she did, she loved you so much. She was so proud of you, it was obvious, she lied so you wouldn’t be
ashamed of her, so you could be a success and not worry about her. She’d be horrified to think you blamed yourself.”
“Gray says I need to go and see the therapist again,” Elle said, in between hiccuping sobs, the wall of her hair still shielding her from everything. “He says I—”
“Well, maybe you should, or a grief counselor or something,” said Tom. “Because your dad, your brother, they’re not in such a state, are they? Do you think they’re still like this about her death, four years after it happened?” He stroked her hair again and she sat up and blew her nose.
“No, they’re not,” she said, calmly. She took a deep breath. “Her father was an alcoholic. He hit her. He died the summer she started drinking properly again. I only really found out on Monday.”
Tom nodded. “Blimey,” he said.
“I still think we should have—”
“Listen, Elle,” Tom said firmly. He caught her hands in his once more, and held them tightly, his thin, kind face only inches away from hers. “My mum died of a disease, and I blamed my dad for it, I still do in some ways, but I know I’m being stupid when I do. That’s the point. Your mum had an illness. Her dad had it. You might have had it too but in a way you could say that summer you backed away from it. And then you tried to help her, but she didn’t want you to. She knew it wouldn’t work. I think you think it’s in your nature to be a failure, but it’s the opposite. You’re a star, you’re wonderful, and you don’t realize it.”