‘Are you okay?’ he’s asking now. ‘You’ve turned as white asa sheet.’
‘Yes... yes, I’m fine. I feel a bit dizzyall of a sudden.’
‘Sit down,’ he urges, but I shake my head.
‘No, I just need to get home.’
‘Really? Why don’t I get you a drink of water? If you sitquietly, the dizziness might pass?’
He looks so concerned about me, but I’m feeling wretchedbeyond belief.
‘I’m so sorry, Aidan. So very, very sorry. But I’m going tohave to go now.’ Without another word, I blunder out of the bedroom and downthe stairs.
Aidan runs out of the cottage just as I’m driving away. Lookingin the rear-view mirror, I see him staring after me, holding out his arms inconfusion. But that only makes me drive faster.
By the time I get back to Sunnybrook, tears are slippingsteadily down my face. Today was supposed to mark a fresh start. I so wanted tobe honest with Aidan about everything.
But as it turns out, he’s the one person who canneverknowthe truth...
*****
I work on autopilot the next day, grateful for an orderdeadline that means I can’t afford to stop and think.
The Brighton shop needs more mugs at the start of next week.
So I’ll work like mad and deliver them on Monday morning.And thenI’ll face up to what’s happened...
From time to time, though, sitting at my wheel or my bench, amemory tugs at my heart and fresh tears fall, mingling with the layers ofvarnish I’m painting onto the mugs. Kissing Aidan in the kitchen of his newcottage... feeling on top of the world, knowing he felt thesame about me... the look of disgust on his face when hetalked about the heartless person who drove off, having seen an old ladycollapse, without bothering to help.
What would he say if he knew that driver was me?
If I attempted to explain why I drove away that day, would hebe objective enough to hear me out? Or would the emotion he feels over thedeath of his favourite aunt override any feelings he might have for me?
He was obviously so close to his Auntie Peg and utterlydevastated by her death. He could barely contain his anger when he was tellingme about the uncaring driver of the car at the scene.
I can’t bring myself to tell him it was me...to see the disgust and disbelief in his eyes when he looks at me.
I just can’t...
I manage to field Aidan’s calls on the pretext that I’mreally busy getting the order finished. But it’s only when I’m driving awayfrom Brighton on Monday, having dropped off my boxes of mugs, that it all comescrashing in on me.
The one thing I really can’t bear is the thought of Aidanhating me. But if we continue seeing each other, eventually the truth will comeout and that’s what will happen.
So I have to pull away from him.
But how do I do that?
*****
The week that follows is one of the worst of my life.
By Tuesday night, I still haven’t spoken to Aidan – despitethe messages he’s left me, worried that I’m really ill. But as I finish workfor the day and retreat to the house, I know it’s time to face him. I have tolet him down gently somehow. But when I think of how the conversation might go,and his reaction, I wonder if I have the strength.
Finally, sitting stiffly on the edge of my bed, I phone him,and it’s clear he’s been waiting for my call because he picks up immediately.
‘Hey there. How are you?’
‘Fine. Yes, I’m okay, thanks.’
