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That afternoon, when I get home from work, there’s a note on the fridge whiteboard saying I’ve taken Rex and left my keys—Xavier. The fact he wrote it on the whiteboard and didn’t even handwrite on paper is extra cruel somehow. So low in effort. And he said so little. He’s an author, for god’s sake. He should have written me an epic eight-page goodbye letter on beautiful letterhead that I could keep forever, with paragraphs rhapsodising my looks, my body, the sex we had. Or least he should have added PS. Happy birthday.
It only then occurs to me that I’ll probably never see Rex again, and pain of that is suddenly all mixed in with my heartbreak, and I make a sound somewhere between a whimper and a sob.
This cottage, which was my safe, lovely little home, now feels empty and hollow. Damn Xavier and Rex for making me so lonely. Am I on my way to becoming Murray O’Healy? Calling people and making a nuisance of myself because I want someone to talk to? Should I give up now and buy cute curtains with anchors on them? Or maybe I truly am a cat person, and I should lean into that. Maybe I need three or four cats.
‘Charlotte?’
I let out a shriek and spin around.
It’s Xavier, standing in the middle of the room.
‘Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,’ he says. ‘The front door was open, I knocked.’
‘I was distracted. Reading your note,’ I say. ‘Did you forget something?’
‘I think I left that toy Rex likes. You know, the little mouse.’
I start looking around the lounge for it, peering under the couch, when he speaks again.
‘I didn’t really come back for that toy. I came back to say happy birthday. And…’
‘And?’ I say, standing up.
‘Charlotte, I don’t want to go,’ he says, his face looking suddenly anguished.
‘What does that mean?’
‘I don’t want to leave this house. I don’t want to leave you. I, I feel…’ He runs a hand over his short hair, like he’s still surprised it’s all gone. ‘I feel like we’re making a big mistake,’ he says finally. ‘I want to be with you.’
No. No. He’s not allowed to do this. Because it was already so hard and now he’s making it much harder.
I fold my arms. ‘You’re stagnating in this town,’ I say, and there’s a flash of irritation on his face.
‘That’s a line from my mother.’
‘I know, but maybe it’s true.’
‘You know it’s not,’ he says softly.
He steps towards me and if he touches me, I’m done for, so I step back. He doesn’t want to go. I don’t want him to go. But, what? We sleep together again and then we’re right back in the same place we were yesterday. He’s not offering me a solution. He’s just realised that moving out is hard, James’s couch is uncomfortable and the sex we were having was great. Of course he wants to stay.
But I have even more to lose, with my job, than I did yesterday. I have to be strong.
‘I think you should go,’ I say. ‘I think it would be a mistake if you didn’t.’
He gives me a long look, absorbing this, and I keep my face as hard and closed as possible, and he nods.
‘Okay,’ he says, his jaw set.
And he leaves. And it’s worse this time, because I saw the hurt in his eyes, and I know he won’t ever come back.
Winter
36
‘CHARLOTTE, THANK GOD,’ Hillary says as I walk into the office on a Wednesday morning. The festival officially opens this Friday night, and Hillary has been in a foul mood for the past ten days. At first I thought it was just stress, but then she had me cancel two dinner reservations, so I can only assume things have taken a bad turn with Graham.
A part of me is almost pleased. No, that’s horrible. I’m not that awful. I’m just very bitter about love right now and it has been hard to endure Hillary’s happiness. She kept insisting everything with Graham was just about sex, no feelings involved, but that soon stopped being believable when she was staring at her phone and smiling at his text messages all the time.
