Page 68 of The Ghost of Exes Past

‘I don’t know if I can watch this.’

I say this in my head, but it comes out loud; my lips move before I can stop them.

The twisted thing is, I can’t take my eyes off them.

She doesn’t say anything, but I feel her move closer to me. Feel her hands closing around mine.

We’re back in Belle’s hotel room. It seems darker here, somehow, than it did before. I loosen the grip of her palm and slide my hand out. Rub my clammy palms on my trousers. My legs carry me forward, pacing ahead, before turning abruptly back again. Belle stands awkwardly in the centre of the room, something soft on her face.

‘Hey,’ she whispers, moving towards me.

I stop in front of her, so close I can tell what shampoo she uses. Not information I need right now. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘I don’t either.’ She sighs.

I notice how she isn’t crossing her arms. How she isn’t looking around sheepishly, scoping out an exit or a way to escape. Every time a conversation got too close to something real tonight, she found a way to redirect it or tidy it. But right now she’s just standing here. Looking at me. Head on. Not tidying anything.

Which means there’s nothing left to hide behind. For either of us. I’ve run out of things to look at, jokes to crack, things to say that aren’t this. It seems stupid because I’ve watched every chapter of her life play out and I know how this ends. I know what she’s going to say, but I ask it anyway.

‘So you’re marrying him tomorrow?’

She exhales, long and slow, like she’s been holding her breath since we got here.

She’s quiet for a moment. ‘If I could be with you, I would.’ She says it simply, as if it’s a fact, and then stops, looks away, seems to shrink. ‘But I can’t. So yes, I’m marrying Timothy tomorrow.’

I let that sink in.

My throat makes a noise I don’t mean to make, somewhere between a cough and a swallow. I look away from her.

It’s everything I wanted to hear.

For about five seconds, I let myself have it. I soak it up, that feeling.

It was all worth it for those words. Ten years of grey and numb so-called life, devoid of taste and flavour – it was all worth it to find out that she would still choose me. I could laugh, I could pick her up and spin her around. I almost do.

Then I notice her eyes, how open they are right now. How she’s given me something true and doesn’t know yet that I haven’t done the same. She’s standing here, with nothing left to hide, and I’m holding something back from her. The five seconds are up.

Belle pulls back slightly, searches my face. ‘So, that’s it? We’re done? You’ve seen everything now …’ Her voice trails off. ‘Am I saved? What happens now?’

There it is. The question I’ve been outrunning all evening. One last chance to lie, tell her that her tour’s complete. She’d never know. She’d believe me. I look down at the floor, at her feet, which are red from the dancing, at my scruffy trainers, the same ones I’ve been wearing for a decade.

‘Belle, I lied.’ My hands grab her palms, holding them tight.

A vertical line appears between her brows. I watch her expression shift into confusion and I have no idea where to start.

My brain is trying out different openers simultaneously, then forgetting them just as quickly. It’s complicated. You’re going to hate me but … It’s not what you think. None of them are right.

I snort out a laugh, just one. ‘Right, well, thing is …’ I pause. ‘I blame the psychopomp, really …’

I laugh again and stop. She isn’t laughing. She isn’t doing anything, just holding my hands and waiting.

‘The truth is … I was sent to visit you … to save myself, not you. This tour, it wasn’t for your benefit. It was for mine.’

She blinks and her patience somehow feels worse than if she’d already started shouting.

‘Gabe didn’t give me a choice.’ I say this and regret it, because that’s a lie. Try again.

‘I’ve been stuck in the in-between for ten years. Most people don’t get stuck there but I did because there was something I needed to put right. Something bad that I did when I was alive – to someone I loved.’ I swallow. ‘It was never your soul that needed saving. It was my soul, Belle.’