I’m beginning to feel as though I have some kind of chance of resurrecting my relationship with her. If I want to.
‘I think I already explained it,’ I say. ‘Sorry. That sounded kind of rude. But, yep, I think I’ve already said it. I’m truly sorry for the way I reacted when I met you; I was being ridiculous. I did the newspaper interview in the heat of the moment. The bet was made later, but it wasn’t arealbet and it was also made before I got to know you properly that weekend. And I didn’t want to take the money, but Pete insisted, so I said fine, I’ll make a charity donation. And there you go.’
As I conclude, I feel that I might have sounded a little terse, and looking at the closed-off expression on Freya’s face, IknowI have.
‘I’m sorry,’ I offer. ‘I’m sorry you got upset about the interview and the bet and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about it. And I’m sorry that I was so unreasonable about romantic fiction when we first met.’
‘Although, as you said at some point, if you hadn’t been, the challenge would never have happened, and we’d never have got to know each other any better.’ Freya’s smile is twisted.
I nod.
And then Freya nods.
And then we both take long sips of our drinks.
And then we look at each other.
And say absolutely nothing.
And there we have it.
I’ve told Freya I love her. I’ve explained everything. I think she gets it all. I don’t think it’s even that huge. I think it’s just that when it comes down to it, Freya doesn’t do love and at the smallest hint of an excuse she was always going to be off.
‘I lost,’ I say.
Freya raises both eyebrows in enquiring fashion.
‘The challenge. I found out that true love is not for me. I thought I definitely had a happily-ever-after waiting out there for me, but not at the moment. Too busy with lots of other things. And maybe not ready after my divorce. And then I met you and fell in love. And then I discovered that you can’t love me back. And I don’t think I’m ever going to meet anyone else like you. So, yep, you won. I agree. There is no happily-ever-after for me.’
Freya’s been sitting with her hands clasped together on the table in front of her. She shifts so that her elbows are on the table and brings her hands up so they’re kind of resting on her mouth. Then she separates her hands and slides them round so she’s propping her face up with them. She leans her head forward so she’s looking down at the table.
Suddenly, she lifts her head and says, ‘I’m sorry.’
That’s it? After all that thinking time. She’s sorry?
‘For what?’ I ask, for the sake of it, really. I’d feel too rude walking out before I’ve finished my drink and I don’t want to down it all in one so we kind of have to make conversation until we’re done.
I take a long draught of it to speed the process up while Freya starts the whole ‘thinking-woman’ routine again.
I have my mouth full of beer when she says, ‘For not listening sooner,’ and I nearly splutter liquid everywhere in surprise. And slight hope.
‘The thing is,’ she continues, ‘I think maybe I was looking for something to go wrong, and I seized on that and didn’t think about the realities of it.’
‘Oh?’ I ask cautiously, not wanting to hope too much, but also, suddenly,reallyhoping.
‘Yes,’ she replies, very unsatisfyingly. And then she just sits there and sips her wine.
I look at her gorgeous heart-shaped face, her thick hair piled on her head, her delicate frame which belieshugestrength of character.
And suddenly I just have to go for it one more time. Max was right. I should fight for her.
‘I love you,’ I say, very loudly. I sense people on the nearest tables turning to see what’s happening but I ignore them. I’m focused only on the amazing woman in front of me and whether I can salvage a relationship between us.
Freya swallows.
She looks at me, and I swear I see moisture in her eyes.
But she says nothing.
