by Niamh Greene
‘It’s OK, it’s OK,’ he mutters into my hair, guiding me to a bench on the path and sitting me down. ‘You’ll feel better in a minute.’
I sob into his shoulder, feeling his solid chest rise and fall. I could stay here wrapped in his arms for ever, but I know I can’t. I know he doesn’t want anything to do with me. I don’t even know why he’s here.
I wriggle free and lean back against the bench to try to catch my breath. I’m still feeling very shaky.
‘It wasn’t your fault, Molly. You have to forgive yourself and move on. That’s what your mum and dad would have wanted. It was an accident; accidents happen.’
Deep down I know he’s right. Mum and Dad would be really cross with me for the way I’ve been thinking.
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask, hiccupping back my sobs and trying to regain control of my emotions.
‘I came to give you these.’
He hands Samantha’s oversized sunglasses to me, smiling ruefully.
‘You dropped them when you left the photographer’s studio. I went to your office and when they told me you were out I just had a hunch you’d be here, I don’t know why.’
I take the glasses and shove them into my pocket. Without them on, he can see what I really look like for the first time. There’s no point pretending any more.
‘Thanks.’
‘That’s OK. I figured you’d need them – you know, for your photosensitivity.’
I think I see a small smile play around his lips.
‘I was lying about that,’ I say quickly, the words rushing out in a torrent of truth. ‘I don’t need the glasses. I only wore them so you wouldn’t see how awful I look.’
‘You don’t look awful. You look amazing, you always do.’
I wipe my nose on my sleeve again. He can’t be telling the truth – I know I look a mess – but it still sounds wonderful to hear him say it.
‘Molly,’ he goes on. ‘I lied about something too.’
‘You did?’
‘Yes. When you asked me if I believed in soulmates I said I didn’t, but that’s not true. I know I shouldn’t tell you this because you’re married now, but you’re my soulmate. You always were.’ His voice breaks. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be saying this, but I just have to. It’s eating me up.’
‘But you hate me!’ I splutter, astounded.
‘Hate you? No, Molly, I don’t hate you. I almost wish I did though. It would be a lot easier.’ He smiles sadly and kicks the ground. ‘When you left you broke my heart and I tried my best to forget all about you. I buried myself in work, I even went out with other girls, but nothing worked.’
‘Nothing worked?’ I snuffle, hope rising in my chest.
‘No, nothing. You’re a very hard act to follow.’
‘I am?’ I whisper, almost afraid to speak.
‘Yes, you are.’ His eyes meet mine and I hold my breath. ‘I’ve never stopped loving you, you must know that.’
‘You never stopped loving me?’ My heart soars. David doesn’t despise me, he still loves me – I can’t believe it.
‘I’m sorry. This is totally inappropriate – I know you’re married. Please forget I ever said it.’ He moves off the bench. ‘I’d better get going. I’m sorry about all this.’ His head is bowed.
‘No!’ I shout with joy, launching myself across the bench to him. ‘Say it again!’
‘I can’t. It’s not right. You’re married now, Molly.’ He places his hands on my shoulders to hold me away from him, his face ashen.
‘There’s never been anyone but you, David,’ I say. ‘Even when I tried to convince myself there could be. I only left you because after Mum and Dad died I couldn’t bear the thought of ever losing you too.’ My voice catches in my throat. ‘I told you I didn’t love you any more to make it easy for you to hate me.’
His eyes widen, the realization of what I’ve just said hitting him.
‘You mean…?’
‘I mean I never stopped loving you either.’
‘But what about your husband? What about Charlie?’
‘We’re over. We never really began.’
‘I don’t understand.’ His eyes are puzzled.
‘I married Charlie to forget you. I never loved him, not really. And it seems he felt the same way because he left me straight after we got back from honeymoon.’
David’s face falls. ‘This isn’t right, Molly. I don’t want to be the rebound guy. This has to be for real or it’ll never work.’
‘It is for real, David,’ I plead. ‘Charlie wants me back. He wants to start again, but I don’t. The only second chance I want is with you. Please, David. Please give me another chance.’
My voice is shaking. If he doesn’t believe me I don’t know what I’ll do because I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.
He says nothing but his eyes roam my face, questioning, trying to be certain of doing the right thing. He needs to know I’m sure, that I won’t run away again.
I nod at him, desperate for him to know that I mean what I say. At last he smiles and reaches for me, my mouth finds his and I know that this is exactly where I was always supposed to be: in his arms.
Julie’s Blog
Dear readers,
Thank you for your good wishes – they mean so much to me. As you all know, Mr X and I are no more. On a happier note, I have been approached by no less than four publishers keen to make my blog into a best-selling novel, and there has also been significant interest from Hollywood. Bidding is on-going as we speak, so watch this space!
Thank you all for your wonderful messages of support, and please do keep checking back here. My blogging will continue soon – this time with the kind support of my new Internet sponsors, the Chocolate Chip Cookie Company.
Very best wishes,
Julie
Open Forum
From Hot Stuff: Wow! U rock!!! Can’t wait to read the book!
From Devil Woman: That’s fantastic news. Keep blogging, we love you!
From Angel: I don’t believe it! She’s got a publishing deal from this!!!
From Graphic Scenes: Hey, will you sex up the book? The blog was OK, but it was a bit tame.
Eve
Dear Charlie,
So much has happened since my last letter, I don’t know where to start.
I had my dinner party. Larry was the first to arrive, with another bunch of flowers under his arm. Anna and Derek were next. I was relieved to see that they were getting on – from what I could ascertain, Derek was even wearing his own underwear. Then Johnny the plumber and his Internet girlfriend arrived, holding hands and mooning over each other in a nicely behaved way. It was all looking good. I’d even got the timings of the meal just right, so I knew the food would be fine. But I was still very fidgety. I just couldn’t settle for some reason. I was jumpy and anxious and pacing the floor – even a glass of wine didn’t do much to get me in the party mood. I thought it was because I had the gravy on my mind – you must remember how I hate to make gravy. You always used to take over whenever I tried. Remember the Christmas there were so many lumps in my first attempt that you had to throw the entire contents of the saucepan into the bin and start again? That was so embarrassing. Anyway, I was flustered and irritable and definitely not the perfect hostess I wanted to be. But I didn’t know why.
And then Homer and his hot date walked in. The minute he came through the door with her on his arm, I started to feel even stranger. I kept criticizing her in my head – her dress was too short, her hair was too blonde, her boobs were too fake. I had turned into my mother, I knew I had, because all I kept thinking was: that girl is not good enough for my Homer. I was thinking about him as my Homer. She wasn’t smart enough, she wasn’t classy enough. She looked like she would enjoy rave music, not Vivaldi. And then it struck me. I was jealous. I could barely speak to her and I couldn’t even look at him. Poor Larry had no idea what was going on, because I was ignoring him too. All I could see was Homer. Th
e room was full of him, he was everywhere I looked, from the colour of the walls to the classical music playing in the background. It was all him.
So I escaped to the kitchen to check on the meal and to get a grip of myself. It was while I was stirring the gravy that Homer came in behind me. Without saying a word, he handed me a small parcel, wrapped in yellow paper, the exact shade of the walls. It was a portrait: a portrait of me sitting at my writing desk, my head bent in concentration. He had painted it from memory. It was so beautifully and tenderly done that I burst into tears. No one had ever done anything like that for me before.
Then I was crying, great big snotty tears over the gravy, desperate to try to save it, not wanting to think what the gift might mean. Afraid it didn’t mean what I wanted it to. And then Homer took the spoon from my hand, pulled me close and told me to stop stirring because he loved lumpy gravy… and I just knew. He held my face and whispered that ever since I’d hit him over the head and tried to kill him, he knew his life was never going to be the same again. And we’ve been together ever since.
You see, Homer was right all along: you should never judge a book by its cover. Because he isn’t only a painter, he’s an artist and a scholar as well. That’s why everyone calls him Homer – after the ancient Greek poet, not the cartoon character. Not that I care. I’d love him even if he sat and watched The Simpsons all day long. I’ve been trying to take it slow this time, not to rush into anything, like I did with you. But Homer is really understanding. He doesn’t put any pressure on me; he says I can take all the time in the world, that he’ll be waiting for me. And he likes me just the way I am, all six-foot beanpole of me.
What else has happened? Oh yes, I told my mother the truth about you, that you didn’t just leave me for no good reason, that I caught you in our bed with another woman and that, even when I was stupid enough to beg you to stay and work things out, you left anyway. I realized that the reason I’d always been so afraid to confide in her was because Dad had done exactly the same thing and I didn’t want to disappoint her. She has such high expectations for me; I didn’t want to shatter her dream that I could have the happy ending she never had. Actually, I shouldn’t take the credit for that breakthrough – it was Mary the therapist who pointed this out, but I’m sure I knew it somewhere on a subconscious level.
Anyway, Mum took it much better than I expected. I think she must have already known the truth somewhere inside, she just couldn’t admit it to herself. She said you didn’t deserve me and you never had, and she was proud of how I’d behaved with such dignity. She’s only sorry I didn’t tell her sooner so she could have given you a piece of her mind. In fact, she probably still will – she knows where you work, so watch your back. I was nervous how she’d react when I told her about Homer though: I thought she’d feel that a mere painter wasn’t good enough for me. But she took it really well. We’re so much closer since I confided in her about what really happened with you. Plus the news that Mike is now engaged to Stacey the religion teacher is distracting her. It was visiting the death-row prisoners in Texas that prompted him to propose. Apparently, listening to an inmate called Steve describe the depth of his feelings for his Irish pen friend Samantha convinced Mike that he should make his move. He says he was moved to tears hearing how a condemned man writes love letters to a stranger in Ireland who claims to love him back. Of course, the fact that Stacey is already four months pregnant may have had something to do with his decision. Anyway, Mum’s slowly adjusting to the idea of becoming a grandmother ahead of schedule and Anna has already devised a plan to distract her – her next mission is to find Mum a man!
What’s next?… Oh yes, I’ve finished my therapy sessions with Mary. My feelings for you are finally dead and I’m ready to move on. I’ve realized that I wasn’t to blame for what happened, that it’s you who’s broken, not me. The truth is, I’ve learnt so much about myself and I’m a much happier and more confident person. Which leads me to the best news of all. I’ve been commissioned to write a women’s fiction novel! Do you remember Mum’s cruise buddy Leona Merkel? Her daughter Lee, who is Carla Ryan’s publicist, has been reading my relationship quizzes in Her. She called me and suggested I pitch some book ideas. Homer really encouraged me to do it, and guess what? The publisher loved them! I’ve just signed a two-book deal and, with the advance, I’m going to Italy with Homer. We plan to see Capri and Mount Vesuvius and wander through the cobblestoned streets in those tiny white-washed villages on the coast. I have a feeling it’s going to be a very special trip.
So this is finally goodbye, Charlie. I never thought I’d say it, but by breaking my heart you’ve taught me a lot about myself, lessons I needed to learn the hard way. I hope you find true happiness someday, just as I have, but I don’t know if you ever will. Somehow I think it’s just not your style.
Eve
Are you a Happy Camper or a Blues Bunny?
They say that true happiness is hard to find, but would you know it if it came knocking on your door? Take our quiz and find out!
The last time you felt truly happy was:
a)Today, when the sun shone through the window.
b)You can’t remember. Maybe last year, when you were holidaying in that five-star resort in Dubai.
c)Today, when you fired someone. Power is the happiest feeling of all.
In your opinion, to be happy you need:
a)To have an open mind. Happiness is found in all sorts of things if you only look.
b)A big bank balance to fund lots of holidays and shopping.
c)To be driven. Success is a sure-fire recipe for happiness.
What does your man have to give you to make you happy?
a)Breakfast in bed. There’s nothing like cuddling up with the papers.
b)A gift voucher for a swanky store – or, even better, his credit card.
c)No man could make you happy, not unless he was working for you.
Results
Mostly As: You know that happiness is found in simple everyday pleasures and you grab them while you can. If only we were all as wise!
Mostly Bs: Deep down you must know that happiness can’t be found on a credit card. Put it away and concentrate on the important things in life – that’s where happiness really lies.
Mostly Cs: What’s the point in sweating the small stuff? You should be working to live, not living to work. Life’s too short! You need to grab your happiness where you can – and that means outside the office!
Epilogue
To: Charlie
From: Rex
Re: You fat bastard
Hey Charlie, you fat bastard,
What’s this I hear about you and Molly splitting up? If it’s true I want my wedding gift back, mate.
Rex
To: Charlie
From: Lulu
Re: Urgent
Hi Charlie,
Remember me? I have some news for you: you’re going to be a daddy. Before you ask, yes, I’m sure it’s yours. The date of your stag night means there’s no mistake. Get in touch. We have a lot to talk about.
Lulu
Acknowledgements
Thank you to:
The brilliant team at Penguin Ireland: Patricia Deevy, Michael McLoughlin, Cliona Lewis, Brian Walker and Patricia McVeigh. They do the work of thousands!
The equally brilliant team at Penguin UK: Tom Weldon, Naomi Fidler, Ana-Maria Rivera, Tom Chicken, Natalie Higgins, Clare Pollock, Keith Taylor, Caroline Pretty and all the sales, marketing, publicity, editorial and creative teams without whom this book would never reach the shelves.
The wonderful Alison Walsh. Without her wise insight and expert guidance, I would never have crossed the finishing line!
The lovely Simon Trewin and Ariella Feiner at United Agents, who are always there for me.
The booksellers in Ireland and the UK, who have given my novels such great support.
My fantastic family. Your unwavering love and encouragement mean everything to me. What wou
ld I do without you?
Darling Rory, Caoimhe and Oliver. The truth is, there would be no books if you three didn’t constantly cheer me on and feed me tea and biscuits! I owe it all to you.
My loyal readers. Please keep writing to me! Hearing from so many of you really makes all the hard work worthwhile. I hope you enjoy this book.
Niamh
* ‘Relationship’ is defined as just-sex, no-strings-attached agreement. Absolutely no commitment involved.