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‘That doesn’t even sound like a real word.’
‘That’s exactly what I said – right after the therapist told me I was suffering from it.’ My heartbeat quickened, already terrified of anything that could harm this man. ‘Basically, it’s a fear of success, and many people who suffer from it don’t even realise they’ve got it. It’s feeling that you don’t deserve to be happy or to do well, and so you sabotage it. They say it can be caused by several things – and a childhood trauma is one of them.’
‘What made you finally seek help in Australia after so many years?’
The first genuine smile I’d seen so far lit up Finn’s face.
‘You. You did. I realised I’d found something I didn’t want to run away from. I found something worth staying for.’
He dipped his head, and his kiss was soft and warm.
‘Two and a half years is a long time to wait before realising you miss someone you left behind,’ I said quietly.
Finn shook his head. ‘I was missing you before we were even wheels-up on the runway.’
‘I thought you’d changed your mind, that you weren’t interested in me any more. The postcards confused me; I thought they meant more than they did. But when I invited myself to stay and you knocked me back, I assumed it was because you’d found someone else.’
‘Never. I can see now that sending the cards wasn’t fair, but I wanted to let you know that I was still thinking about you. Even though it was too soon for me; I wasn’t ready then. I was still trapped in a cycle that I couldn’t seem to break. I had to work out why I kept pushing the self-destruct button. Because I couldn’t ever risk doing that to you – or to us.’
It was a lovely thing to say, but the thought of him suddenly changing his mind and disappearing out of my life filled me with genuine terror. Was it possible to be cured of this achievemephobia thing, or would it always be there?
‘What would you have done if I hadn’t been free when you came back?’
Finn’s eyes darkened, and I could see it was a fear he’d already faced. ‘If you were happy, then I’d have walked away, even though it would have killed me. But something kept telling me that our story wasn’t over yet. All I could do was hope that you felt the same way.’ He gently touched my cheek. ‘You were always going to be the one I would never get over; the one I’d never forget.’
His hands slid down to my waist, drawing me towards him.
‘I’m in this, Gemma. All the way in. Fair warning, I have no intention of going anywhere. In fact…’ Was that a blush staining his cheeks? ‘… the only way I see this thing going is when you agree to change your name to mine.’
My heart flipped in my chest. ‘Is that so you’ll finally be able to remember it?’ My smile was impossibly wide.
He grinned back. ‘You have no idea how much I love you,’ he said, stealing my line just seconds before I could say it.
WEDNESDAY: DAY FOUR
21
‘Here you go,’ I said, placing a still-fizzing Prosecco in front of Hannah. She reached for the glass and held it up to mine and then paused, suddenly uncertain.
‘I was going to say “Cheers”, but maybe that’s not really appropriate.’
‘Let’s toast to friendship then,’ I said, clinking my glass against hers. ‘Because only a true friend would have volunteered to tack up posters with me on the hottest day of the year.’
‘Volunteered?’ Hannah queried, her eyes twinkling in the midday sunshine of the pub garden. ‘I think you’ll find “press-ganged” is a more accurate description.’
I smiled, leaning back on the wooden bench I’d managed to snag for us. I was treating us to lunch after we’d spent the last four hours plastering ‘Missing’ posters all over town. Finn’s face could now be found in petrol station forecourts, on supermarket noticeboards, and nailed on to the bark of countless trees.
Hannah kicked off her flip-flops and absently rubbed the soles of her feet, which I was dismayed to see looked red and sore. I wasn’t surprised; we’d clocked up an impressive number of steps that morning, yet we’d still only covered a fraction of the locations on the list I’d compiled. It was all about pacing, and while I was happy to keep going until the sun went down, I suspected Hannah might very well be done for the day.
‘Two brie and bacon baguettes, and a portion of chips,’ announced the barman, who’d crossed the pub garden and set down a tray of food before us.
Hannah’s eyes lit up. Much might have changed over the years, but my friend’s love of fried potatoes remained a constant. She was already diving into the basket as the waiter turned towards me.
‘I’ve put that poster you gave me up in the bar, and one of our regulars was wondering if you’re offering a reward.’
I set down my glass of Prosecco so abruptly, I lost half of it over the rim. ‘Do they have some information?’
The barman looked apologetic. ‘No. Sorry. I think he was just being hopeful.’
