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41
BRYN
Two weeks later,I unpack my rucksack in Hannah and Connor’s spare bedroom. I doubt my wisdom in doing this, but nights alone in a hotel room worrying about what to do is harder. I've missed eight years of my son's life and he wants me here; I can do this for a few weeks.
Hannah needs support. She hides it well but she isn’t coping. A couple of days ago, she almost had a car accident because she zoned out. Hannah didn’t tell me, but Connor informed me about the incident and the accompanying road rage from the guy whose car she almost hit.
Hannah can’t do this alone. Since I arrived, her mum has kept away if I’m with Hannah and Connor. We met a couple of times and awkward is understatement of the century. Jane looks no different to when I last saw her, the tall, graceful woman holding onto the looks her daughter inherited. What do I say? Thank her for taking care of my son?
A part of me holds animosity to Jane, too. She could’ve overridden Hannah and let me know about Connor, but she didn’t. The polite façade between us holds each time we cross paths but we eye each other warily, both frightened of what the other may say.
Nobody in my family matched so there’s no donor for Connor yet. He's on the register and I'm helpless, all the money and influence I have can't help. So, I decide to mend Connor’s unhappiness instead. He’s asked me to stay every day. I’ve stayed later each night and moving makes sense.
Connor welcomes me into his life. He accepts I never saw or spoke to him until recently, allows me into his world, into his house and doesn't ask why I was never here before.
He also doesn't ask how long I’m staying. Hannah avoids that question too, we both do.
The domesticity and normality of the world I'm in confuses me. I'm cut off from everybody and everything in my Blue Phoenix life, disconnected from the new life I was building with Avery. I don’t talk to anybody outside of Australia apart from Avery, and those conversations grow increasingly tense.
The struggle between doing what my heart tells me and my head advises continues, but it's not as simple anymore. I don't know where I belong.
* * *
AVERY
When Bryn movesinto Hannah's house, the last hope I clung onto slips from my grasp.
This is over.
Bryn still calls daily but his distance increases, the banter tailing away as he talks about Connor. I don’t think he realises that he speaks as if he’s building a life in Australia. I want to shout that he's living in a guilt-induced fantasy. That this isn't right for him, but I’m the one who lived in a fantasy.
When Bryn left, he assured me he'd be back in a few weeks. A few days later, he said he’s staying a month. After another week, he informed me he’d come back once Connor's treatment starts.
Now he doesn't give me a time frame at all.
Bryn has what he always wanted, the girl who held his heart in a vice-like grip. If Hannah can take his heart back this easily, Bryn never gave his heart to me, not really.
Stupidly, palpitations and excitement start when Bryn calls every day, early in the morning before I go to work. This morning, the call never came and the heavy sickness in my chest follows me around school for the rest of the day.
I’m a few months into my training now, nearing the end of term and a Christmas that’s bound to remind me of the amazing man I met last Christmas. I’m teaching eight year olds, and I can’t help looking at the boys as constant reminders of Connor.
The work is exhausting, physically and mentally; the constant supervision by other teachers undermines my confidence, but I push on. I can do this. Already, the class welcome me with smiles and I’m their Miss Paige. Some share drawings they made for me; and as each day passes, some of the anxiety at school eases as I enjoy the time with my class.
I don’t have time in the day to worry about Bryn and me, that pleasure is saved for evenings alone in his apartment. Tonight, I debate whether to stay here any longer. I already moved out of our bedroom into the spare room because I can’t stand the reminder of time spent in bed with Bryn. If I want to torture myself, I imagine Bryn in Hannah’s bed. One night I dreamed I walked into his bedroom in London and saw them together.
I can afford to leave now because my debts are paid. The day I discovered Bryn had paid them I was furious with him, but he shrugged, saying it was spare change to him. That annoyed me more. I insisted on applying for grants to see me through the unsalaried training year and Bryn didn’t interfere, learning his lesson from last time.
The fact I live with him and he pays for everything grates, but Bryn claims he’d pay whether I was here or not. Begrudgingly, I accept, but as the days pass, this feels wrong. With my grant money, I could find a place to live or share.
I settle in front of the TV with a glass of wine and a romance movie. Bad idea, I know, but I want to pretend my tears are over the couple struggling with their love in the movie and not my own. Exhausted after my week, I reject Ben’s offer of a night out with him and some old friends, but agree to catch up with them tomorrow. I need to reintegrate myself into reality, into life with twenty-somethings dipping their toes into adulthood, instead of clinging to my failed relationship with Bryn Hughes.
A few glasses of wine and a few too many tears later, my phone rings and pulls me out of the movie. I pick it up, expecting the call to be from Ben but Bryn’s name taunts me. Momentarily, I waver. He missed our call this morning, why should I answer?
Because I’m a grown woman and not a petulant child.
“It’s late, Bryn.”
“Sorry I missed calling you earlier.” He sounds genuine, and that always hurts more.
