‘I agreed it would be up to Luke to come and find me. But that’s assuming his parents even told him.’ I wrote him letters too. Every year on his birthday and again to mark all the big occasions of childhood – starting school, learning to ride a bike, even his first kiss. I have no idea if I sent them at the right time, if he prefers football to music or if he ever learnt to swim in the sea.
But I never heard back. No pictures, no letters, no teasers of information, and I told myself it was for the best, that being shown what I could not have might be too much for me to bear. The not knowing meant I could imagine him happy and grown, surrounded by people who love him.
‘He’s got your hair.’ Layla is crying now, and I know only part of it is to do with me. The other part is her own sorrow, her own regrets at not having a family. ‘Your real hair, before you hacked it all off.’
‘I always hated my hair.’ I sit back down next to her and give her hand a gentle squeeze.
‘It suits you.’ She reaches out to finger the velvet waistcoat I’m wearing over a simple white vest and gypsy skirt. ‘So does this. It’s very . . .’
Stevie Nicks, I think to myself as I take back the photograph and smile down at my son.
‘It was his birthday not long ago. He’ll probably be taller than me now.’
‘Right,’ Layla says, jumping to her feet and beginning to pace up and down the room as she speaks. ‘Let me get this all straight in my head. Alex isn’t your uncle.’
‘Nope. He’s the cousin of the nun who raised me.’ And kind and wonderful and an absolute gem of a man who I am so very thankful for.
‘Back in Ireland.’ Layla points at me, but the pacing doesn’t stop and it feels like I’m watching a bizarre game of tennis, with neither balls nor opponents. A second later my head begins to spin, so I bend forward to rest my forehead on my knees.
‘Yes,’ I mutter, closing my eyes and clenching my jaw as a horrible high-pitched sound rings from somewhere deep inside my brain.
I can still remember that hateful journey, made in a state of heightened panic because not only had Leo rejected me, so too had the only parents I’d ever known. There was a sense of otherworldliness to it all, as if I was watching a film of somebody who looked exactly like me as they emptied their bank account and bought a ticket to Liverpool. All those lonely hours spent travelling across the country with no soundtrack, no story, nothing to keep me company other than the voices in my head saying I was not worthy. Then the Irish Sea, which brought with it the temptation to jump overboard, give myself to the creatures that lived in the darkness, become food for the fish that scare me so.
Luke saved me then. I knew it was a boy from the very first time I felt him kick, a reminder that I wasn’t allowed to give up. He was the only reason I stepped off the ferry and on to a rusty old bus that bumped and rattled all the way back to the place I was born. I must have looked like some kind of creature from the deep, arriving at the convent in the middle of a thunderstorm, soaked right through and incoherent with exhaustion.
When Sister Ingrid came downstairs, she crossed herself then ordered one of the younger nuns to run a bath, hot as hell itself, and then fetch me some tea. It was so many years ago, and yet I can still taste that sweetened offering, still hear the sound of Sister Ingrid’s voice as she helped me out of my sodden clothes and poured jug after jug of hot water over my back. I didn’t need to tell her about the baby; my swollen middle was screaming it loud enough for all to hear. But she never judged, she never reprimanded and she walked with me through the gardens every morning for weeks until we came up with a plan.
‘You’re not Swedish?’ Layla asks.
‘Nope.’
‘But your best friend at Oxford was.’
‘Yep.’
‘And you broke up with her because of a boy.’
‘Leo.’ I haven’t spoken his name since. Not even to Sister Ingrid or Alex, because his name made him real, made the pain and the betrayal oh-so real and I had to pretend otherwise. I had to pretend he was nothing more than a character in a storybook with a very unhappy ending.
‘And you got pregnant.’
I look up to find Layla in front of me, hands on hips like some kind of recalcitrant superhero. But there are tears in her eyes and sorrow stitched all over her beautiful face and I hate putting this on her, for not telling her the truth from the very beginning.
‘And then he dumped me. Well, I guess that’s what you call being stood up for a wedding?’
‘Haven’t you ever thought about finding him? Confronting him?’ She is shouting, not directly at me, but it’s actually quite terrifying because Layla never shouts. Swears, breaks things, cries at the soppiest of romantic comedies, but shouting isn’t part of her usual repertoire. ‘Not even after Luke was born?’
‘What would be the point?’ Now I’m shouting too.
Layla puffs her cheeks, then slowly blows out all the air. Which means she’s trying to decide whether or not to voice what it is she’s wanting to say and isn’t quite sure how I’m going to take it.
‘Did you never think he might be worth a second chance?’
There it is. The reason I never told anyone. Because a baby changes everything. Dump a girl and you’re a bastard. Dump a pregnant girl and you’re a double bastard, but every child deserves a father, so maybe he didn’t really mean it and you should forgive him for being so cruel?
I lie my head on the back of the sofa and close my eyes. Leo’s face swims into view, with its lopsided grin and eyes that were never afraid to hold my gaze. I can picture the curl of hair at the nape of his neck and still know each and every mole on his back, like a map only I was allowed to read. I can see the way his hand always curled around my waist when we slept, and I can still taste the exact feel of his lips on mine, the way he made me come alive like never before.
I can picture every single thing about him and hate the fact it’s just as painful as ever.
‘He was,’ I whisper as the tears fall all over again. ‘And I gave him that chance when I wrote to him. But he abandoned me, even after everything I’d told him about my childhood, about the fears I had for our unborn child. It hurt too much for me to keep trying, and I was so young. I was so stupidly young and naive.’ I wish more than anything I could go back and tell myself to try harder, to fight harder, because even if Leo didn’t want me, that doesn’t mean I couldn’t have loved our son.
‘It explains a lot.’ Layla crouches down and rests her chin on my knee.
‘About Hector.’ I look at her, thinking that she now looks like some kind of demented poodle, with downturned mouth and all that hair.
‘About you,’ she says, giving my leg a quick poke. ‘But yes, also about Hector.’
‘I never felt like I deserved him. Plus, I was terrified of what he would think of me if he ever discovered the truth. And you.’
‘Me?’ Layla says, falling back on her heels. ‘Why me?’
‘Because apart from Alex, you’re the only family I’ve got.’
‘Then you should know that family don’t judge. And I will love you even when you’re old and senile and have lost all your teeth.’
We’re both crying now, staring at one another and not quite sure what to do next.
My heart is still beating ten to the dozen, but the knot of fear in my stomach is almost gone. Almost, but not quite, because I still can’t shake off the idea that my confession and the spilling of secrets isn’t yet done.
‘Thank you,’ I say, wiping away my tears and taking a couple of slow, deliberate breaths.
‘What for?’
‘Not hating me.’
‘Oh I do. A big part of me hates you for not telling me. Another part hates Leo for being so fucking idiotic as to think he could ever find anyone better than you.’
I stand up and go to the sink, turning on the tap and bringing the cool water up to my face. As I turn to reach for the towel that always hangs from a hook on the wall, my eye lands on the first
ever memento I decided to keep.
‘He gave me this,’ I say, picking up the silver and emerald thimble that Leo once told me was the exact same shade as my eyes. Around the base is engraved the words Be true in love as a turtle dove. I remember smiling because I knew that thimbles used to be given as a sign of intent, back when gentlemen had to court their women. I thought it meant he loved me. I thought it meant he would keep his promise to never let me go.
‘It’s all I’ve got. Everything else was left behind, in Oxford.’
‘Do you think Leo was here, in Notting Hill, to find you?’
‘I have no idea.’ I put the thimble on the top shelf, because out of sight and all that. Problem is, he’s never out of mind because I carry him, and Luke – all of them – with me always.
‘No.’
‘No, what?’
‘I know that look.’ Layla shoves me out of the way and reaches back up for the thimble. ‘And you are not allowed to run away,’ she says, brandishing it at me like a weapon. ‘Not now. Not after fate or the universe or whatever it is has handed him back to you.’
‘He could be anywhere.’ And the idea of going out to look for him is making my heart stammer and shake.
‘He could also have been right around the corner all this time. Come on.’ Layla grabs my hand, pulling me in the direction of the hall.
‘Where are we going?’ Except I already know. I have known all along that I would have to be the one to close the gap of both distance and time.
‘Back to the café.’
‘Layla, wait.’ I look in the mirror that hangs in the hall, fluffing my hair and wondering if he’s even going to recognise me. As I do so, Layla opens the front door and nearly collides with someone standing on the other side. Someone who is taller than Layla, with huge brown eyes, long wavy hair and an elfin slant to her nose.
‘Hello.’ There’s a tilt to her voice and even from here I can smell her perfume, which is exactly the same as the contents of the tiny bottle I bought in London and kept hidden in a box upstairs. ‘I’m looking for Niamh,’ she says. ‘I don’t suppose she’s squirrelling away back there?’
Niamh.
It’s a name I haven’t heard for over fifteen years, suddenly spoken out loud by someone I convinced myself I would never see again. Part of me doesn’t want to turn my head, to find out why today of all days was when the past decided to come knocking.
But I’ve known it would come eventually. And even though my heart is crippled with doubt, there is still a small part of it that is singing loud enough to make me run to the door and throw myself into the arms of someone I love with all my heart.
‘It’s you,’ I say with a high-pitched laugh, all too aware of how my entire body is shaking. Staring up at the face of my long-lost friend, I smile at the tears that are rolling down her cheeks. ‘Erika.’ It’s so strange to say her name, the name that I stole and kept for myself as a way of remembering.
She smells of patchouli and bergamot. And the gap in her front teeth hasn’t been closed, which means her smile is just as intriguing as it was the very first day we met.
‘Niamh,’ Erika says in return. ‘What did you do to your hair?’
Before I have a chance to say anything more, to ask the myriad of questions that are running through my mind, someone else comes into sight. His hair may be dappled with the first signs of grey and the cut of his cloth more refined than when we were students, but he has the same gait to his walk, the exact same crinkle of eyes when he smiles.
‘I nearly didn’t recognise you,’ Duncan says as he touches one hand to my cheek then pulls me into a hug.
‘What are you doing here?’ I gasp, looking between them and still not quite believing what I’m seeing.
‘We came to find you,’ Erika says, draping one arm over my shoulder and whispering against my hair just like she did the night we first met.
The three of us stumble back to the kitchen and stand in a circle, laughing and crying and then laughing some more, but none of us able to put into words what it is we’re feeling.
Then we step away from each other, not much, but enough that we can look and stare and marvel at how little has really changed.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as the hands of the kitchen clock slip round to another hour.
‘Where’s Leo?’ I ask, wiping at my face and trying to ignore the enormous diamond that still sits on my finger. Hector will be here soon. But I need to see Leo, to speak to him before I can figure out what to do.
‘Leo?’ Duncan says and I see the look that passes between him and Erika. One split second and my entire world is flipped all over again. Another second more and my heart hammers out the answer I do not want to hear.
‘Yes, Leo,’ I say, although the words sound muffled and strange because of that high-pitched ringing in my ears that won’t leave me alone. ‘He was in the café. Isn’t he with you?’
‘We thought you knew,’ Erika says, taking a step towards me but I back away because I know what her face is saying and I can’t – I won’t – listen. ‘We thought that’s why you left.’
LEO
Thantophobia (n.) – phobia of losing someone you love
Oxford, 1996
He was late. He was always late, but not today of all days. His mother had rung all the way from New York to ask him if he was OK. Thankfully she wasn’t able to see down the line, to notice the slightly startled look on his face or that he kept fiddling with something in his pocket. He had promised her all was fine, listened to her talking about the Christmas lights at Bloomingdale’s and how she was going to see a show that evening with his father, assuming he left the office on time.
Leo had hung up and stared at the phone, wondering whether he should call her back, tell her about Niamh, about the baby. But they’d agreed not to say anything until after the wedding. Besides, he wasn’t sure if it was the sort of thing to announce to his mother when she was on the other side of the Atlantic. Better to wait. Do it in person. A family gathering back home at Christmas when they could share their happy news.
‘Come on, Leo,’ he said as he opened his rucksack and threw in a change of clothes. ‘Focus.’
Looking around the bedroom, he grabbed his essay from the desk along with his camera. For weeks he had carried on as normal, pretending that he was just another third-year student, hiding in the library to try to avoid all the invitations to parties and college bops. But when they came back from London and their secret was shared, what then? Would Niamh move in? Would his housemates mind having a pregnant woman and then a baby living in their bachelor pad?
There was so much they hadn’t talked about and he knew they were both avoiding the inevitable. Denial was so very alluring when you didn’t have a clue what you were supposed to do.
But there was always something hanging over them, a great big swathe of responsibility that Leo didn’t think he was ready for. Would he ever be ready? He’d pictured the two of them carving out a life together that at some point would include a family. He just hadn’t expected it to happen before he’d even graduated. Nor did he expect the swell of emotions he had every time he thought of Niamh and the life that was growing inside her. A life – no, a person – they had created out of love; someone he was already fiercely protective of and couldn’t wait to meet. It was terrifying, but he also couldn’t wait for it all to begin.
Reaching into his pocket, he took out the small velvet pouch containing the wedding bands he’d picked up that morning. He slipped hers onto the tip of his finger, allowing himself to wonder what dress she’d chosen to wear.
He loved her more than he’d ever thought it was possible to love someone, and she had promised to be his, now and forever more. He may not have had the foggiest as to what would come next, but he knew that as long as he had her, it would all be OK.
‘One day at a time,’ Leo said to himself as he cast a gaze around the room before shouldering his bag and bounding down the stairs.
The threat of rain hung in gunmetal clouds overhead, the air already damp and chilled. The wheels of Leo’s bike skidded as he had to stop suddenly in order to avoid a fox that shot out of someone’s front garden. The creature looked back at him, then scrambled over a fence and was gone.
Leaning forward over the handlebars, he flicked on the front light. The beam was weak, he should have changed the battery, but it was better than nothing. He glanced up at the sky that was beginning to drip, turned up the collar of his jacket and pedalled off in the direction of town.
Cycling along St Giles, he passed a man carrying an enormous bunch of roses. Should he head for the Covered Market, get a bunch for Niamh? No time, he told himself, and they’d only get crushed in his bag. And did she even like roses, or was it lilies? There was still so much they didn’t know about one another, and even though they were about to spend the rest of their lives together, it felt as if he was running out of time. The idea had been there ever since he woke that morning, churning his stomach and making him anxious for the day to be over, for him to be with her again.
Broad Street was busy with people and bikes, all heading in different directions, and he had to swerve to avoid a cyclist who turned without even looking.
Please still be there, he thought to himself as he cycled up to the crossroads. What would he do if she wasn’t there? The idea of her not being there, or thinking that he wasn’t coming was haunting in its enormity. Because he had to admit things had been somewhat strained between them of late. Not surprising really, given what they were trying to process. Add to that the looming pressure of finals and a heavy dose of morning sickness and it was no wonder they were both happy to ignore the elephant in the room.
The traffic lights flicked to red and the bike in front of him skidded to a halt. A split-second decision, to wait or carry on, and he swung out to the right of the cyclist and then freewheeled around the corner, at the very same moment as a man stepped off the pavement to cross the road.
The Love We Left Behind Page 27