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Lauren blinked, looking at Ashley, shaking her head. “No.”
“So why the hell have you been putting yourself through hell all these years? At first I thought it was just your work but lately your mum and I have been starting to wonder. I can’t believe you thought he would want this.”
“It’s not just –,”
“Or that loving someone else means you loved him any less or differently. Oh, Lauren, you were everything for Thom. You loved him in a way I will never forget. I’m his mum and I saw the pair of you, and how you supported him and cared for him – you were just a baby, eighteen years old, and you oversaw his medicine and his appointments. You. Not me. Because you insisted and he knew how much that mattered to you. You gave him everything you had and I’m grateful but please don’t martyr yourself in his memory. He wouldn’t want that and nor do I.”
Tears ran down her cheeks. “Ash, you don’t understand, I promised I’d love him forever –,”
“And you will.”
“But how can I love him and love someone else at the same time?”
“Oh, come on, Lauren. You know life’s not that simple. We don’t exist in a world of black and white, linear, perfect choices. There’s no way anything will diminish what you and Thom had; if you love someone else it will be a different love. Your relationship with that man will be completely different to what you shared with Thom, and that’s the way it’s meant to be.”
Lauren felt the words shift inside of her but there was no pleasure in them, no light piercing the darkness. “It’s kind of you to say, but it doesn’t matter.” She swept her eyes shut.
“How can you say that? You’re obviously miserable. If this has been stopping you from being with this other guy, then please put the worry aside. Thom would expect me to be here saying this to you. He’d expect me to push you into the other man’s arms, for God’s sake. Is he a good person? Does he make you happy?”
Lauren sobbed. There was that word again. Happy.
Yes, the truth was, Raf had made her happy. When she’d been with him she’d felt the happiest she’d been in a long time. But underneath it all there’d been a sense of worry too. She thought it was guilt because of Thom, and that had been a part of it, but far more important was the knowledge that Raf would never want more from her. Every moment they were together, Lauren had been falling more and more in love and that had never been on his radar.
“None of this matters, Ashley. He – doesn’t love me. It was a one-sided thing.”
Saying those words aloud were like having a knife twisted in her abdomen, but she also felt braver for the admission, as though she were claiming her grief, facing it head on.
Maybe that was how she’d get through this?
“Come on.” Raf growled the word as he pushed one arm higher, catching the outcrop with his fingertips, curling them over the hold just in time. His other hand fell away, the piece of rock he’d clung to crumbling. He found a new grip and took it, before looking down to see the rocks tumbling, disintegrating as they crashed lower, against the side of the cliff. He swore under his breath and looked back up, fixing his gaze on the top of this climb.
He’d done this often enough to know the gruelling ache, but no two climbs were ever the same. Rocks changed, grass grew, weather conditions altered. Today was hot as hell, and the rocks were dry, some of them – apparently – crumbly from a prolonged heatwave. He pushed up, focussing on the top. Focussing on the agony that was in his arms and legs. Focussing on the mechanical motion of lifting his body, of carrying himself to the top of this cliff.
Determination fired in his blood. He would conquer this.
The cliff? Or Lauren?
He grimaced. It had been one month. One month since she’d told Yaya she was leaving. One month since he’d confronted her in the salon. One month since she’d told him she didn’t see any point in staying.
One month since he’d watched her walk away for the last time.
And so?
He was used to things ending with women. That was the way he lived his life. True, he was usually the one to walk away or say ‘when’, but that was a matter of semantics, wasn’t it? They had both agreed, on numerous occasions, that this would be temporary. And her job description was a grief counsellor. She helped people accept the inevitable after a poor health prognosis. Yaya had turned a corner. The stroke they’d all feared would prove fatal had been nothing of the sort. A month after Lauren left and Yaya was essentially back to normal, with the exception of a slight muscle weakness in her left hand, if she over-exerted herself.
Lauren had been right to leave.
So why the hell was he still fuming about it?
Why couldn’t he stop thinking about her?
Why did he find his fingers reaching for his phone – and especially at night time, when his memories of her were at their strongest – wanting to text her? No, not to text her. To call her and hear her voice. How was it possible he didn’t have a single photograph of her? A voice mail, a video, nothing tangible he could replay and take the edge off his need.
His hand slipped again and he swore, knowing the risk of trying to climb while distracted. He had to put her out of his head or he’d do what she’d accused him of and fall to his death.
He pushed higher, pausing for a moment when he had a good footing, holding the mountainside and waiting. It felt good to exert himself like this. No, it felt great.
She was another man’s wife.
