‘I can’t keep going like this.’ I look up at the station monitor. Two minutes and it’ll be done. I glance down at my feet momentarily and see the flutter of my heart in the fabric of my dress.
‘What do you want from me?’ he asks. ‘What is it? Is it marriage?’
‘I’d like some sort of commitment, yes.’ My chin draws back into my neck. ‘Is that too much to ask? Or, you know, maybe putting us first sometimes would be lovely.’
‘And what if I don’t want to get married?’ he says. ‘Then what?’
‘And what about having a family? Or have you changed your mind on that, too?’
Eyes cast to the floor, he rakes his fingers through his hair as he shakes his head.
‘What was all that garbage about future planning?’ I ask. ‘Were you just telling me what I wanted to hear? You know what? Don’t answer that. You’re a lawyer. Adam was right, it’s what you’re trained to do. I should have known.’
‘It wouldn’t be fair to leave you to do all the heavy lifting.’
‘Don’t be so bloody sanctimonious,’ I scoff. ‘As a woman, it’s what I’m stuck with anyway. I’d have to birth them, remember?’
He tips his head back and makes a guttural noise. ‘And let’s say we do? What happens in ten years’ time when I’ve got my own firm and I’m at work all hours of the day and night? That wouldn’t be fair on you or our children.’
Our children. The idea prickles at the back of my eyes.
‘So, come home at …’ I stop and take a deep breath. ‘No. No more. This is circle work. I’m done.’
‘You’re what? You’re done? What do you mean you’re done? You can’t just walk away.’ His gaze follows me as I move towards the approaching train. ‘Katharine?’
‘Oh, but I can.’ I smile as he blurs in my vision. It makes him look like a penguin. ‘I really can.’
‘Katharine, please, let’s just go home and talk this all out. We can work out what we both want and sort something out moving forward.’
Shit, if corporate jargon isn’t the original anti-aphrodisiac, I don’t know what is.
‘No,’ I say, my voice breaking.
His porcelain façade cracks. Not much, but enough for me to know I’ve finally broken through. The corners of his mouth turn downward and, for a brief pause, I’m sure I see his lip tremble. ‘Kate, please. I am so … God, I’m so sorry I made you feel like this.’
‘What happened in that room, what’s been happening all this time, tells me I’m not a priority for you.’ I rub my eyes with the heel of my hand and blow out a calming breath as the next train approaches. ‘And what the hell is the point of any of this if we aren’t each other’s priority?’
I step into the carriage and watch as John stands dumbfounded on the platform. He doesn’t reach out, step forward or otherwise make a move. He’s anchored to the spot and, as the doors sound their alarm and close, he slides quickly into the distance. My final view of him is with his head bowed, shoulders slumped, and hands stuffed in his pockets.
When my front door finally closes behind me that night, I collapse against it and sob for the first time since I walked out of Webster. I cry for my past, for my future, and for everything that has just vanished.
Chapter 11
‘You made a grown man cry last night.’
Adam stands at my front door with a greasy bag of breakfast, a wry smile, and what seems suspiciously like a hangover. With a disapproving look, I snatch the bag away and let him into my apartment. It’s not quite 7 a.m. on a Saturday, which is no time for anyone to be awake. I’m still in my pyjamas though I’ve barely slept a wink and, today, I’m moving halfway up the country.
No, it hasn’t sunk in yet.
What is striking, however, is the notion that my life has amounted to not much more than a few piles of boxes pushed up against windows and leaning against walls. At least that’s how it feels.
‘Don’t tell me you’re here to defend him.’ I reach over the kitchen counter and switch on the kettle. ‘There’ll definitely be salt in someone’s coffee today if that’s the case.’
‘On the contrary.’ He meanders through my things. ‘I’m proud of you.’
I offer an amused sniff and pilfer the first of three hash browns. As I make coffee, I watch his face change from confused to mildly disgusted when he happens upon underwear that wouldn’t fit into my suitcase. He turns his attention to an old coffee mug, which he waggles in the air.
‘Do you remember this holiday?’ he asks. ‘When driving a few hours to Scarborough, and not some ski village in the Alps, was the height of sophistication?’
‘I do.’ I smile. ‘I loved the puffins.’
‘You were obsessed with those things,’ he says, placing the mug back. ‘All they did was attack me, the little bastards.’
The memories are a sweet distraction from the dull ache in my chest. As much as last night needed to happen, I’d be silly to try and convince anyone I’m happy about it. Nobody ever wants to feel the way I do right now. Asking Adam to expand on his comment would be nothing more than self-flagellation, but I’m also oddly curious as to the finer details. I tap my nails against the kitchen counter and flip the coin of decision.
‘How’d you know he cried?’ The question springs forth as I hand Adam his coffee.
‘Well, he didn’t come back to the party.’ He clatters a spoon around in his mug. Gosh, I love my brother, but if he keeps belting the spoon about, I’m going to get him an apprenticeship in the bell tower of a French cathedral. ‘But he did call me about an hour after he left. I was already on my way home, so, I thought I’d do the right thing and stop at his place and just … What the hell did you say to him?’
‘The truth?’ I say, lifting my mug to my mouth.
Adam shakes the last few drops of milk from the carton. ‘Anyway, he says he was trying to call you, but you weren’t answering. For once, he didn’t know what to do with himself and was pacing around the place like his head was on fire.’
I reach for my phone. It’s flat, so I toss it back into my handbag. ‘And you said?’
‘I told him he should probably leave you alone.’
‘You’re still my brother.’ I snap my fingers and offer him a high-five.
‘Anyway, he was dumbfounded that you actually pulled the pin. I used the old “the woman is a tea bag” and, when he was calm, left.’
‘Tea bag,’ I deadpan. ‘You equated me to a tea bag?’
‘What? Tea bags get stronger in hot water, what are you … oh, no, don’t be … why are you the one who makes it grubby? I didn’t mean it like that.’
Though I laugh, I’m sure Adam knows more than he’s telling me. His giveaway is his face. For a lawyer, he’s got the worst poker face I’ve ever seen, at least when he’s around family. If there are holes in the dyke, his eyes flit about excitedly and he draws his bottom lip through his teeth, as if chewing half his face off will avert his attention. When it all gets too much, a tiny dimple will form in his left cheek, which it’s doing right now.