With a little loving encouragement, I’d lined up two interviews with small, independent publishers. Even though the chances of starting as a junior editing assistant were slim, the prospect of the interviews was enough to invigorate me. I might have needed the push, but I was living up to my word of putting myself first.
The first interview went well. Or rather, I didn’t trip over my words, I ensured I was polite, made eye contact and didn’t umm or err at too many of the questions posed. The second, I was more nervous about, as they were a bigger company. The exposed brickwork of the reception teamed with glass walls, and shelves and shelves of books, instantly sent tingles down my spine as I walked in.
This was the type of place I could see myself spending time. And of course, the moment I set my heart on the job, the nerves grew like monsters inside my mind.
There were a handful of other people in the waiting area. All of a similar age to me, and I knew we were all here for the same thing. It had been a while since I’d found excitement in anything around me. Even the fantasy worlds I’d so often escaped to growing up, couldn’t pull me away of late. But there was an energy here, like its own magical world, that thrummed through my veins, adding weight to the importance of today.
“Grace Shaw?”
After the interview, I headed straight to the job that had sustained my bank account for years. I still had a job, and until I heard anything from either interview, this job would suffice. Of course, I’d already prayed I’d hear back from the second interview first. The likelihood of being offered both was probably a zillion to one, but I wouldn’t be able to settle until I heard from the position I wanted most.
It was nearly half-past eleven before I got to leave for home. It was a warm evening, despite autumn changing the colours of the trees. Stars lit up the sky like a blanket of glowing dust. A pale glow illuminated my bedroom window as I got closer to home—the only light left on in the house. We’d finished my room, and I could start to feel settled again.
As I walked down the drive, a figure waited, sitting on the doorstep, hidden in shadow. My footsteps halted, and I grabbed for my bag until the man stood and stepped into the faint glow from my room.
“Oliver?” The shadows obscured him, but it would take a lot for me not to recognise him.
“Hey. Sorry if I startled you. Your mum said you were working, but after I’d worked up the courage to speak to you, I couldn’t bring myself to leave.”
“It’s really late.” My reply was frosty and reflected my reaction to him being here.
“I know. Again, I’m sorry.”
“What did you want to say to me?” I knew I was being harsh, but the last thing I expected was to come home and find Oliver waiting for me. I’d put his letters out of my mind since I’d read them. As far as I was concerned, they were too little, too late. They didn’t change the way I felt now, and they wouldn’t have changed the way I felt if I’d read them when he intended for me to read them. My heart belonged to Maddison. I wouldn’t betray that, and I was glad Mum had hidden them from me.
“Just that I was back. Or rather, I’ve been making visits back to see Mum and Dad and had some time during the week. I live in London now. I’m not sure if you’ve…”
“Got your letters? I did.”
“Right then.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked through the gloom around us.
“It’s been a busy day, Oliver.” I prompted, not ready for this conversation. The way he’d done this just added fresh wood to the embers of anger still burning inside of me towards him. After everything we’d been through, everything we’d said, this was how he’d decided to come back into my life?
I dug around in my bag for my keys and marched past him to the door.
“I’ll be at home tomorrow. Maybe we can talk properly?”
“Maybe.” I opened the door and waited to say goodbye. I could feel the wave of emotions ready to break, and I didn’t want to let Oliver see he’d affected me so much.
“Goodnight.” I watched him as he walked off and into the darkness. I pictured him taking the same steps we’d both travelled hundreds of times before. My mind counted the seconds it would take him to arrive home before I shut the door and locked the house.
Bob stretched on the bed beside me as I sat down, exhausted from everything that had happened today. My heart had been on a rollercoaster these last months, and that was while I was ignoring Oliver. He was a lot harder to ignore when he turned up on my doorstep in the middle of the night. But then, wasn’t that what Oliver would do?
I curled up in bed and started processing the parts of the day I wanted to focus on. The hope of a job offer, the start of something new that was for me, and no one else. But it wasn’t long before memories invaded my mind and took me to a happier time when dragons and stories and running through fields were the sum total of my troubles.
I told myself it was because I wanted answers.
I told myself it was because I wanted to know how much he’d hurt me.
I refused to acknowledge the biggest part, though—the part of my soul that missed him.
Rummaging in the old shed, I pulled out my bike. It hadn’t been ridden in years, but it wasn’t too small. The tyres were passable, and I wheeled it around the side of the house before I got on. With considerable effort, I managed to pedal over to Oliver’s. But I didn’t stop at his house. I kept going down the lanes we used to explore as children, past the stream we splashed in and arrived at the gate that acted as the entrance to the field we visited so often. The metal fencing had been replaced since I’d last come here. It was rusty and falling apart then. Now, it looked sturdy and worthy of the job it was given.
Our tree stood tall and proud, forever casting a great shadow over the land around it.
The morning was still, with a light breeze disturbing the grasses around. The birds called to one another, and I watched as they flitted about from branch to branch.
With such happy memories dancing in my head from last night, I felt drawn here—to see what had been so special that it caused me to recollect everything we did together as children through rose-tinted glasses. And looking out at the countryside now, all I saw was beauty. The magic was what we’d created together—it didn’t live in the land, but in us.
“Hey!”
I turned around to see Oliver approaching on his bike.
“What are you doing here?” I interrogated, annoyed that he’d invaded the time I needed to make sense of some of my emotions.
“Same thing as you. Remembering. Plus, I saw a girl on a bike pass our window and was curious. Looks like I was right.”
I turned away and gazed back out at the fields before us. “Why?” I asked. There were a lot of parts to that particular question, but I’d figured he could start with the one he was feeling the most guilt over.
“Why what?” But he didn’t play the game.
“Come on, Oliver. Why did you leave? Why didn’t you tell me how you felt?” I leaned against the gate and looked out over the field, not wanting to give him my eyes.
“I did. But I thought it was for the best.”
“For you. You left for you.” That’s how I remembered it, anyway. The conversation we’d had, the kiss we’d shared, and then just, nothing. The nothing had taken up the space in my heart that once belonged to the love I’d held for Oliver.