Field Notes on Love(71)

“Well,” Margaret says, giving him a level look, “it worked.”

He blinks at her, taken aback, though he knows he shouldn’t be. This, of course, is where they were headed all along. The problem is that he still doesn’t know how to feel about it.

Margaret starts to reach for his hand across the table, then changes her mind and rests it on the handle of her mug instead. “Look, I have no idea who this girl is. Do I think it’s a bit odd that you’ve gotten involved with someone who has my same name? Yes. Very. But that’s neither here nor there right now. The point is that I’ve been thinking about us a lot these last few weeks. And when I heard you were taking a gap year—”

“I’m not.”

She frowns. “But Alfie said—”

    “Alfie says a lot of things,” he tells her with a smile.

“Well, when I heard that, I thought maybe you were coming out here for more than just a few days. I thought you were coming to stay.” She shakes her head. “It’s silly, I know. We’re broken up, and you were with another girl anyway, but I just—I suppose I just wondered if there might be a second chance for us.”

“Margaret.”

“We let things slip. I know that. But you’re the only one I’ve ever loved, Hugo. And maybe it’s because of all these big changes, or maybe it was just knowing you were so far away this week, but I missed you.”

Once again she moves as if to take his hand, then realizes what she’s doing and stops. But this time, Hugo meets her halfway. He doesn’t know what he’s thinking. The truth is, he’s not, really. It’s more habit than anything else. For so long, she was home to him. And now he doesn’t know what she is.

“There’s no gap year,” he says gently. “I’m heading home tomorrow, so nothing has really changed.”

This isn’t true. At least not for Hugo. Everything has changed. Just not in the way that Margaret was hoping. But he doesn’t tell her that.

“What happened to make you go back?”

Hugo twists his coffee mug in circles on the table. “It was too complicated with the scholarship.”

“Ah,” she says, understanding immediately. “They want all six of you. That’s rubbish, Hugo. I’m sorry.”

“It’s probably for the best,” he says, and then he looks up at her with a sheepish grin. “I lost my wallet somewhere around Chicago.”

She laughs. “Of course you did. But you would’ve been fine. You’re not as hopeless as you think you are. It’s just that you’ve never had to manage by yourself before.”

    “That’s not—”

“You have a dad who’s used to shepherding seven-year-olds, and a mum who literally records every move you make, and five brothers and sisters to follow around. And you had me. You’ve never really had to look after yourself before. But that doesn’t mean you couldn’t do it.”

He smiles at her. “Thanks.”

“Honestly, I’m impressed you were even thinking about it. I never would’ve expected you to—”

“What?”

“Go after what you want,” she says, looking almost apologetic, and Hugo stares down at his mug with a pang of guilt. Because he hasn’t done that. Not really. “What changed?”

Mae, he thinks, though he doesn’t say it. But they know each other too well for this, and he can see the flicker of hurt in her eyes.

“Ah,” she says. “Right.”

“I’m really sorry, Margaret.”

There are twin spots of pink on her cheeks, which is what happens when she’s trying not to cry. But she lifts her chin anyway. “It’s okay. I’m glad you’re happy.”

“I don’t know if I am,” he says. “But I’m working on it.”

“Well, you seem different now,” she says. “It’s like some sort of spark has been lit.” He can tell how much it pains her to say this, how much it costs her. She pushes back her chair and stands up. “Don’t let it go out, okay?”

He stands, too, then walks around the table to give her a hug. They stay like that for ages, her nose pressed into his shoulder, his chin against the top of her head. His heart aches, not because he loves her—he hasn’t for a long time now—but because he loved her once, and that’s something that never completely leaves you.

    “Let’s not be dramatic about this,” she says eventually, stepping back and wiping at her eyes. “We already split up once. No need for a second round.”

Hugo laughs. “Okay.”

“So what happens next?”

“With us?”

“With you,” she says. “What will you do now?”

“Now?” Hugo says with a smile. “I’ve got a letter to write.”





When she wakes the next morning, Mae forgets where she is for a second. There have been so many new rooms, so many different views over the last week. But now she’s home in her own bed, the familiar sound of the nearby train whistle coming through the window.

She reaches for her phone, her heart falling when she sees there’s still nothing from Hugo. It can only mean he’s with Margaret, and that shouldn’t bother her. After all, they’ve already said their goodbyes and gone their separate ways. But still, there’s a pit in her stomach as she stares at the screen.