She’d chosen her favourite restaurant and I liked the idea that we’d be surrounded by familiar people who could prop me up if I ended up drunk and sobbing at a table in the corner. I pushed the door open and saw her immediately, sitting at a table and taking a sip of white wine as she people-watched.
“Hey stranger,” she said when she noticed me approaching the table. “How are you?”
“Good,” I replied softly, realising how much I’d missed her.
“I’ve been worried about you. You fell off the grid for a while. Where the bloody hell did you go?”
“Snowboarding with some of the guys from uni,” I replied sheepishly, understanding how lame that sounded.
She twirled the stem of her wine glass with her finger as I sat down in the chair opposite her. “You should have come to me, you know. My two best mates just disappeared out of my life and I’ve been lost.”
“Sorry, Stace.” She looked tired but happy. Life with Matt was agreeing with her. “I should have contacted you more.”
“Knowing you were still alive every couple of weeks was enough to keep me sane.” She smiled. “Almost.”
We ordered more wine and went straight to mains. Stacey wanted dessert she’d had her eye on for a while so saved room by skipping starters. We chatted about inane topics, made each other laugh and shared stories we’d been desperate to share with each other. But we both skirted around the big issue, the one we both held close to our hearts. By the time I’d finished my steak and chips I couldn’t hold back any longer. “How is she?” The she we didn’t need to refer to by name. The she we both knew and loved.
“She’s good.”
I fidgeted with the cutlery, changing positions, turning the plate. I wanted to ask her more but didn’t know if it was my right to anymore, if Skye even wanted my concern, or my love. I started replaying the night she left, the things that had been said in anger and frustration. She was wearing a T-shirt that said woman up and it captured everything about her. I don’t know why that piece of fabric stuck in my mind as such a clear memory. Perhaps it hid my regret of what I’d said and implied. Christ, I just wanted to hold her and tell her it would all work out, but I couldn’t give her that guarantee, that promise, because I didn’t know myself. “What exactly does that mean, Stace? I mean good as in OK or good as in great, she’s finding herself, getting the support she needs through people…a guy…I mean…professional people…men or women.”
“This is madness,” she replied, dabbing her mouth with her serviette and putting it down on the table. “Have you been in touch with her?”
“No, I didn’t feel it was my place.”
“No. You were angry, and you couldn’t bring yourself to reach out, but bloody hell, Will. Who were you angrier with, Skye or yourself?” She had a great point, always did. I’d been wrestling with this issue like it was a goat the size of an elephant, all kicking legs and headbutts. I couldn’t keep it still, calm it down long enough to take a good look. I was pissed and I was gutted, but I directed it at the wrong person. Skye wasn’t to blame. I knew getting involved in the film wouldn’t be met favourably with work, but I made the decision to continue because of the girl with the bubblegum hair, because of the woman with the passion, because of the woman I was in desperately in love with.
Gav was the one who stuck the final knife in, giving it a twist along the way. I’d gone through the mountains and valleys of anger, first Skye, then Gav, and finally myself. Man, I was pissed at myself more than anyone. Furious that I’d let her walk away thinking I blamed her. Not acknowledging her bravery at facing her demons head on, finally accepting that she needed support. She sent me an email telling me she had arrived in Amsterdam safely, that she’d started some counselling sessions and was volunteering with a youth group there. She ended the email with, Please don’t reply. The rest was a haze of whiskey and regret.
“She’s doing this for herself, Will, and I think we both know she needed to before she drowned in guilt and self-loathing. I know it’s hard, you both left on bad terms–”
“Christ, Stace, that’s an understatement,” I replied, raking my hands through my hair. “I didn’t reach out to her; I didn’t tell her how awesome she was for doing this. I didn’t hold her like I usually did before that night. She believes everyone leaves her because she’s unlovable. Now I’ve done the fucking same.”
“She doesn’t believe that, Will. She knows you were angry and hurting. You’d lost your job, your home. She was hurting for you, but she’d made the decision to take time out long before she knew you’d been fired. This isn’t a response to that, or a decision made through additional guilt. This is years of shit she’s put to the back of her mind and slammed into a box until the box wouldn’t close anymore.”
“I miss her Stace, so fucking much.”
“I know, I do too,” she said, squeezing my hand.
“I should have replied to her email, I should have gone out there.”
“No, you’ve made the right decision because you know this is what she needs.”
“She might not need me when she comes back.”
“I can’t answer that,” she replied, brushing her long red hair behind her shoulder. “All I know is that she’s loved you for a long time, but she didn’t know what to do with the love when she finally got it. If she can work through all the things that hold her back…I think you’ve got a chance.”
“How will I know she still wants me?” I asked, never missing her more than I did at this point.
“You’ll know,” she replied, “when the time is right, you’ll know.” She smiled brightly and talked incessantly to the waiter who brought out our desserts. I’d never known a woman so genuinely interested in people and their stories. When we were left alone, she asked questions around her small groans whenever she took a hit of chocolate fudge cake. “Are you still staying with your parents?”
“Yeah.” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s fine. Mum’s been feeding me and watching out for signs of mental illness, hiding the knives, that sort of thing. She thinks everything can be solved with a slice of Battenberg cake and a cup of tea.” She snorted into her spoon. “She thinks I’ve got some kind of sex addiction. She’s removed all her historical romance books from the house and when she brought me breakfast in bed, she knocked first and covered her eyes.”
“Bless that woman,” she laughed.
“I almost got a bed full of orange juice when she lost her footing.”
“And on the job front?”
“Nothing exciting. I didn’t get the job in Scotland, they felt I was over-qualified.”
“Did you tell them about your camera skills in the porn industry?”
I rolled my eyes. “No.”
“Shame. You could have used those skills at the local knitting club.”
“Stace–”
“What? You would have been bored stupid in that place.” She laughed.
“I would have been paid,” I replied.
“About that.” She put her spoon down on the plate and wiped her hands on the napkin. “I have a proposition for you.”