I glare at him, daring him to challenge me on this. Because I know I’m not wrong here. I know because I checked the ticket a milliontimes; both as soon as I got back from the airport that day, and on all the days after it, until I finally accepted that I hadn’t made a mistake. My flight was definitely booked for December 24th. His was too. Which means this is still failing to make any sense at all to me.
“Well, yeah,” Elliot replies, frowning. “Yeah, I had to get an earlier flight home. But you knew that. I left messages for you. Tons of them. I told you to meet me there, and we’d try to change the ticket. There was no time to do it before that; it was all such a rush.”
“A rush?” I reach up and massage my temples, where a headache’s starting to form. “Well, yeah; I mean, I know it was a bit of a rush trying to get everything sorted in time. That doesn’t explain why you suddenly decided to change your flight and leave early, though. We still had a whole day to get everything done.”
Elliot just stares at me for several long seconds.
“My dad,” he says at last. “My dad had a heart attack the day before we were supposed to leave. They didn’t think he was going to make it. When my mom called, she said … she said I needed to get there right away. But you know this. Surely you know this? I sent you so many messages.”
I shake my head, silently trying to process all of this.
“I didn’t get any messages from you,” I tell him quietly. “I couldn’t have. My phone was broken, remember?”
“Yeah, I know. That’s why I couldn’t call you. Or message you. But I came round to tell you myself, Holly. It was the middle of the night, but I knew I had to let you know what was going on; and not just for your sake, but for mine, too. I needed you with me, Holly. God knows, I didn’t want to have to do it alone.”
He’s looking me right in the eye. He sounds so sincere that it’s impossible to think he could be lying about this. And yet…
“So, why didn’t you?” I ask desperately. “Why didn’t you tell me, Elliot? I was right there. If you were coming to tell me, then why didn’t you? I’m notthatdeep a sleeper. I’m pretty sure you could’ve woken me up.”
Elliot rakes a hand through his hair, exasperated.
“I was on my way to your place,” he says, “When my mom called again to say she’d booked me onto the next flight out. She was freaking out, Holly. Like, completely hysterical. And the flight she’d booked was leaving almost right away. It was so tight. Honestly, I’d never have made it if I hadn’t walked right into your neighbor. Well, your boyfriend, I guess. Or whatever he is. Martin.”
He pulls a face which suggests that whatever Martin is, it’s not to Elliot’s liking.
“You metMartin? But what does he have to do with any of this?”
Elliot looks at me as if he can’t quite believe he’s having to tell me this.
“He heard me on the phone,” he says slowly. “Asked if there was anything he could do to help. And when I told him what was going on — because I was kinda freaking out myself at that point — he said not to worry, he’d go and get you, while I went back to the hotel to grab my stuff. He said he’d explain what was going on, and bring you to meet me, so we could go to the airport together. And my mom was still panicking on the other end of the phone, so I took him at his word.”
“Well, you shouldn’t have.” My entire body has gone cold at the implications of what he’s just told me. “Because hedidn’tcome andget me. He didn’t eventellme. This is … this is the first time I’ve heard any of this.”
I’m really glad I’m leaning against this wall, because my legs have suddenly started to shake, as if they’re doubting their ability to hold me up.
“Are you absolutelysureit was Martin you met?” I ask suddenly. “You only really met him that one time at the bookstore. And it would’ve been dark. Maybe it wasn’t him? Maybe it was … um, someone who looked a bit like him?”
Maybe it was a demon? Or one of those Japanese spirits that can change shape? Because either of those options would be significantly more believable than it having beenMartin.
I mean,seriously.
Elliot, however, just looks at me skeptically.
“Holly, Martin drove me to the airport,” he says calmly. “I spent almost an hour in the car with him. So I’m pretty sure it was him.”
“But … Martin drovemeto the airport,” I shriek, feeling like I’ve slipped into an alternative reality. “Don’t you think he’d have mentioned takingyouthere too?”
A flicker of doubt crossed Elliot’s handsome face.
“He took you to the airport? But …. when? Because when he came to the hotel to pick me up, he told me he’d gone to the flat to wake you up, but you wouldn’t come. He said you point-blank refused, actually. And when I tried to come and see you myself, he said there wasn’t time, and he was right. I had to get to airport or I would miss my flight. He promised that he would speak to you and try to persuade you to come the next day.”
I gape at him incredulously.
“Elliot, absolutely none of that happened,” I say shakily. “None of it. I woke up in the morning and went to your hotel room, like we’d planned, but you weren’t there. It was Sandra who told me you’d gone to the airport, not Martin. Martin didn’t say a word. Not a single word.”
My voice is wobbling dangerously by the time I get to the end of this, but Elliot just shakes his head.
“Hemusthave,” he insists. “He told me he did. And not just that night, but afterwards, too. He texted me when I got back to the States: said you’d asked him to get in touch and tell me to stop messaging you, because you didn’t want to hear from me. I’d sent you so many messages at that point; so many emails. I … well, I guess it took a while for it to sink in that you just didn’t want to hear from me.”
