Love Your Life(104)

I come to and realize that Farida and Felicity are both quietly watching me process my thoughts, in that patient way they have.

    “I think I’ll go,” I say, trying to sound casual. “I’ll go along to Kirk’s thing. I need to go back to the UK anyway, sort out my life. It would be supportive. And nice to see the group again. And…” I clear my throat. “Anyway. I think I’ll go.”

“I’m sure that’s a good idea,” says Farida, and Felicity nods, her face creased with empathy. And neither of them mentions it again, but I know they’re thinking what I can’t bring myself to say. Matt might be there. He just might be there.





Twenty-Five




He’s not here.

As I lean against the bar, breathing in beer fumes, clutching a glass of terrible wine, and listening to Aaron’s lengthy speech about his graphic novel, the last vestiges of my smile have fallen away. My cheeks have drooped. I’ve stopped swinging my head toward the door like a hopeful dog. If he was going to come, he would have come by now. It’s over.

Of course, everyone expected us to arrive hand in hand, or even married. Everyone demanded to know what had happened. I batted away the questions with carefully curated, positive sound bites:

I’m all good! Really good! So good!

Yes, Dutch and I split up, but it wasn’t meant to be, so. Yes, I know, a shame. These things happen.

I’ve just returned from the monastery, can you believe it? Got back yesterday. Yes, it is amazing in winter. Farida sends her love….

    No, I haven’t seen Dutch for a while.

No, there wasn’t anyone else involved, it just…Anyway! Enough about me.

But all the time, the disappointment was inside me, heavy and warm, weighing me down. I’d hoped. I’d really hoped. I’m not even sure what for, exactly. Just…something good. Yes, something good.

Because here’s the thing. You can cut all the flowers, but you can’t stop spring from coming. I don’t care what they say, you can’t. It pops up. It won’t be subdued. It’s there all the time, deep underground, dormant, waiting. The minute I saw that email from Kirk, I felt a daisy spring up, bobbing its head around as though to say, “You never know….”

It wasn’t overoptimism. It wasn’t some deluded fantasy. It was just…maybe. Everyone’s allowed a maybe, aren’t they? And that maybe feeling propelled me all the way through packing up, saying my farewells to Farida and Felicity, flying home, choosing an outfit, applying my makeup, and coming out here tonight. Hope. Just a little daisy of hope.

But now a brisk wind is blowing and the daisy’s feeling pretty buffeted. Actually, I might leave now. I’ve said hello to everyone from the group and we’ve promised we’ll have another reunion, and it’s been nice to see them in a way. Although it’s not the same. How could it be? In Puglia we were a group of unburdened souls in kurta pajamas. In this London pub, Richard has turned into an anorak-wearing bore, and Eithne can only talk about her grandchildren. Anna has told me endlessly about her brilliant career and looked gleeful when I told her that Matt and I had broken up. Everyone’s just a little paler and frownier than they were in Italy. Including me, I’m sure.

    Mouthing a general vague apology at Eithne, I step outside the pub and into the drizzly London street, then breathe out, trying to shed all the feelings that have been building up over the last few days. And I’m just peering at a passing bus, wondering if I should catch one home, when my phone jangles with a FaceTime request. It’s Ronald, wanting to chat, and I smile wryly. Of all the moments.

Ronald is the one member of the Warwick family I’ve stayed in touch with. I speak to him maybe twice a month, sometimes more. He called me soon after I arrived in Puglia, and we had a nice, aimless chat. He was interested to hear about Italy, and he had a few things to say about the news. Then he started telling me about his awful scam again, and even though he was repeating what I already knew, I listened sympathetically. I sensed he needed to say it, and he doesn’t get a chance to at home. We didn’t talk about Matt. When he strayed in that direction, I said, “Actually, could we not talk about Matt?” And we haven’t mentioned him ever since. Or any of the family. But we’ve chatted. And it’s been nice.

Not now, though. It’s not the time. I decline his request and send a quick text suggesting we talk another day. Then I start walking briskly, trying to put distance between me and the pub. I need to move on from all this, both literally and mentally. Enough. Regroup. Onward.

As the word “onward” passes through my mind, I think of Sarika, and my heart contracts. Because that’s where I should be. With my friends. With my squad. I haven’t even told them I’m back yet. Not sure why. I suppose I hoped…

    Stupid daisy.

With firmer resolve, I turn my steps toward the tube. I’ll go round to Nell’s and surprise her. Should have thought of that before.



* * *



—

It takes me about half an hour to reach Nell’s street, picking up some flowers on the way. As I stride along the pavement toward her building, it really hits me, what I’m doing, and I start to feel excited. Exhilarated, even. Because it’s been months! And I’ve finished my book! And I’ve missed my friends so much. So much. And they have no idea I’m back!