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“Why do you say that?” I can’t help asking, because I was starting to wonder if he has a similar story to me.
“We, my family, have never been lucky in love,” he says at last. “My father died when I was very young, I don’t even remember him. And since then, my mother has jumped from one marriage to another, always looking for love but never actually finding it. My twin brother is what you call a serial monogamist, he’s never been single for longer than a week, but he never falls in love. He thinks it’s an unnecessary complication.”
He stops taking and looks like he needs to catch his breath. I wonder if he’s recovering from an illness.
“And you?” I prompt because his description of a family unable to find love intrigues me.
“I?” A half-smile. “Unlike my twin brother, who has girls falling at his feet, I’ve never been able to find a woman who wants me for anything more than friendship. It used to bother me a lot. Now, I’ve accepted it. Everyone in the world talks about love all the time, films, songs, books, poems full of it. But in reality, I think love, true love, is a rare gift, not many receive it. Don’t get me wrong.” He turns to me, and his dark eyes are very serious. “There are many, many gifts in this universe, and I have been blessed with so much. Just not romance.”
I don’t really know what to say, searching through my brain comes up with nothing. For the last two months I have done my best to avoid thinking about love. Just as I’ve avoided looking across the line of hazel trees towards the house next door in case I should catch a glimpse of her.
Some people might think me unforgiving and stubborn. Haneen, my sister, has told me so many times. But you can’t make a life with someone who never puts you first, can you? When the chips were really down, when I was in desperate need of her support, she said no.
End of story.
It’s why I’m going home.
The tannoy speakers come to life again, crackle, crackle, whizz. “Attention. Passengers for Southampton, boarding now.”
I should have taken the Guernsey ferry, an hour ago, and from there gone to Poole. Southampton is going to be awkward for the rail connection to Milton Keynes.
Liam gets up and rolls his suitcase from beside the bench. “Are you taking this one?” He looks at me.
I scroll through my phone app looking at train timetables. “Just checking if this is better or if I should go via Poole.”
He offers me his hand to shake. “It was good to meet you.”
“Good luck with your treatment,” I say belatedly, cursing myself for not saying so earlier.
We won’t meet again; we both know it.
He waves a hand goodbye, walks up the gangplank and disappears behind the barrier.
A little later, I hear the ferry’s engines revving as it pulls away from the port, sounding a long horn signal.
I stay and wait for the next Guernsey ferry.
Or the Jersey ferry.
Or the Saint Malo Ferry.
All in all, four more boats come and go while I struggle with myself, unable to get up and leave. People pass, some alone, some with friends and relatives kissing them goodbye.
That’s what stops me leaving. Unfinished business. There is one person I never said goodbye to. Yes, there are a hundred reasons why we cannot be together, but it’s not right to leave without a word. In spite of everything, I owe her at least a thank you, because for two months, she made me very happy, the happiest I’d ever been. So, I can’t go without saying goodbye.
Chapter Sixty-One
Hal
Catcher Lane looks beautiful in the late afternoon sun. The hedges are all trimmed and green, flowers wave in the warm breeze and the June sun is still halfway down the sky towards the sea. Last time I rolled a suitcase down this lane it had been full of potholes, and freezing water.
The honey shop, though, is closed.
I check the time, it’s half past five, too early to close, surely. Then I remember. It’s Tuesday. Of course.
Instead, I drag my suitcases round the side and go to the kitchen door. My nerves jangle is if they too are being dragged over an uneven garden path, and my knock on the kitchen door sounds too loud to my hyper-sensitive ears. The twelve words are ready on the tip of my tongue.I wanted to say goodbye before I leave, and to wish you luck.
After a while, I have to knock again. There is some movement inside, but no one comes to the door. Is she ignoring me? Something drags on the floor like a chair leg followed by a loud crash.
