by Paige Toon
I pull out my chair, sit down, and send a text to Lachie, giving him one last chance to back down.
He doesn’t.
‘I’m sure,’ he replies. ‘Good luck.’
I text back that I love him, but don’t get a reply.
Opening up a new email, I type out a brief message to Alex:
Are you here? Want to go for lunch sometime?
He replies within minutes.
Yes and yes. Today?
We agree on 1 p.m. but I shirk his suggestion to meet downstairs in the foyer, naming a coffee shop a few blocks away. If I’m going to see Alex again, I don’t want anyone I know to bear witness to our reunion.
I leave early and walk quickly, hoping to get there first and settle myself in before he appears. But, despite my best efforts, he’s already there leaning up against the stone wall outside the coffee shop with his feet crossed at the ankles and his attention fixed on his phone screen. His posture reminds me of how he looked on the night we first met, leaning up against a pillar at the eighties club, playing Angry Birds on his phone.
He’s wearing a red and black checked shirt with the sleeves rolled up, layered over a white T-shirt with black jeans and black boots. He glances up and instantly clocks me. My stomach does a somersault and his eyes widen.
‘Hi,’ he says, his face breaking into a grin as he stuffs his phone into his back pocket.
‘Hey.’ I force a smile in return, but my insides are going haywire as I come to a stop two feet in front of him.
He’s suddenly awkward, not knowing how to greet me. I make the decision for both of us, stepping forward to give him the briefest of hugs. His hands only just touch my back before I retreat, but there’s time enough for his catnip to hit me, full force.
‘I hope they have a table,’ I mumble, blushing as I turn away to push the door open. I’m hyper-aware of his proximity as he follows me inside.
There’s a table right at the back and I brace myself as I sit down and come face to face with him again.
He rakes a hand through his dark hair to push it back from his forehead and then rests his elbows on the table between us.
He hasn’t changed a bit.
‘How are you?’ he asks, studying me. His eyes are ocean blue, several shades darker than Lachie’s.
‘Really well, thanks,’ I reply, reaching for the salt shaker to play with. I’m nervous. ‘You?’
‘Good.’
I lie. He has changed. The lines at the corners of his eyes are deeper than they once were, and now there’s a hint of grey in the hair at his temples. He must be thirty-six – two years older than I am.
‘Let’s order and then we can chat,’ I decide, picking up the menu.
‘What do you usually go for?’ he asks, his eyes levelling mine over the top of our menus.
‘I don’t. I’ve never been here before.’
There’s a query in his expression.
‘I’ve been to the gift shop next door,’ I reveal.
‘Ah.’
I think it’s just dawned on him that I’ve chosen somewhere no one else I know would go to.
We need to order and pay at the counter, which I insist on doing, refusing, to his dismay, the note he tries to press into my hand. I go for the soup of the day – pumpkin and sweetcorn – while Alex opts for a baked potato with cheese.
‘So…’ he says when I return to the table. He’s grabbed the salt shaker. ‘This is weird.’
‘Just a bit,’ I agree. ‘It’s been a long time.’
‘Almost four years.’
‘How’s it going at work?’ I ask.
‘Good, I think.’ Small talk can be a blessing. ‘It’s sometimes hard to know, but the team seem to be responding well to suggestions.’
‘That’s good. Jet lag?’
‘Terrible for the first week. I think I’m over it now.’
‘Is it your first time in Sydney?’
‘Yeah, first time. I’m cramming in my sightseeing at the weekends. After work I’m going straight back to my hotel and crashing out. The room-service staff and I are on first-name terms.’
Although he’s gently jesting, I feel a stab of pity. It sounds like a pretty lonely experience in a new city.
‘I would offer to have you over for dinner sometime, but…’ I don’t need to point out that he wouldn’t be welcome.
He looks down at the table. ‘How is Lachie?’ he asks after a moment.
Does he know for certain that we’re still together? Has anyone told him? Has he asked?
‘He’s great,’ I reply, forcing what I hope is an easy smile, despite my nerves. ‘Still the same, still gigging. He’s got so many weddings on these days.’
He leans back in his seat and folds his arms, his foot accidentally kicking mine. We both quickly move out of each other’s way.
‘What about you?’ he asks. ‘Are you still doing wedding photography?’
I wrinkle my nose. ‘Not really. Not at all, if I’m honest.’
His eyebrows pull together. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ He sounds genuinely regretful.
‘Bridget is getting married next summer. She’s asked me to do hers.’
‘Oh, wow!’
‘Yeah. I should probably get some practice in before then.’
‘Surely it’s like riding a bike…’
I shrug. ‘Maybe.’
Neither of us says anything for a long moment. I avert my gaze only to come back a second later to meet his eyes again. He smiles a small smile. ‘It’s good to see you. I wasn’t sure we’d get to catch up.’
I shake my head. ‘Me neither. Lachie persuaded me, actually.’
His eyebrows practically hit his hairline.
I can’t help but let out a little laugh. ‘Apparently I’ve been tetchy as hell and this is my one chance to put it all behind me. I think his actual words were, “Once he’s gone, he’s gone. Hopefully for good.” ’
Alex winces and looks away. ‘Fair enough.’
Another long silence ensues.
‘I’m sorry if my trip here has stressed you out,’ he says eventually, glancing at me.
‘It’s okay. It’s actually nice to see you.’
His look becomes disbelieving, and then he makes a frustrated sound and leans forward again. ‘Yeah,’ he says quietly, biting his lip.
Luckily, the waitress brings over our food at that point, so we have something to distract us.
We talk about little things as we eat – about the people we know, the magazines that have closed down and the ones that aren’t doing too badly, and my old boss Simon, who’s apparently married now with a baby on the way. Eventually, I feel at ease enough to ask about his personal life.
‘How about you? Marriage again? Kids?’
He shakes his head. ‘No. Zara remarried, though. Had a whirlwind fling with some hotshot American advertising exec last summer. She’s settled in New York.’
‘You okay about that?’
‘More than okay. I’m pleased she’s happy.’ He sounds completely sincere.
‘Still got the guilts?’ I say this flippantly, but we both know there’s nothing glib about the events of four years ago.
‘You have no idea.’
He doesn’t meet my eyes at all as he says that last sentence. His voice sounds laden down with the weight of remorse.
‘If we’d never met—’ I start to say, but he shakes his head and doesn’t let me finish my sentence, wherever it was going.
‘Zara and I had been coasting for a while. We’d been together so long, I don’t think either of us could face starting again, even though things weren’t right. She told me she’d also been having doubts but, like me, opted for the easy option.’
‘The easy option?’ I ask with astonishment.
‘Going through with a wedding that we weren’t sure about seemed less horrendous than letting everyone down. At least, that’s how it felt at the time when we were in the midst of it. But, Christ, I wish I’d done i
t differently. There are so many things I regret.’ He shakes his head again. ‘I’m so sorry, Bronte.’ He looks pained as he meets my eyes. ‘I fucked everything up badly, and then, like a dick, I kept emailing you.’ His face twists in disgust. ‘I should’ve just backed off. I arrogantly assumed that I could make up for past mistakes if I told you enough times I was sorry, but you were happy with Lachie and I was an idiot. I’m so sorry,’ he repeats, his blue eyes shining.
I shake my head, my own eyes pricking with tears. ‘It’s okay. We were both pretty messed up with it all, weren’t we? It all worked out okay in the end. I love Lachie. He’s like a ray of sunshine.’ I say this with a proper smile.
His own smile is tinged with sadness. ‘I’m glad things worked out for you. Both,’ he adds.
A few moments pass. ‘Anyone significant in your life?’ I find the courage to ask.
‘Not at the moment, no.’ Alex makes a dismissive gesture with his hand as he continues. ‘I’ve been on a couple of dates, allowed myself to be set up to appease certain friends.’ He says this last bit with mild amusement. ‘But nothing serious.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I find myself saying.
‘Don’t be!’ He frowns. ‘When it’s right, it’s right. I’d know. I don’t see the point of wasting time – hers or mine – when it’s not going to go anywhere.’
‘But then you’re never giving anyone a proper chance. Just because you don’t click on a first date doesn’t mean you have nothing in common and you won’t grow to love each other.’
He grins and rolls his eyes. ‘Now you’re sounding like my mate Ed.’
‘Best man Ed?’
He breathes in sharply, nodding, as he remembers that we’ve met.
The first and only time I met Alex’s best friend was just before he married Zara. Alex was late to the church, so I went to look for him. I found him in a dark alleyway where Ed was giving him a pep talk.
‘We’ll be there in a minute,’ Ed had said to me firmly when I’d asked if everything was okay.
But then Alex turned and whispered to him, prompting Ed to stare at me in shock.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.
‘I’m photographing the wedding,’ I told him, holding up my camera.
The look on Ed’s face was incredulous. ‘She’s photographing the wedding?’ he asked Alex.
‘I’m Bronte,’ I said, unsure of what was going on.
‘I know who you are.’
And it was clear from his tone that he knew everything.
Alex wanted a minute alone with me, but the hard look that Ed gave me as he stalked past still haunts me to this day.
Of course, Alex did go through with marrying Zara, but it all came crashing down just weeks later. To know I was the cause of that breakdown fills me with shame.
But, even if I hadn’t been in love with Lachie, I’m not sure Alex and I could have picked up the pieces. I would have been the woman who broke up a decade-long relationship. Zara had been an integral part of Alex’s life for so long – accepted by all of his friends and family. The easy way his mother spoke to me when she thought I was just Bronte, there to do the photos, would have transformed into something altogether more suspicious and disagreeable. It would have been the worst possible start to a burgeoning relationship. We never stood a chance.
So yeah. That was the first and only time I met Alex’s mate Ed.
‘I guess we should be getting back,’ Alex says after our short stint of mutual reminiscing.
‘Yes.’ I gather my things together.
We walk back, side by side. Neither of us speaks until we’re a block away from the office.
‘Maybe we could go for lunch again next week?’ Alex suggests, casting me a sideways glance.
I hesitate before answering. ‘I don’t think that’s going to be possible.’
‘Oh.’ He sounds taken aback. ‘Okay.’ And disappointed.
‘Sorry, it’s just… Lachie wouldn’t like it.’
‘Oh! Okay. Sure,’ he says quickly. ‘I wasn’t meaning—’
‘No, I know!’ I cut him off, self-consciously. ‘It’s just, you know, this was supposed to be a one-off. Closure.’
‘Fine. Sure, I get it.’
How awkward?
He rolls the sleeves of his shirt down as we walk. There’s a proper chill in the air today. Not that I’d know, because my face is burning.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say again, feeling bad.
‘Don’t be,’ he insists, protesting. ‘I totally understand. It was good to see you. Give my best to Lachie too, please.’ His voice sounds strained, but only from embarrassment, I think.
‘I will.’
We walk into the building together and he presses the button for the lift. The doors open immediately and we step in.
‘Floor?’ I ask him.
‘Seven.’
I press seven, and five for me. The doors close, leaving us alone in the confined space together. My chest feels constricted as I breathe him in. I’m not sure this has really worked. I don’t feel better for seeing him – if anything I feel worse. There’s so much we still haven’t covered. But I’m not sure it’s appropriate to say any more.
‘Come and say goodbye before you go home?’ I blurt as the doors open to let me out on level five.
‘Okay,’ he replies.
I step out onto the landing and turn around, feeling suddenly panicky.
‘See you,’ I say.
‘Bye,’ he replies with a small, sad smile. His eyes drop just as the lift doors close.
He never does come to say goodbye.
Two months later, Lachie and I head to Perth for Christmas. Lachie has a big family – two loving, happily married parents, four doting older sisters who each have families of their own, plus multiple cousins and aunts and uncles, most of whom still live in the suburbs surrounding the city. So, when I say big, what I really mean is enormous.
Lachie’s parents live in a four-bedroom house, but, on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, three of his sisters and their families choose to cram into it rather than go back to their own homes, so Lachie and I take to the backyard in a tent – not just to give them all more space, but to give us some, too. Lachie’s nieces and nephews will still hunt him out in the morning – they absolutely adore him. And me. I’m very good at choosing Christmas and birthday presents, as it turns out.
I love being around Lachie’s family. It’s so completely different from mine. My dad passed away a couple of years ago, so it’s only Mum and me now, but she and her new husband, David, have belatedly discovered a love for travelling. This year they’re going on a cruise that will end up in Sydney Harbour to watch the fireworks on New Year’s Eve. We’ll see them on New Year’s Day, so I’m blissfully free of the usual guilt that comes when trying to decide who to spend Christmas with.
Right now, it’s late on Christmas Eve and I’m squeezed in beside Lachie on the sofa, holding the newest addition to his family: ten-week-old Ella. Lachie’s parents have gone up to bed, but his sisters and their partners remain. Bea is Lachie’s eldest sister at thirty-seven, Maggie is slightly older than me at thirty-five, Tina is thirty-three, and Lydia – Ella’s mother – is thirty. She’s the only sister not staying over tonight and the one who is closest to Lachie both in age and spirit. She’s been to visit us in Sydney a few times.
Last year Lydia finally tied the knot with her long-term boyfriend Mike, and despite their recent sleepless nights, they seem reluctant to go home to bed.
‘Suits you,’ Bea says to me with a smile, nodding at Ella.
‘Okay, time to hand the baby back,’ Lachie jokes.
‘No way,’ I say, snuggling the little bundle closer and smiling down at her angelic, sleeping face. ‘She’s adorable.’
‘Definitely time to hand the baby back,’ he says.
I glance at Lachie and narrow my eyes at him with not entirely mock annoyance.
‘Aw,’ Maggie says, the corners of her lips tur
ning down as she gazes at her brother. ‘I thought you wanted kids?’
She has three boys upstairs – all asleep and ready for Father Christmas.
Lachie shrugs. ‘Yeah, one day.’ He pauses. ‘I think.’
I shoot him a quick look. He thinks?
‘But not for a few more years,’ he adds.
‘You shouldn’t leave it too long,’ Bea advises, avoiding my gaze.
The fact that I’m six years older than Lachie has escaped no one’s attention, I’m sure, but they’re too diplomatic to mention it.
‘We’ve got plenty of time for all that,’ Lachie replies calmly.
‘I hope you haven’t been hanging out with Elliot too much,’ Lydia chips in drily.
Lachie rolls his eyes at Lydia, while Maggie tactfully changes the subject, but his youngest sister’s comment is still playing on my mind later when we’ve retired to our tent.
‘Lachie?’ I’m lying in his arms, tracing my fingertips across his ribcage.
‘Mmm?’ he replies sleepily.
‘Is Lydia right? Has El’s anti-kids stance rubbed off on you?’
I expect him to sigh or scoff or dismiss the conversation, but when he doesn’t immediately reply my fingers freeze in their tracks.
‘I love my nieces and nephews, but being around them just reminds me of how much work it all is.’ Lachie yawns, not seeming to notice how tense I suddenly feel.
‘I know, but everyone says it’s different when it’s your own,’ I point out.
He stills and then cranes his neck to look down at me. ‘Are you getting broody?’ He sounds apprehensive.
‘I don’t want to wait too much longer.’
‘How much longer are we talking here?’
‘I don’t know. A year or two?’
He slowly rests his head back onto his pillow and scratches his chin.
I wriggle onto my tummy and prop myself up on my elbows so he can’t escape my scrutiny. He looks pretty uncomfortable.
‘Lachie?’ I prompt.
‘I’m only twenty-eight,’ he replies eventually. ‘But thirty still seems way too young to me.’