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“I won’t settle for less than life changing.”
“Good, now I can rest easy.”
He leaves the way he came: wreaking devastation, and destruction, the pieces of my heart scattered around myself yet again.
Chapter Eleven
I sit playing with my phone in my lap on Sunday morning, and eventually just decide to go for it. He answers on the second ring, his eloquent voice softly booming down the line, “Hello, darling.”
“Hello, darling,” I echo, a sense of calm washing over me.
“How can I help you today, Mirabelle?”
I pause and sigh. “I need a friend. I need a friend very badly.”
“When and where?” he asks, without hesitation.
“You sure?”
“I’m here for you, I promised you I would be.”
“Thank you, darling. A pint at my local, the Holy Tavern on Britton Street, off Clerkenwell Road?”
“Sounds perfect, I can be there for around midday?”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Miles.”
“I can’t wait to hug you.”
“Me too.”
The moment we ring off, I cry my eyes out.
I don’t know why, since it’s so local to me, but I end up running late. First my outfit’s not right, then I wonder if I need to do my makeup differently. I don’t know what shoes I really want to wear and then I leave the house without my wallet and end up having to go back for it. Then suddenly I decide I want to put my hair up.
By the time I arrive at 12.15, I’m a bit of a shambles. Nevertheless, when I walk into the dark, dingy interior of one of mine and Kallie’s favourite London pubs—and see him seated in the back with drinks on the table—all I do is stride forward as if I’m in his tractor beam. I don’t see anything else but him.
He stands up with his dirty-blond hair brushing the upturned collar of his grey woollen blazer, his beard grown out a little more, his brown eyes gleaming—and I just can’t wait to be in his arms.
I walk right up to him and into his embrace and it’s the best feeling of my life. Burying my face in his neck, he wraps me tightly inside his arms as I cling to the lapels of his jacket, breathing heavily, my eyes closed.
We hold it for a while and I swallow over and over, vainly attempting to hide my emotions.
“Are we letting go, or what?” he says in a comic way, like an aside in a play.
I chuckle and shake my head. “Best fucking hug of my life.”
“I don’t disagree.” He kisses my forehead and murmurs, “You’re not okay, are you?”
“No.”
It really is the best hug I’ve ever had, his tall body comforting and safe, no judgement. No expectation. A haven for my pain during this dark time. His scent and him… make me feel better.
I kiss his cheek then pull away and he searches my face, either nerves or fear making him seem a little apprehensive. I take a seat opposite him, glad we’re in a darkened bit of the pub where candles are necessary. The Tavern is known for its dark panelling, ancient smell and haunted corners. I’m glad it’s quiet and we’re some of the few drinkers in here today.
After I’ve drunk a sip of my white wine, I tell him, “My dad’s dying.”
He takes my hand across the table and squeezes it. “I’m sorry, Mirabelle.”
