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They’re right. Jago isn’t going to be letting go of his claims anytime soon.
It’s not going to be a ‘let’s talk it through’ thing, after all, apparently. Jago is an unreasonable man and is going to be a tough nut to crack.
*
I’ve tortured myself enough. Sleepless nights and days of worry. I know what Stephen’s reaction will be about Cornwall. He simply doesn’t love me enough to put his job after us. And quite frankly, if I’m going to be happy, I need to do thingsmyway, and now. Rip the bandage off quickly and all that. And soon enough, this will all be an unhappy, distant memory. I know I’m making the right decision, albeit a tardy one.
Something inside me is changing and I can’t say I don’t like it. After so many years of doing what Stephen said I had to, now I’m going to do whatIwant.
I phone him from the telephone in the study. Grandmother never comes in here for some reason. His phone only rings once before he picks it up.
‘Stephen Stone,’ he says mechanically, and I can already picture him surrounded by piles of documents that need his attention.
‘Stephen, it’s me. I need to talk to you. It’s important.’
Silence, then: ‘I’m listening.’
I swallow. How do you get something so monumental off your chest without hurting someone?
‘Well, it’s about us.’
‘Ri-ight…?’
‘I, uhm, think I’ll be staying here in Cornwall.’
He sighs loudly. ‘Jesus, Emmie, I’ve listened to all your malarkey about detoxing from London and all, but we’re getting married in a few months’ time. How do you imagine that happening if you don’t get your arse back here?’
Of course he’s angry. I would be, too, if my fiancé took off on me. But I’d be even more angry if my fiancé was never there, just as he’s never there for me. The main reason that had attracted me to him was his dependability, but now, the one thing I’d counted on was sorely lacking.
The proof, apart from the fact that he waited until the day after the attack to come by and see how I was doing, is in the fact that he hasn’t come down to Cornwall once to see me, or even made a romantic call to tell me how much he’s missed me. Nothing. And the sad thing is that I wasn’t even expecting one.
‘That’s just it, Stephen. Forgive me, but I think I’m going to be staying here indefinitely.’
‘What the hell is that supposed to mean, Emmie? Is this a ruse to get me to move to Cornwall? Or are you telling me that you want to postpone the wedding? What are we supposed to do with all the summer-themed invitations, the summery menus? Even your dress is sleeveless, for Christ’s sake!’
‘I… how did you know that, Stephen?’ I ask, the huge yellow cartoon balloon letters in my mind’s eye: his mother’s told him.
‘I… uh, figured it would be sleeveless,’ he mumbles.
‘Did you really, Stephen? Or did your mother tell you? Please don’t lie to me.’
‘No, she didn’t mention a thing about your dress, I promise.’
‘Then who did?’
‘No one.’
I sigh. ‘Stephen, you always were a terrible liar.’
‘I’m not lying when I say I want to marry you.’
‘Oh, Stephen, please forgive me, but… I don’t. Not anymore.’
‘Jesus Christ…’
‘I’m sorry. I really didn’t want to do this over the phone, but—’
‘Then don’t say another word. We’ll talk about it when you come back for the engagement party.’
