Page 84 of Mirrors of the Past

She sat down, legs crossed, facing Elsie’s gown, and looked at her phone. Then she looked up at the figure in front of her.

What would Elsie do? What, in fact, would Viola do?

She knew without a doubt that they would fight for a love they believed in and set themselves free from a situation that did not make them one hundred per cent happy.

Life was too short.

As Tegan studied the gown, she went over some of the things Angelo had said and done over the few months they’d been apart. He was putting off seeing her. Every time she’d called him, he’d had another excuse as to why he’d been too busy to talk. He had, she realised, stopped making the first move and didn’t call or text her.

It was always her chasing him, grateful for whatever crumb he threw her way.

Unbidden, thoughts of Ryan — bloody Ryan — wormed their way into her mind. Yes, their relationship was work-based, but they were getting there on a personal level, weren’t they? They had begun enjoying each other’s company — socialising, calling and messaging each other with little bits of daily nonsense.

Fate had a funny way of working, didn’t it? People came into your lives when you needed them. And if someone was meant to come back into your life, they would.

Tegan took a deep breath and her heart began to pound.

Okay, she typed to Angelo. Not to worry. I’m pleased I saw it actually, as there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.

There were a few moments of silence on the phone. Then:

Cool. But can we talk later? I’m busy.

‘I bet you bloody are!’ muttered Tegan.

Then she typed: What’s her name?

I do not know what you mean!

Yes. You do. Angelo — just tell me. It was fun while it lasted (because it had been, she reasoned). But you can’t tell me that you honestly thought we had a whole lifetime ahead of us?

We will talk later. I have to go to my gig. I will call you.

Tegan shook her head. Of course he wouldn’t call her.

She bit her lip.

Angelo, please don’t call me. I suspect there’s nothing to say. Honestly. It’s fine. I wish you well. I just don’t see the point in fighting for this. You’re an amazing musician, your life is in Sicily. Mine is here.Peace out. Xxx

It was a corny phrase, but one he used a lot.

The phone told her he was “typing” and she waited.

If that’s what you want. Peace out, Babes. It was good. I wish you well too. If ever you are over here again, I will be happy to meet you xxx

And that was it. He, it seemed, didn’t want to fight for them either. Had it really been that easy?

If anything, that proved her point. But . . .

‘Not gonna be a friend with benefits, mate,’ she said to the phone. But she couldn’t help smiling, just a little bit. God loves a trier!

She debated on “hearting” the message, just to acknowledge it and end the whole sorry conversation. Then she took a deep breath and decided against it. She would manage his expectations and not let him believe she was that sort of person. She had far too much respect for herself.

She was free. She could move on.

And she decided not to think about the fact she had possibly turned into a person who broke up with people via text!

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