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‘Do you still really have my T-shirt? Did you—’ He stops. ‘Did you mean it when you said you still loved me?’
And there it is. Oh, no,there it is.And I’m totally unprepared. I might’ve wished for this, daydreamed this up hundreds of times over the last two years like a stupid movie scene in my head, but I am completely caught off guard. Because the absolute truth is:I don’t know. I don’t know if the reason I couldn’t move on is because wearemeant to be. I don’t know if all the pain and longing means we are absolutelynot.For so long, I used to imagine that after he came home from India, his job done, promotion obtained, we might just – put it right? Somehow.
But Chloe. What about Chloe? I know what it is to be heartbroken and I wouldn’t wish that on even the most insufferable person on earth. Not Fundraising Steve, not Sly, I-Secretly-Like-Other-People’s-Failings Cousin Rhiannon. Plus, he left me. Quite easily, in fact, so what aboutthat, Millie Chandler, what aboutthat?
‘It .?.?. I don’t know.’
And his shoulders sag, as silence expands between us. ‘Right. You don’t know. Yetyousaid those things, Millie.Youtyped them.’
‘It was never meant to be read.’
‘But it was.’
And I open my mouth to reply, but nothing – I have nothing. And it seems, as silence encircles us, like a cloud, neither does he.
I step back, away from him. ‘I’ll speak to Chloe.’
Owen gives a dark, flat chuckle. ‘Oh. Yeah, well, good luck with that one. She’s .?.?. not a fan. Always had a hang-up.’
‘Ahang up?’
‘Knows how much you meant to me, I guess,’ he says, and I find myself shaking my head then, as if to flick off his words, like mud, because I don’t know what to do with any of this. I’m at sea. A bottle-shaped woman, bobbing, lost, in the ocean.
‘Still,’ I say. ‘I’ll talk to her.’
‘Right.’ Owen runs a hand through his dark, short hair and slowly, steps back. ‘Look forward to hearing from you, then, Millie.’
And he turns, strolling into the bright box of a warehouse, as a fork of lightning darts through the sky, like a vein. The fire door in the dark, slams.
‘Fuck,’ I whisper to myself, as hard, wet footsteps tread past me. ‘Fuck.’
‘Goodnight, Millie,’ comes a deep voice, and as I turn, my eyes find Jack in the fuzz, all unbuttoned collars and quiet confidence. He continues walking, but his eyes flick over his shoulder to the warehouse, to Owen, and then to me, inscrutable, for just a second, before he gets to his car. It bleeps twice.
‘Night,’ I call out, as he gets inside his car and shuts the door.
Chapter Seven
From: [email protected]
To: Millie Chandler
Subject: Send me your tits dirty girl
Errrr, what the fuck u emailing me back now for? I barely remember u Millie. But for the record I was trying to have a bit of fun after our date yet you make it personal about my breath? It was side effects of vitamins I was taking. It doesn’t normally smell like that??
ugly bitch. Delete my email. delete my number.
*
iMessage from Alexis:MILLIE??????
iMessage from Alexis:wow.
iMessage from Alexis:If you felt that way, why not tell me to my face? Instead of bombard me with emails?
iMessage from Alexis:I stood you up and I’m sorry about that but to call me a bad friend?
iMessage from Alexis:That you’re relieved I cancelled?
