‘Before we came out here, I thought I could be your friend,’ he went on. ‘I didn’t set out with a plan to fall for you like this, but I did, and now I can’t take it back. But you’ve rejected me twice now, Megs. You can’t just pick me up when you feel like it, to satisfy your own ego – I can’t be that person in your life any more.’
‘I don’t want you to be,’ she said. ‘I want you to …’ She stopped again, her cowardliness making her punch the mattress with frustration.
‘You want me to what?’ Ollie asked. He still had his arms folded across his chest, his chin jutting outwards defiantly. ‘Want me to hang around you like some teenage girl around her favourite boy band member? Want me to tell you how great you are every day, so you can strut around the place? Want me to fall into bed with you whenever you click your fingers, then pretend I don’t care when you run off the next morning?’
Megan opened her mouth, but all she could muster was an indignant snuffling noise. She wanted to tell him, the words were ready and waiting impatiently in the back of her throat, but with every snide comment he threw her way, she felt them recede back down into her chest. He had loved her, but she had ruined it with her dithering, and now he’d seen what happened to a person who really got their heart broken into pieces. It made sense that he would be afraid.
‘I’m sorry I ran off,’ she said instead, and he grunted again in response. ‘I was confused. I just needed to think.’
‘It’s always about you,’ he said. ‘About what you want, what you need, what you feel – what about what I need and want? What about how I feel?’
‘I’m an idiot,’ she told him, attempting a smile. ‘I know I’m a selfish cow and I’ve been awful to you. I am sorry, I really am. Please believe me.’
Ollie shook his head. ‘It’s too late,’ he said. ‘I can’t be your emotional punchbag, Megs, I don’t have the strength. I know you’re scared of trusting people after what that bastard Andre did to you, but I’m not him. You know I’m not. I don’t want to end up like poor little Sophie, broken almost beyond repair. I need to try and get over you, and to do that I need to stay away from you for a while.’
‘You don’t mean that?’ she whispered, but she could tell by his face that he did. ‘I don’t want to lose you.’
For a second his face softened, and he walked across to the bed and put a hand on her head.
‘I know you don’t,’ he said. ‘But this is the way it has to be now. I have to put myself first this time around. I’m sorry.’
There was nothing left to say. Nothing except those three words that she could never quite manage to utter. And now it was too late. Even if she could find the strength to tell Ollie how she felt, she didn’t think he would believe her now. And so she let him go, watching in silence as he walked towards the door and opened it. For a brief moment before he closed it again, Ollie looked right into her eyes, and then he turned away.
49
Five months later
Spring had rolled out late this year, the last guest to arrive at winter’s annual leaving party, and though it was now May, the daffodils were still pushing their way determinedly through soft, wet ground that was littered with tree blossom.
Sophie leaned her head against the glass and watched the scenery speed past, a blur of greens, browns and yellows. The gentle rocking motion of the train had lulled her into a comfortable silence, her abandoned headphones lying untouched against the front of her jumper. The last time she had been on her way to London had been when she flew to Prague, and she had imagined that today’s trip would be difficult. On the contrary, however, it felt good to be away from the trappings of home. Away from the fearfully concerned blanket of her parents’ affection, so heartfelt yet so smothering in its intensity. This was the first time they had let her out of their sight in months, the first time she had felt as if they trusted her again, and that in itself was enough to keep a smile on her face.
Spring had always been her favourite season, dappled as it was in the positive light of rebirth, new beginnings and opportunity. In the winter, leaves fell and died on the ground, animals hid away in their burrows and dens, and birds took flight, searching for warmer branches to perch on and sing their daily song. Spring, on the other hand, welcomed everything back, its arms opening up to envelop those on the start of a new journey. Sophie knew she was at the start of a new life, a life without Robin by her side, only now it didn’t feel like she was staring only into darkness. Now there was a faint light on the horizon of her pain.
Megan’s exhibition had provided the perfect chance for her to test her newly acquired state of acceptance. She knew there was a long and bumpy road ahead of her, and she knew that she would probably never be able to let go of that perpetual ache of sadness and of loss, but this trip to London proved that she could still get out there and live her life. It was important that her parents trust her again, but it was even more important that she was able to trust herself.
Sophie reached inside her bag and withdrew the letter. She had read it so many times now that she could recite it word perfectly, but she still liked to see Robin’s untidy scrawl. It was such a personal thing, so like him in its haphazard manner, and she found she could hear his voice in her head as she read.
Toby had given her the letter in Prague, explaining that it had been amongst a number of items that the hospital had given the family after Robin’s death. In the aftermath of bewildered grief that had followed, the bag of belongings had been put to one side and forgotten about. It was only when Sophie’s parents had called to say she had gone missing and they were all frantic, that Toby thought to check.
It was Robin, in the end, who saved her. His words that got her back on her feet.
Sophie slid the single sheet of paper out of the envelope and began to read.
Dearest Bug,
I know you hate it when I call you that, but there’s not much you can do about it now, is there? Sorry, probably not the best time to make a joke, but you know me – an idiot first and foremost. And anyway, you really do look like a bug with those ridiculously big eyes of yours. A very beautiful bug, but a bug just the same.
The worst thing about writing this letter is that I know you’ll be reading it without me there beside you. I think I’ve finally got used to the idea that I’m going, but I know you haven’t. Sometimes when I wake up in the night and you’re still here, curled up next to me on top of the covers, you look at me and I see such hope in your eyes. I want you to know that I didn’t want to die. I wanted to live. I wanted the chance to grow old with you and watch those eyes of yours get even bigger as your head shrinks. (Again, sorry!)
I have to tell you something now, and you must promise not to be cross. Promise? Okay. When we went to Prague last year and made our wishes on the Charles Bridge, I lied to you. I didn’t make a wish at all on that first day, I just pretended.
I waited a few days, then I slipped out while you were sleeping and went back to the bridge on my own. But even then, I didn’t wish to be well again. I didn’t even wish for a miracle. Instead, I wished with all my heart that you would find the strength to be happy, and that you would get what you needed to carry on without me.
Do you remember how it was in the beginning, when we would lie together in the darkness, sharing secrets? You would tell me that life without me wouldn’t be worth living, and it always scared me, Bug, because you are so full of life. You have so much love in your heart, and you must try to find people to share that with. My story is coming to an end now, but you’ve still got so many chapters to get through. You’ve got marriage and motherhood, and hell, even grandmother-hood. I want you to have all those things. And I want you to live as if I am still by your side, spurring you on every step of the way, because believe me, I will be.
So, that’s why, that early morning on the bridge – the very same place where I met you – I wished for my Bug, my Sophie, to be happy, to be loved, and to live. It is my dying wish, and selfishly I’m going to
hold you to it. You were my life, and now you must use what we had to move forward. Use that love to do good, to yourself and to others. See more of the world, have new adventures. That is my wish.
I love you so very much, my beautiful Bug.
Now and forever.
Robin xxxx
A single tear rolled down Sophie’s cheek and hit the back of her hand. She couldn’t ever get to the end of Robin’s letter without shedding at least one, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips. Being strong was what he had wanted, happiness a wish that he trusted her to grant – and she wasn’t about to let him down. Not now, and not ever.
Strolling out of Waterloo Station an hour later, Sophie was greeted by the sunshine and a fresh May wind. It wasn’t quite warm enough to ditch jumpers completely, but the winter coats had certainly been hung up for the final time until late autumn.
Megan’s exhibition was taking place in a studio space overlooking the Thames, not far from Tate Modern. Sophie took her time meandering along the South Bank, watching as skateboarders pulled off impressive tricks in their concrete park tucked under the eaves, and children pulled on their mothers’ arms, begging for an ice cream from a pop-up stall. The sunshine had drawn people out from their homes, as it always did, and the passing faces looked almost bewildered in the sunlight, as if they’d just come out of a long hibernation.
The river bank was a riot of noise and colour, of faces and shouts, of happiness and contentment, and for a time Sophie just strolled through the middle of it all, soaking up the atmosphere like lemonade through a straw. She wondered now why she’d had such a bad impression of this city, why she’d failed to embrace the beauty of the place. Well, now she had the chance.
Sophie fished in her bag for the invitation that Megan had posted out. Her exhibition was entitled ‘Unlocked’, the word in a bold black font, and below it a bright red padlock, much like the one she and Robin had left up on Petrin Hill. This one, however, wasn’t fastened shut, but gaped open, its metal ring pulled out to the side. On the other side of the laminated card was a photo of the Charles Bridge at dawn, and Sophie felt her skin prickle with recognition. She hadn’t seen Megan since that night on the bridge, the night she’d come so close to ending her life. Thinking about it now felt strange to Sophie, as if she was recalling a scene from a film rather than her own life. The details were still hazy, and her counsellor assured her that this was to be expected, that her mind was protecting her from reliving it and traumatising herself further. Toby had eventually told her what had transpired, and she had burned with mortification. But of course there was no need. Nobody who had been on the bridge with her that night felt anything other than relief that she was okay. They, like Robin, wanted nothing more than for her to be happy, but Sophie had never forgotten what they had done for her. She would never forget.
‘Sophie, is that you?’
She turned to see Hope elbowing her way through the crowds to reach her, a huge smile on her face and a bunch of yellow roses in her hand.
‘Hello!’ Sophie ran to meet her and the two women hugged each other tightly. Hope had set her blonde hair into tight ringlets today, giving her the look of an excited Cupid. She looked fresh and bubbly and full of the joys of spring, and Sophie found that she couldn’t stop smiling.
‘You look so well!’ Hope exclaimed, reaching up to ruffle Sophie’s ear-length bob. She must have looked such a sight in Prague, thought Sophie, with her baggy clothes, shorn head and Robin’s ridiculously tatty hat. When she’d offered to shave her head alongside his to show solidarity, he’d been appalled and begged her not to, but she’d done it anyway. One thing Sophie had learned about herself was that she usually did whatever she wanted – and it was one of the things she knew Robin had loved the most about her.
‘So do you!’ she told Hope, meaning it. Her friend seemed almost fit to burst with pleasure.
‘This is my first weekend off since Christmas,’ Hope informed her. ‘I’ve been at that B&B day and night, not that I’m complaining, obviously, but because I live there, too, it can feel a bit like I never leave the damn place.’
‘It gets like that at the farm, too,’ Sophie agreed. ‘This is the first time I’ve left home since … since Prague.’
They exchanged a look loaded with so many unsaid words, and then Hope shook her head.
‘How have you been? I mean, I know you said in your emails that you were okay, but people tend to always say that. How are you really?’
Sophie considered the question before she answered. ‘I’m getting there,’ she told her truthfully. ‘Taking it a day at a time.’
Hope put a warm hand on her arm. ‘That’s all you can do, love. And I for one am very proud of you.’
Sophie grinned back at her, fighting tears once again.
‘Come on.’ Hope spoke first. ‘Let’s get ourselves to this party before all the free wine runs out. I’ve barely had a drink since Christmas either, and I fully intend to make up for lost time.’
It took them another ten minutes to reach the venue, by which time Hope had filled Sophie in on her exciting news: she was going to be a grandmother. Annette had apparently been planning to come down to London with her mother, but, Hope laughed as she told Sophie the story, Patrick was so obsessed with wrapping her up in cotton wool that he barely let her out of the house at the weekends, let alone all the way down here. Hope also told Sophie that she and her ex-husband Dave were on better terms, and that she was set to get some money from the sale of the house.
‘I told him to keep it, but apparently he likes the idea of downsizing,’ she said. ‘Turns out keeping a three-bedroomed house clean and tidy is a lot more work than he realised. I wonder why?’
She didn’t mention Charlie once, and Sophie resisted asking. If Hope wanted to broach the subject, she could do so in her own time.
‘Do you know if Ollie is going to be here?’ Sophie asked instead.
Hope shook her head. ‘Megan says they haven’t spoken since the day they flew back from Prague. I think she tried a few times, but he won’t return her calls.’
‘That’s such a shame,’ Sophie said. Ollie was a genuine hero in her eyes, and she had so been hoping to see him so she could say a proper thank you. Plus, she had seen him and Megan together and, even in the catatonic state of denial she had been in over in Prague, had realised the depth of their feelings for one another. That kiss she’d witnessed on the stairs of the hotel had reminded her of the ones she used to share with Robin. A kiss like that came from a place of love.
‘Are you sure you’re ready for this?’ Hope asked as they reached the door. ‘Seeing photos of Prague after, you know …’
Sophie shrugged. ‘Who knows? But I’m willing to go in and see what happens.’
Hope looped an arm through hers. ‘That’s my girl!’
The first thing Sophie saw as they crossed the threshold was a huge photograph of her and Robin’s padlock. Megan had edited it so that everything else in the photograph was a muted grey, meaning the red of the lock stood out all the more. She closed her eyes briefly, remembering the day she and Robin had drawn their initials on it, giggling to each other about how clever they were to hide it way up on the hill, away from the rest of the city’s many padlocks. It had been in the time when their relationship felt invincible, and the memory still made her smile.
‘Is that …?’ Hope gasped, staring at the initials in the photo.
Sophie nodded. ‘Yes. I had no idea that Megan had found it.’
‘I hope you don’t mind?’
They both turned to find Megan standing behind them, her long blonde hair piled up in an extravagant chignon, red painted lips to match her clinging scarlet dress.
‘Megan!’ Hope stepped forward to embrace her, and Sophie smiled at her over Hope’s shoulder.
‘Of course I don’t mind,’ she replied, when Megan was free again, Hope’s gift of yellow roses clutched in one hand. ‘In fact, I’m flattered. And I’m sure Robin would be, t
oo.’
Now it was Megan’s turn to smile. ‘You look so well,’ she said, echoing Hope’s earlier observation.
‘So do you!’ Sophie winked. ‘I mean, swit-swoo! Check you out, lady.’
‘Oh.’ Megan blushed and smoothed down her skin-tight dress. ‘This old thing?’
‘Is Ollie coming?’ Hope asked, presumably unable to help herself.
Megan frowned. ‘I invited him, but I haven’t heard anything back. I hope so. I texted and told him that you two were coming, so I’m sure he will if he can.’
She was careful to keep her tone vague, but Sophie detected a yearning in her eyes. It was clear what Megan was wishing for, and Sophie crossed her fingers behind her back in solidarity.
They chatted for a bit, then Sophie left Hope telling Megan all about Annette’s pregnancy and wandered over to the bar, selecting herself a sparkling water. There were photographs of Prague on every wall, with more set on plinths at irregular intervals around the large, airy space. As Sophie peered closer, however, she began to realise that many of these photos had an additional subject. The same additional subject over and over.
‘She loves him,’ she said out loud, coming to a halt in front of an A3-sized photo of Ollie on the banks of the Vltava River, a smile on his face and a pigeon up on his shoulder. He looked happy and carefree, and peering closer, Sophie could just make out a reflection of the Charles Bridge in the lenses of his glasses.
‘Who loves who?’
She turned to find a man standing next to her. He was tall, much taller than her, with dark, slightly floppy hair and a large nose. He was pulling a very serious face, but Sophie detected a playfulness behind his brown eyes.
‘Megan loves Ollie,’ she told him, gesturing at the photo. ‘That’s Ollie.’
‘Ah, yes.’ The man pretended to notice the photo for the first time. ‘So it is. Mr Morris, as us lot at the school know him.’
‘You’re a teacher?’ Sophie guessed.
A Year and a Day Page 31