But you know what they say: what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. I am feeling stronger now.
I decided to get a tattoo—something that symbolizes change or a new start or something like that. It’s hard to explain. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, but now seems the right time. Who’d have thought I’d want to be around more needles! Does it sound weird that the pride in my new ink is helping me get through the injury and everything? It’s part tribal Samoan and part Maori. I explained what I wanted to the tattoo artist and he got it right away. It’s a lot of work though, a lot of hours being inked. Probably not the cleverest way to spend money right now when I’m out of work, but I wanted to do something for me—something I could be proud of. It takes my mind off all the bad stuff I stress about.
I’ve probably learned this a bit late, but giving up only accomplishes one thing: failure.
Anyway, you’re leaving us! The North won’t be the same without you. Any chance I can buy you a goodbye drink before you go (I know you drink whiskey with water, but I’ll wear dark glasses when I have to ask the bartender for that . . . assuming you say yes, of course)? Maybe that pub we met before? Any time that suits you. I have a lot of free time!
Nick
Anna read and re-read Nick’s latest email. He was funny in print, not as shy as he’d been in their sessions. It would be nice to have a farewell drink with him. He wasn’t her client anymore, so she didn’t see any reason why not.
Although he was an ex-client . . . did that matter?
She decided not to worry about it. Through their emails they’d become friends, sort of. There was nothing wrong having a drink with a friend.
18th April 2015
Sounds good. I’m not ‘up north’ again until the week after next, so how about Monday 27th? 8PM okay?
Anna
PS I never thought I’d fit in at Griffindor, I’m more of a Ravenclaw. I’ll leave you to figure that out.
18th April 2015
Brilliant! See you there!
Nick x
PS “Ravenclaw values intelligence, knowledge and wit.” I looked it up ;)
Anna smiled as Nick’s reply dropped into her inbox four minutes after she’d sent hers. She pictured him googling the Hogwarts’ houses and typing on his phone. In any case, he was wrong about her reasons for choosing Ravenclaw, but it was sweet of him to look it up. The truth was, she identified with Luna ‘Looney’ Lovegood—she’d always felt like the outsider.
Her pulse gave a little hop when she saw that he’d put a kiss at the end of his email, but she squashed that thought immediately.
He was just being friendly.
NICK WATCHED ANNA as she made her way through the pub, taking a few seconds to appreciate her tall, slim figure before she saw him.
He’d never seen her in jeans before or anything other than her classy trouser suits. Even on the day they’d visited the school together, she’d been in her work clothes.
She looked good, younger maybe, and her hair was longer. He wondered again how old she was. Not that it mattered. Some days he felt ancient.
When she looked in his direction, he raised his hand and waved her over.
She smiled, but he saw the nervous twitch of her shoulders and the self-conscious way she tucked her hair behind her ear, let it fall free, then tucked it back again.
He stood up, balancing on his good foot. Just one more week in this damn boot.
“Hey, Anna.”
“Nick.”
He wondered if she was going to shake his hand, but he resolved the problem by leaning in and giving her a fleeting kiss on the cheek.
He caught the scent of her perfume and had to hold back an urge to kiss her again more fully.
“It’s good to see you. What can I get you to drink?”
She glanced pointedly at the clumsy boot.
“I think I’d better do the drink getting.”
Nick grinned at her.
“Nope, I have my methods. Prepare to be amazed. Scotch on the rocks?”
Anna raised an eyebrow.
“You remembered?”
“Yep.”
Her cheeks warmed and she smiled at him.
“I’m impressed, but as I drove tonight, just a soda, please.”
“Soda? Oh, okay. Anything in particular? Coke? Lemonade? Have you tried the ginger beer?”
“Is that alcoholic?”
“No, just . . . gingery.”
“Sounds like something I should try,” she smiled.
Nick swung toward the bar using just one crutch, ordered the drink, then carefully limped back to the table, the bottle of Fentimans in his pocket, holding the glass in his other hand, frowning as he navigated the barstools, tables and chairs.
“Impressive! Mad skills you’ve got there.”
She laughed, and once again Nick caught a glimpse of that tongue stud. It was sexy as hell.
“Could come in useful if I end up being a bartender,” he joked, but the reality of his situation made it all too likely, and his smile slipped a little.
“I don’t know, can you do Tom Cruise bottle juggling? Because otherwise, you’re out of luck, my friend.”
“Damn! I thought I’d found a new career!”
He was joking but Anna didn’t join in, thoughtfully sipping her drink.
“This is just temporary, Nick. Every professional athlete . . . and I do mean every athlete . . . they’ve all been through what you’re going through now. It’s because you use your bodies so aggressively. They’re imperfect, they’re not machines and they break down, but where you have the advantage over ordinary people like me is that you’re disciplined and you know how to train. You will get better.” She gave him a rueful smile. “Sorry, didn’t mean to go into work mode.”
“Nah, it’s fine. I was being a mardy sod and didn’t even know it. I need my arse kicking from time to time.”
She smiled more broadly.
“Then I’m happy I could help.”
There was a short pause while they both thought of what to say next.
“How’s the London clinic going?”
Her eyes brightened.
“It’s going great! I have quite a few clients lined up already, and not just rugby players, although you guys are my specialty. I’ve got a couple of soccer players and I took a call from the British American Football League last week.”
“Soccer!” Nick grumbled. “Bunch of wimps. They call on a trainer when their hair gets ruffled. The medics probably keep a can of hairspray in their first aid kit.”
“Oh, harsh!”
Nick shrugged, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.
“Same as your American footballers with all that padding, helmets and body armour.”
“Hmm, I’d love to see you go up against Peyton Manning saying that.”
“Who’s he?”
“Oh my God, seriously? Only the greatest quarterback of 2014! Also, 6’ 5” and weighs 230 pounds. Still want to call him a wimp?”
“Sure, as long as I’m not in the same room with him at the time.”
Anna laughed. “Who’s the wimp now?”
They exchanged cheesy grins.
Nick’s smile faded and his expression became intense and serious.
“Look, I just wanted to thank you again for what you said in court, and I’m really sorry that cockwomble tried to make you look bad.”
Anna’s expression was comical.
“That’s okay . . . wait, what? What is a cockwomble? I mean, I think I can guess, given the context, but really, what is that?”
Nick felt himself blushing.
“Er, well, someone who’s a bit of a prick.”
“Yeaaah, I got that part. But what’s a womble?”
“You don’t have wombles in America?”
“I don’t think so. I have no idea.”
“Well,” Nick scratched his beard aware that he was stalling as he tried to dig himself out of a hole. “A womble is a small
creature that picks up litter . . . a made-up character on kids’ TV.”
Anna blinked. “They pick up litter?”
“Yeah, it’s their thing. Kind of like Greenpeace, but with fur.”
“They’re furry?”
“And they have pointed noses.”
“That makes everything clear.”
“Great!”
Anna fixed him with a smile that said, Gotcha!
“So a cockwomble is . . . what exactly?”
Nick grimaced. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“You bet! An exchange of cultural views—fascinating.”
“You’re winding me up.”
Anna laughed.
“Just a little. It was fun to see you try to define ‘cockwomble’. I’ll definitely have to add that to my dictionary of British English. I think it might be my new favourite, even better than ‘wanker’, or ‘codswallop’ which I’ve since learned means ‘baloney’.”
She winked at him and sipped at her ginger beer, sucking on one of the ice cubes.
A spark of excitement shocked Nick as her cheeks hollowed and her eyes half closed.
Not good! his brain said.
You definitely want some of that, his body argued.
His body was more honest. Stupid fucker.
“So, will you be moving down to London permanently?”
Anna pulled a face.
“Yes, I am. I’ll come up here every now and again to make sure that my new associate is settled in, but I’ll miss my cottage.”
“You have a cottage? I thought Americans preferred apartments.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Stereotype much? I rent an eighteenth century cottage in Hale. It’s so pretty, roses around the door and everything. I think it’s what most Americans dream about when they think of England. What about you?”
Nick could have kicked himself with his bad leg. He should have seen that this was the obvious follow up question. He decided to be honest rather than try to pretend. Pretending everything was okay in his relationship with Molly had got him exactly less than nowhere. He’d been papering over cracks that had turned into the Grand Canyon.
“I’m back with my parents at the moment.”
“Oh, because of your leg?”
It would have been so easy to agree and she’d never have known the difference, but over their sessions together, he’d developed an annoying habit of honesty.
“Er, well, not exactly. I couldn’t afford to keep up the mortgage on my house without a job. So I rented it out.”
“Oh, I see.”
Nick saw the pity on her face and hated it. He didn’t want to be the object of anyone’s pity, even when the dictionary definition of pathetic had his picture next to it.
Anna seemed to read his mind.
“Nick, you’ll get another club, I know you will. Is your agent sending out your résumé?”
“Yeah, but until I can pass a fitness test, no club will sign me.”
She leaned back in her chair, her eyes soft and sympathetic.
“It’ll happen for you. You just have to believe.”
He glanced down at his beer.
“I hope so . . . it’s just hard, after everything that’s happened.”
He was so surprised when she laid her hand over his that he reacted too slowly, and it was gone before he could . . .
Before he could what? Hold hands with his psychologist in a crowded pub.
“Can I ask you something?”
She looked surprised by the intensity in his voice.
“Sure, of course.”
“The mantra . . . I was just wondering . . . you said you’d come up with it when you’d had a really bad time in your life . . .”
He grimaced when he realised that her open expression had closed down and the gates were clanging shut. Looked like the honesty habit was a one-way street.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”
She fidgeted, playing with her drink.
“No, it’s okay. It’s just not something I’m very proud of. I don’t like talking about it.”
“Christ, I know how that feels.”
She met his eyes and something passed between them.
“Yes, I think you do know.” She gave a tense smile. “At the time it felt like I’d never . . . live it down, but time blurs everything and I was able to figure out that I wasn’t wholly at fault. I mean, I was in the wrong, but I wasn’t the only one.”
Nick was bursting with curiosity, but just nodded.
“The thing is,” and she cringed, “I had an affair with a married man.” She glanced up then looked away quickly. “I knew he was married, but I didn’t care. Oh, he said all the usual crap, that they were separated but staying together for the kids,” and she pulled a face. “He’d leave her, he just needed some time. I believed all his bullshit. But really, it makes me as bad as . . . as Molly.”
Nick didn’t know what to say and the silence stretched out between them.
“Ugh, years later, it still sounds terrible. I can guess what you must think of me.”
Nick shook his head.
“No, he told you he was separated. It’s not your fault that you believed him.”
“That’s sweet of you, but he told me exactly what I wanted to hear. I knew he had a wife and kids, but I didn’t stop.”
“What happened?”
One corner of her mouth pulled down.
“What always happens—we were found out.”
“His wife?”
“No, it was worse than that.”
“Worse than his wife finding out?”
“God, that sounds bad, I know.” She ran her finger around the rim of her glass. “He was my supervisor while I was doing my PhD. He was always so sympathetic when I was struggling, always knew the right things to say. I felt special, you know?”
Nick wasn’t sure he did know, but the blast of jealousy held his voice hostage.
“Turns out I was just a cliché—the ingénue student falling for her professor. And it wasn’t the first time for him.”
“What do you mean?”
“Another student, a Senior, admitted to sleeping with him for better grades.”
“Blimey.”
“She was hustled away before graduation. They still gave her the degree.”
“Why wasn’t he fired then?”
Anna shrugged.
“He’s something of a star in the department—knows the right people, gets money coming in. They can’t afford to get rid of him, so they get rid of the students instead.”
“Wow, that’s a bit rugged.”
“Yeah, big wakeup call. I nearly got kicked off the program. I only had one semester left, so they let me finish my thesis online. I slunk back to my parents’ in NYC. Sound familiar?”
Nick’s lips pressed together in a hard line.
“What happened to the guy?”
She gave a grim laugh.
“Sent to a sister college for a ‘sabbatical’ and then study leave for a year. He’s back now with his wife, and only a faint stain on his academic record. It turns out it was pretty easy to paint me as a clingy homewrecker, who only needed a kind word and sympathetic shoulder to turn into Glenn Close. Truthfully, he was the one who made the first move . . . but by then, I was more than ready for whatever he wanted.” She sighed. “I have terrible taste in men.”
A lightbulb went off in Nick’s head.
“Is this the douchenozzle?”
“The very one.”
“And he still texts you?”
Anna flushed bright red.
“Yes, sometimes. Maybe three or four times since.”
“You could report him for that! It would prove that it wasn’t all you.”
“It was years ago. Anyway, I’d really rather just forget it ever happened.”
Nick was silent. Wanting to forget—he knew what that felt like.
“So that’s when you came up with the mantra?�
��
She nodded, but wouldn’t meet his eyes. Instead, she drained her glass and looked as if she was about to make an excuse and leave. Nick really, really didn’t want her to go or this evening to end.
Tonight might not be a date to her—just two friends having a drink together—but Nick couldn’t kid himself anymore. He wanted this to be a date. He just had to get Anna on the same page first.
“Are you hungry?” he blurted out.
Anna blinked then smiled. “I could eat.”
“Do you like curry?”
She laughed quietly, a low, husky laugh that resonated inside Nick.
“I’ve lived in Manchester for nine months—liking curry is a rite of passage.”
He grinned, pulling out his phone to call a cab. “Yeah, that’s true. I know a good place a couple of miles away. I’ll just phone for a taxi . . .”
Anna stopped him.
“I’ll drive us. My car’s outside.”
ONCE THEY WERE settled in the car and Nick had given her directions, the silence felt awkward, as if there was too much unsaid between them. And yet, Anna wished she could take back everything she’d told him.
She never discussed what happened with Jonathan, but something about Nick’s own suffering had made her honest. It had also brought back all those feelings.
All that self-flagellation—she’d seen it in his eyes. He felt guilty and at some level, thought he deserved everything that had happened. She’d felt like that at one time, but with hindsight, recognised that she was only partially to blame.
So when he’d asked about the mantra, she’d told him everything.
“I don’t think you’re like Molly. I don’t think you’re anything like her.”
Nick’s voice interrupted Anna’s grim thoughts, and she glanced at him before returning to stare at the road.
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