Which I kind of don’t want him to say, but also, I do, because it’s better when friends are straight with each other.
Yep, so he’s right, so I should have told her about it weeks ago and so I’m angry with myself.
Whydidn’tI tell her? I suppose… I was ashamed of myself for having been so bigoted about romance books in the first place and for having created the whole challenge situation. And then things were working out so well between us, which wasbecauseof the challenge, so I was actually grateful to it, but it was like the whole thing was based on my having been a complete arse in the first place and I wanted to skate over that. So I just didn’t talk about any of those pre-team-building-weekend things.
I should have mentioned it.
Yeah, so I’m ashamed of myself.
Suddenly I put my club down and pull my phone out of my pocket and send her a text:
I’m sorry. That bet meant nothing and was made before I even knew you properly, but I should have mentioned it to you. I love you
She reads it immediately, while I’m still holding my phone.
And then she leaves me on read.
Which… I do not love.
And which plays havoc with my next twenty or so shots.
I don’t think there was anything wrong with making the bet. I mean, it wasn’t even actually a bet and it was Pete who suggested it. It was basically a joke. I never intended to act on it. And I also didn’t know Freya properly at the time. Ishouldhave mentioned it to her, but it was harmless. But also I feel as though she should have given me a chance to explain rather than just immediately believing the worst. It was like shewantedto believe bad stuff.
Which brings me back to thinking that maybe I should be very grateful to Sonja because maybe it is for the best. Maybe something would always have broken us up at some point because Freya was just waiting for something to use to wreck our relationship.
Maybe I’ve had a lucky escape.
Or maybe I don’t deserve to be lucky in love. Maybe I’ve already been lucky enough in life. I mean, look at my life compared to Max’s.
I do another half-hearted hit and decide that I should probably just go home and get some sleep rather than wasting my time here.
I do not sleep well but things improve as the week goes on, basically because I throw myself into my work (not hard – there’s always too much to do) until Saturday afternoon, when I go to see my parents and brother.
Max is very sensitive to my moods and I don’t want to upset him, so I do my best to do the whole shoulders-squared, best-foot-forward thing as I drive us into Richmond Park.
‘What’s wrong?’ he says, as I squeeze the car into a slightly too-small space between a VW campervan and a Porsche.
Oh. Okay. I need to try harder to seem happy.
‘Nothing,’ I say.
‘You know, you need to stop trying to protect me. You’re a real person. Things aren’t always going to go amazingly for you. Sometimes bad things will happen. I know that and I love you and I’d be honoured if you would actually confide in me. And then I might confide more in you.’
‘I…’ I finish parking and turn to stare at him.
‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Disabled physically but not mentally.’
‘I…’ God. ‘Max. I’m so sorry,’ I say finally.
‘No. Don’t be sorry. You’re an amazing brother and I know you’re always looking out for me. And I love hearing the stuff you do tell me. But don’t just tell me the good bits. Tell me the shit bits too. You help me a lot. I’d like to be able to help you too.’
I nod slowly.
‘Okay,’ I say. And then I tell him how shit my divorcereallymade me feel. And then everything about Freya from start to finish. And how I’ve been feeling shit all week.
‘Do you constantly feel guilty?’ asks Max when I finish, surprising me. ‘About having had a different life from mine?’
I stare at him again (I’m doing a lot of staring this afternoon) and begin to say no before switching to honesty: ‘Yes.’
