Oh. God.
I had not thought of that. I am so… arrogant? Stupid? Whatever, I realise that I’d just assumed she would still be single. But there is absolutely no reason that she should be, of course. Fuck, though. And inParis. Straight after we… Well, again, totally her prerogative.
‘Your fiancé wasn’t here today?’ I sound pathetic but I really don’t care.
‘He’s busy. Anyway, goodbye. Lovely to see you. See you at the next one.’
She walks off while I stand staring after her before turning round and trudging back to my car.
20
EMMA
I speed-walk all the way to Putney train station. The departures screen tells me that there’s a Central-London-bound train approaching and I barrel my way through the barriers and down the steps and hurl myself through the nearest doors just as they’re closing. The train pulls out of the station and I plonk myself onto a seat.
Anger and misery lent me wings (no bad thing because according to the screen in the station the next train wasn’t for another half hour; there’s a reduced Sunday service due to works on the line) but now I’m sitting down and I don’t know what to do with all this emotion.
For the first time that I can remember, I feel like I want to punch something. Or someone. I picture myself planting a fist into Callum’s face and screw my own face up. He’d probably just stand there, in man-of-steel mode, not flinching, and then come up with a one-liner that would make me laugh despite myself. I swallow a sob. Imisshim.
I truly hate feeling like this.
Bloody Callum. I was doing okay. I was dealing with being in the same room as him. I’d probably have thought about him onthe way home and felt a little miserable, but I wouldn’t have felt this bad if he hadn’t said what he said.
I don’t want to think about him any more. I take my Kindle out of my bag and turn the screen on. I enjoyed the journey here, alternating between reading and looking out of the window, so all I need to do is get back into my book.
I’m too upset to read, though.
I give up and just stare out of the window at the buildings we’re flashing past.
What am I actually upset about?
Callum asked me if I would like to go on a date with him.
Why am I upset about that?
I heave a really big out-loud sigh and the woman opposite me says, ‘Are you okay, love?’
‘Yes, I am. Sorry!’ I do my best to stop any further sighing and to produce a smile, but I think it’s more of a grimace.
I’m not okay, but I should be, actually.
I’d got to a point where I’m glad that Callum and I met again in the summer because I do feel as though I got closure… finally.
That was good. I don’t want to go backwards. I want to carry on looking forwards and enjoying my definitively Callum-free life. I’ve moved on. He told me once and for all that we won’t be together and I accepted that. I wasn’t looking forward to seeing him at the party today, and it was a bit difficult, but I dealt with it and I wasfine.
Until he asked me to go on a date.
Why did he ask? Why now? And why ask the question at all?
Maybe, actually, it wouldn’t hurt to meet up with him. Maybe, actually, it would be a good thing because now it feels like I need to get closure again rather than wondering for ages why he asked me.
It might be upsetting seeing him but itwouldprobably be better than having ongoing nagging questions.
We draw into Vauxhall, and the woman opposite me stands to get off.
As she passes me, she says, ‘Whatever it is, love, it’ll be okay.’
I manage to smile at her. ‘You’re very wise.’
