Taking the photograph down, I slide open the drawer nearest the cooker and find a lidless biro that inexplicably still works, despite being in the house for as long as I’ve lived here. I turn the image over and write a message on the back.
Ten words that tell the truth.
Quickly, I replace the photo on the fridge and the pen in the drawer, leave my key in an open envelope on the kitchen table and hurry out.
On the beautiful tiles of the hall – the first thing I saw when I arrived a year ago – I pause one last time. I reach out and rest my hand against the wall, feeling the history of the house hum beneath my fingers. Lives lived here, chances missed, dreams found. Countless breaths taken, smiles shared, tears shed. We aren’t the first and we won’t be the last to share our days with this building. There’s comfort in that.
‘Goodbye, house,’ I whisper. ‘I love you.’
I open the front door to the bright day outside, pulling it shut behind me. The click of the Yale lock reverberates through my hand. It’s done now: I can’t ever go back.
My tears fall in silent, uninterrupted tribute as I make my way to Monty. Across the city, Fraser waits for me, already arranging our new life from the home I will now call mine. Joe is my past: Fraser my bright future. Who knows what waits for me in London?
I’m strangely light as I drive away from a road I won’t revisit. I’ve said all I have to now. Nothing else remains.
Chapter Sixty
JOE
EVIE
How do you know it’s right? I have so many questions, Seth. So many things we can’t know…
SETH takes EVIE’S hand and places it against his heart.
SETH
This is all I have to answer them. Trust this.
I sit back in my chair and rub my eyes. I’ve been working on the full script for a week now. I thought the writers’ room team would write it with me, but Russell had other ideas.
‘This is your story to tell,’ he said when I met with him to discuss next steps for Evie & Seth. ‘Your words, your voice.’
It’s what I’ve dreamed of. My name as creator and writer. From the earliest days of my writing ambition, this was the goal. I have the might of Ensign-Tempest Media behind me, a guaranteed green light before I write a single page – I mean, who gets that? It never happens. If the series is a success, it could make my name. I am the luckiest beggar in the business. So why doesn’t it feel like a victory?
I’m still hoping Otty might ask to read the spec. I know she’s still in the city – Russell agreed she could work out her notice away from the writers’ room. He loved her spec, too, and secretly I think he’s planning to find someone to take it on for her. I hope he does. Otty deserves that.
Gradually, I’m getting used to having this place to myself again. If it weren’t for the small issue of money, I’d be tempted to rent it alone. But needs must: soon Otty will tell Eric that she’s moved out and then I’ll have to sort it so he doesn’t use the opportunity to force me to leave.
I’m refilling the coffee machine when I hear the sharp rap of the front-door knocker. My heart jumps. Is it her? Has she come to ask for the script?
Coolness abandoned, I race to the door, willing Otty to be standing on the doorstep.
‘Hey…’
‘Have I caught you at a bad time?’ The diminutive figure of my landlord peers up at me, amusement playing across his face. ‘Or were you expecting somebody else?’
‘What? No… I just like answering quickly.’ I do my best to style it out – not that it’s likely to fool anybody. ‘Saves all the waiting around… Sorry, would you like to come in?’
Eric’s balding head wrinkles. ‘Pleasant though the day is, I think it better we talk inside.’
I trail after him into the living-room, thanking my lucky stars that one of my procrastination methods this week has been deep-cleaning the house. Amazing how enticing a dirty oven can be when you’re on a writing deadline… I offer tea, which Eric politely refuses, so we sit down to talk.
‘I had a notice of intent from Ottilie,’ Eric states carefully. ‘She’s moving out?’
I nod. ‘She already has. But she’s paying till the end of the month.’
‘So I understand. And—’ he lowers his voice as if it might embarrass the walls around us, ‘yourself?’
‘I’m staying.’
‘Hm. Alone?’
I knew this would happen. I fix him with my friendliest smile. ‘There will be someone to take the room.’
He wasn’t expecting that. His white eyebrows soar like tiny white clouds. ‘There will?’
I nod. ‘Just finalising details, actually. It will be strange to share with somebody new again, but I’m prepared for it.’
‘You’re sure? Ottilie seemed like such a lovely young lady and you looked so happy together in this place. It would be completely understandable if you felt you couldn’t stay.’
‘I have no intention of leaving.’
Eric nods, his smile gone. I know his dream of having a nice professional couple has been dashed again. Did he expect Otty and me to fit that bill? ‘As you wish. Two housemates in just over a year – one might say, “To lose one housemate, Mr Carver, may be regarded as a misfortune; to lose both looks like carelessness.”’ He beams and when I don’t follow, he reddens. ‘Lady Bracknell. The Importance of Being Earnest? Forgive me, I know you’re a writer and who can resist a bit of Wilde, eh?’
‘Not me.’ I give him a weak smile. ‘I’ll send you their details as soon as I can.’
My landlord nods. ‘In that case, I’ll be going.’ He stands and I walk him to the door. ‘I’m sorry, Joe. Must be hard to lose someone so lovely.’
I’m left reeling on the doorstep as he leaves.
The smell of coffee drifts into the hall and I follow it, suddenly in need of warmth and comfort. The kitchen echoes as I walk in and I ignore the familiar memory of Otty crashing about in it during her first weeks of living here.
It’s too quiet. I need noise.
I hit the button on the DAB radio that lives on the windowsill. The pots of herbs Otty and I bought months ago are wilted and sad beside it. I grab a jug to water them, sticking it under the tap. But as the water floods in, a song on the radio stops me dead.
Otty’s favourite song.
She played Tom Walker’s What a Time to Be Alive album practically on repeat when she lived here, often wearing the T-shirt from his tour to sleep in. It’s his storytelling she fell for, she often said, the way he can convey a whole world in a few verses. The song that’s playing tells of a young couple in different cities, falling in love and maintaining a relationship despite the distance between them. It’s a gentle, intimate song, packed with dreams and defiance, and I can’t hear it now without imagining Otty’s voice singing along. Taking over the world, step by step.
The memory makes me look at the fridge, at the photo I haven’t been able to remove yet. That night at Purnell’s seems a lifetime ago now. We look like we could take over the world and not even realise it.
I can’t keep it there. It kills me every time I see us.
I stalk over and snatch the photograph from the fridge door, the magnet clattering to the floor. I don’t look at that Otty and Joe as I kick the pedal on the bin. I don’t want to see their faces when they fall.
As my fingers start to let go, my thumb passes across the glossy surface – and hits something. A bump. I grab it back as it starts to slip, moving my fingers over the image and finding more.
Not bumps. Indentations.
Writing.
Slowly I turn it over. And the wind is knocked from my sails.
Ten words, written in Otty’s exuberant lines and loops:
I remember too.
And it meant the world.
Be happy.
I don’t even stop to think. I grab my jacket from the back of the chair, then spot something else on the table that has been there for a week. Stuffing it into my pocket, I run for
the door.
The city passes in a blur, my palms damp against the steering wheel. What am I doing? I don’t know… But Otty left that message for me to find and it’s the truth we missed before. She always maintained she had no memory of that night; that she was drunk, that she didn’t know what she was doing. I remember her very much present, every decision, every movement consciously made. I thought she regretted it, that the way she was the next morning was proof that it meant nothing to her.
We’ve wasted so much time by avoiding the truth. By speaking every word except the ones we should have said.
Now we both know.
The photograph lies on the passenger seat, Otty and Joe gazing up at me with hopeful eyes.
Will it make a difference? Can I change the story?
The traffic grinds to a halt in front of my car in the bright sun and I glance at the dashboard clock.
‘Come on!’ I yell.
It takes an age until the red brake lights start to disappear down the snaking line of vehicles towards me. I force air into my lungs, my head dizzy with everything. I have to see her.
Fraser’s apartment building is everything I expect. Glass, stone, steel, regimented greenery confined in stark grey metal. I find a space to park and leave my car, snatching my phone from my back pocket to check the number on the text Rona sent me.
Apartment 10.
I press the buzzer and wait.
‘Yes?’
My heart leaps into my throat. ‘Fraser, hi, it’s Joe Carver.’
‘How can I help you?’
‘Can I come up?’
‘Why?’
‘I just need to see Otty for a minute.’
‘That’s not possible.’
I don’t want to be having this conversation on the street. People passing glance at me, the strange man arguing with an intercom. ‘Please, mate, if you could just…’
‘Otty isn’t here.’
I close my eyes. ‘When will she be back?’
‘Next week, sometime.’ I hear a rattle of a sigh against the intercom speaker. ‘She’s in London, looking at flats.’
‘Why aren’t you with her?’
‘Goodbye, Joe.’
‘No – no, wait…’ I say, but the call has ended. I stare at the bank of intercom buttons and try to think. It never occurred to me that she wouldn’t be there. What do I do now? I can’t just drive home.
‘Excuse me,’ a voice says beside me. An older woman is waiting patiently.
‘Yeah, sorry,’ I mumble, stepping back.
She beams a swift smile and presses a button. And I just stand there because I don’t know what else to do. I could call Otty but what would I say? And would she even answer? She’s busy building her new life, far away from here.
But why leave the message if she didn’t want it found?
The door lock buzzes and a slight cough sounds. I look up. The lady is holding the door open. ‘After you?’ she says.
In the lift, I wrangle my thoughts together. This is my only chance. Pulling an envelope and a small stack of orange sticky notes from my pocket, I scribble a note and shove it inside. The lift slows, and the doors part. I see the door for Apartment 10 to my left.
Fraser looks shocked when he opens the door. Jaw tight, brows low. ‘I said she isn’t here.’
‘I know. She forgot something.’ I hold out the envelope. ‘I just wanted to give it back.’
He pulls the door closed behind him and steps out into the hall. ‘Okay.’
I pull the envelope back from his hand just as he’s reaching for it. ‘And give her a message for me, okay?’
Fraser’s eyes register defeat.
I drive slowly home. Otty and Joe watch me from the passenger seat.
It’s done now. I have to deal with it, make the most of my life from now on. I won’t waste time again.
Chapter Sixty-One
OTTY
I should be excited.
The apartments look great. Any one of them would be okay. London is exciting and enormous, and living there will be an adventure. The CEO and board of Exemplar are beyond excited about the writers’ room Fraser and I will create. They’ve already started advertising for writers. I wonder if there’s someone like me, working a day job to pay bills so they can write, who might dare to dream they could work there. I have come so far in just over a year and I’ve proved I can do this.
So why am I not excited?
I’ve watched Fraser throw himself into all the arrangements, grinning at me over his phone as he paces the kitchen. He looks like a man who won and his energy is boundless. He is full of plans and dreams, the freest I’ve ever seen him. And I can’t doubt how he feels about me.
Even Dad was excited about my news when I told him. ‘London, eh? ’Bout time they had a bit of Brummie class.’
‘I’ll miss you,’ I said.
‘We’ll miss you right back. Joe too, I shouldn’t wonder. But as long as you’re happy, bab, that’s enough for me.’
I should be happy, shouldn’t I?
It’s probably nerves. I’m about to make a major step in my career, a sea change in my life. It’s bound to be daunting. And today I finished my final assignment for Russell and Ensign. There’s a lot to take in.
I throw the stack of apartment details on the bed beside me and lay my head back against the pillow. The bedroom is cool and flooded with early-summer sun, causing the white sheets on the bed to glow. I have everything I need, I remind myself. I have to count my blessings.
Maybe I’ll go out into the city for a while, let its vastness comfort me. Being surrounded by something so much bigger than I am will give me perspective – maybe even stop me being so hard on myself.
I roll off the bed and move to the full-length window that looks across the city and down to the street below. Sunlight glints off a car as it pulls away from the pavement, slowly edging into the traffic. It’s dark blue, like the deepest hue of a rock pool, the dancing sunlight on its roof reminding me of sparkles skirting seawater eddies.
Dark blue.
I squint against the sun.
The car is almost at the end of the street now, where the adjoining road will either take it left or right to disappear into the city. I move along the window as I follow it: when its tiny indicator flashes and it turns right, it’s unmistakable.
Dark blue Volkswagen Golf.
Joe’s car.
No, Otty. Get a grip.
I laugh at myself. Now I’m seeing ghosts in Birmingham. It’s definitely time to leave. I turn away from the window and stare at the stack of boxes piled up in Fraser’s otherwise sparsely furnished bedroom. I feel like I’m cluttering up his space, although he assures me I’m not. I pat a box and try not to think of the words imprisoned in there. It’s practical: no point unpacking my books here if we’ll be leaving in a few weeks. But a space without them feels wrong.
At least these old friends will be with me when I leave.
I was going to try to sleep, but I’m awake now, my mind too restless to switch off. It wasn’t Joe’s car, but I’m annoyed I thought it was. I need to sink into the arms of the man who matters now, who is working so hard to establish the foundations we will build our new life upon.
Leaving the bedroom I wander into the large open-plan living space. He’s sitting on the armchair near the window, gazing out at the city.
‘Hey, you,’ I say.
Fraser looks up. ‘I thought you were having a rest.’
‘I tried. My brain had other ideas.’ I walk over to him and kiss his forehead. It furrows beneath my lips. I pull away and look at him. ‘Everything okay?’
‘Are you happy, Otty?’
‘Yes. Of course I am. Are you?’
His eyes are wide when they meet mine. ‘I love you. Why wouldn’t I be happy?’
There’s an edge in his tone that sends a shiver along my shoulders. ‘Am I missing something?’
He looks back at the city. ‘You had a visitor.’
‘He left you this.’ He lifts a white envelope from the chair arm. It arcs from his fingers to my hand.
I take it. The sun burns through the window glass. The front is blank, the flap sealed. I pull it open, aware of Fraser’s storm-cloud stare on me.
The moment my fingers meet metal, my heart drops.
My key. To Joe’s house.
Stuck to the key is a small orange sticky note, covered in Joe’s handwriting.
As I recall, the maintain-status-quo thread was the orange Post-it line…
I shake off the memory of his voice and read the note:
Have found someone for the room.
Offering it to them today at 3 p.m.
Joe
Tears well in my eyes. I can’t hide them from Fraser – I hear his sigh.
‘There was a message, as well.’ His voice is heavy with hurt. ‘He said you still have something of his. But he doesn’t want it back. He said it was yours all along.’
I close my eyes.
Fraser’s laugh is cold and soulless. ‘I don’t think he was talking about his books.’
He knows, doesn’t he? Fraser knows what’s coming.
‘I can’t do this,’ I say, the pieces finally joining – the cause of my restlessness becoming clear.
‘Yeah. I figured that was what you were going to say.’
Gently, I kneel in front of him and place my hand on his. He won’t look at me but I know he’ll hear me. ‘You’re wonderful, Fraser…’
‘Don’t.’
‘This is all on me,’ I insist, gazing up into his lovely face. ‘I can’t be everything I want to be to you until I’ve put this to rest. You deserve someone who loves you completely, with nothing in the way.’
‘Maybe you should let me be the judge of that.’
‘It would destroy us, eventually. I can’t do that to you. I’m so sorry.’
He shakes his head, finally meeting my gaze. But he knows. And I can’t lie to him anymore.
‘Then go.’
In tears as the lift descends, I look at my watch. 2.30 p.m. It’s not enough time, is it? And if Joe’s found someone else for my room, would he even consider me?
Our Story: the new heartwarming and emotional romance fiction book from the Sunday Times bestselling author of Take A Look At Me Now Page 31