by Zoe May
Chapter Nineteen
I lie in Seb’s arms as the birds chirp and the sun rises, rays of light filtering into his treehouse.
He kisses my forehead.
‘Morning, you,’ he says.
‘Morning,’ I reply, smiling and moving closer into his embrace.
It’s been a couple of days now since we first got together, and they’ve been blissful. We’ve barely been out of each other’s sight. We’ve meditated together (I did better this time), visited the beach and swum in the sea, and we’ve taken bike rides in the ashram’s lush surroundings, cycling through forests and along the shore. And we’ve taken part in quite a few indoor activities too...
Meera is of course delighted to have been right about us, and for there to be another romance at the guesthouse. Seb and I have been in a loved-up bubble all weekend, unable to get enough of each other, but it’s Monday now and I should really crack on with my case. I’m speaking to Nigel later and I know what I’m going to say. I’m staying! I’m going to stay in India and sue a guru! I might have to leave the ashram to avoid running into Guru Hridaya, but I won’t go too far away. I’ll still be near the same beach, near the same paratha place and not too far from Seb.
‘I’m going to make some coffee,’ I tell him, extricating myself from his embrace and throwing on a T-shirt and shorts.
Seb mumbles something sleepy and incoherent as I slip out of the treehouse and make my way down the ladder.
The morning air smells cool and fresh. I turn to head to the kitchen when I spot none other than Paul, sitting at one of the picnic tables, staring at his feet, a faraway expression on his face.
‘Paul,’ I utter.
He looks up, his face lighting up.
‘Rachel!’ He stands up. ‘Hi! How are you doing?’ he asks, a little breathlessly.
I eye him warily. He looks more like his old self. His dreadlocks are gone. In fact, he’s had a haircut and his hair is neater and shorter than it’s been in years. He’s wearing jeans and his favorite bobbly navy shirt, the one he wore to La Dolce Vita all those weeks ago. No ashram robes in sight. He’s clean-shaven now too, although he still looks a little tired and pasty. His eyes have a slightly manic, skittish look about them.
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask, instinctively backing away a few steps.
Only last week, Paul was getting at me for being a workaholic and now here he is.
‘I need to talk to you,’ he insists.
I eye him warily and wander into the kitchen. I don’t really want to talk to him, but he follows me.
‘What is it?’ I grumble.
‘I just… I wanted to say…’ he stammers.
I grab a pan from the washing up rack and fill it with water from the tap.
‘You wanted to say what?’
‘I wanted to say I’m sorry,’ Paul comments.
I glance over at him. He leans against the counter.
‘I’m sorry I was a dick the other day. I’m sorry about Blossom, and coming here, and leaving you, and…’ he sighs. ‘I’m just sorry about everything.’
He fixes me with a contrite, imploring look.
I place my pan on the hob and light the ring. I turn to him as the flames lick the pan. I realize, looking at him, that I feel nothing anymore. For so long, I thought Paul was the one, but was he really the one, or was I just obsessed with sticking to my Life List?
‘It’s okay, Paul. You did what you had to do. Hopefully you feel better about everything now,’ I comment as the water begins to boil.
‘I was so lost,’ Paul says.
I look through the kitchen window, glancing towards Seb’s treehouse, wishing I was up there with him, but I turn to Paul and nod understandingly.
‘I know. I’m sorry I came here, trying to win you back. I should have given you space,’ I admit.
‘No,’ Paul protests. ‘I’m glad you came. You were right. I don’t know what I was thinking. We had a good life together and I ran from it. I panicked, but I know what I want now. I want to be together. I want to get things back on track.’ Paul smiles tenderly.
I gawp at him. ‘You want to get back together?’
‘Yes! I’m sorry for everything, Rachel. I wish I’d never doubted us,’ Paul insists, looking contrite.
‘I can’t believe this,’ I scoff. ‘You want to get back together! Two days ago, you were living with Blossom, and now she’s dumped you and you want to be with me. Honestly, Paul, I don’t think you know what you want.’
‘I do. Blossom was a mistake. I want to be with you,’ Paul insists.
He comes closer and places his hands on my hips, nuzzling the back of my neck as I watch my water boil, like he used to when I’d cook in our kitchen back home.
‘Paul!’ I shriek, recoiling. ‘Get off me!’
I slap his hands away, feeing anger flood through me. The cheek of him, to assume he can just walk back into my life and decide he wants me, is galling.
‘I’m not interested, Paul,’ I spit. ‘I’m not.’
Paul frowns, looking genuinely shocked.
‘What? But you were so keen before. You wanted to get married?’ he protests.
I laugh, finding him ridiculous.
‘I did, but I don’t anymore. Not to you,’ I tell him.
‘But you’ve always wanted to get married,’ Paul reminds me. ‘You’ve always wanted to settle down. That’s what you’ve always wanted.’
His words sting a little. During all those years I was pining for him to propose, he clearly knew how much getting married and settling down meant to me, and yet he didn’t take action. He had his chance, but the moment’s gone. I may be falling way behind on my Life List, but the difference is, I don’t care anymore.
‘I’ve changed. I’m not desperate to get married anymore. If it happens, great, but I’m not going to pine for it,’ I tell him. ‘I’m just going to, you know, go with the flow.’
Paul raises an eyebrow.
‘Go with the flow?’ he echoes.
‘Yes!’ I insist.
‘Okay…’ Paul frowns, looking baffled.
I take my water off the boil and retrieve two mugs from the cupboard. I spoon coffee into them. All I want is to have my coffee and get on with my day. I don’t want to be having this conversation, and yet I owe it to Paul, in spite of everything. We were together for six years, even if he has been pretty horrible to me lately.
I finish making the coffees and turn to him.
‘Look Paul, a few days ago you were getting at me. You hate my obsession with home furnishings. I bore you. I made you really unhappy. Getting back together isn’t the right thing to do.’
‘But…’ Paul mumbles.
‘You can’t just go from Blossom to me. You need to figure out who you are and what you want. That’s why you came here to India after all,’ I remind him.
‘Blossom was a mistake. I know what I want now. I want you. I want our life back,’ Paul claims.
I roll my eyes.
‘It’s over, Paul,’ I tell him.
I explain how I’ve changed since I’ve been here and how I no longer want the things I thought I wanted. I tell him about my legal case and that I’m sticking around.
‘Wow, okay…’ Paul remarks, frowning at the floor as he takes it in. ‘What about the house?’
‘What about it?’ I reply. ‘You can stay there if you want for now. I suppose we’ll have to sell.’
Paul shakes his head in disbelief.
‘But you love the house. We’ve spent years on it,’ he points out.
‘I know, but there’s more to life than interior décor,’ I comment.
‘I’ve been trying to tell you that for a while,’ Paul teases.
We exchange a knowing smile that reminds me, fleetingly, of the closeness we used to have. Yet the closeness has gone now. It occurs to me that Paul still doesn’t know the root of my obsession with home furnishings. He doesn’t know about the lasting impacts of the homelessness I endur
ed as a teenager and he probably never will. It’s not worth going into it now. Paul and I are over. I never felt like I could share my feelings with him, and that’s the point.
We touch on a few practicalities about the house and the future – a future in which we’re no longer together.
‘I still can’t believe this. I can’t believe you’re staying here,’ Paul remarks.
‘I know. India’s changed me,’ I admit, looking out over the lush grass of the garden, the palm trees, hammocks slung between them.
Raja, the peacock, emerges from between the trees, striding proudly across the lawn, his feathers on full show. I can’t help smiling.
‘I guess it has,’ Paul observes.
We say goodbye, and Paul tentatively offers a hug.
We embrace.
‘See you, Paul. Have a safe trip home,’ I say, as we pull apart.
‘See you, Rachel,’ Paul replies, still looking wide-eyed and taken aback.
I imagine it will take a while for everything to sink in.
He turns to leave, and I wave through the kitchen window, watching as he walks away. He turns out of the guesthouse and retreats from sight.
I take a sip of my coffee, feeling relieved. Paul wasn’t the right one for me. He was the wrong guy at the right time, or what I thought was the right time. For so long, I’ve lived my life according to goals, ticking off objectives on a timeline. I’ve been so obsessed with keeping up with the people around me, settling down, getting married by a certain age, and achieving a fixed idea of success, that I didn’t stop to consider whether I was truly happy. Or whether the person I was with was right for me.
The truth is that life is random, and the right people can come along in the most unexpected places at the most unanticipated times. I pick up the mugs of coffee and head out of the kitchen, back to Seb. I don’t know what the future holds. I don’t know if he’s the one. I don’t know if we’ll be together this time next month, let alone long-term. I don’t even know how long I’ll be in India.
But what I do know is that I’m finding myself now, at my own pace, in a beautiful place. I’m taking each day as it comes and I’m smiling. And that’s the most important thing.
Note from the author
Thank you so much for reading Flying Solo! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Flying Duo will be coming soon so keep an eye out!
I always feel so cheered on by my lovely community of readers and all the bloggers who go out of their way to support authors. Your positivity means SO much to me and genuinely inspires me so thank you!
If you enjoyed Flying Solo, I’d be so grateful if you could add a review to Amazon here. Reviews really help!
Thanks again and much love XXX
Also, if you haven’t read my other books, here are a couple of titles that might be of interest (click the covers to be taken to the Amazon page).
Coming soon…
Copyright
Copyright
First published in Great Britain in 2020.
Copyright © Zoe May 2020.
Zoe May asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the author.
E-book Edition © January 2020 ISBN: B082K48FX8