Always and Only You

Chapter Twenty-Five

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Five years ago

It’s late when he sees the phone light up with a message notification. Past midnight, in fact. A knot forms in his stomach.

It’s her. Again.

He knows he should ignore it, delete it without looking at it. He stares at the screen for a few seconds, his limbs momentarily paralyzed, but eventually he reaches out and picks the phone up from the kitchen counter. His thumbs move and swipe almost without conscious decision, bypassing the heartfelt resolve he is trying to stick to.

Simon? Are you there?

He closes his eyes and inhales deeply. She deserves the truth, but …

The phone dings again.

You haven’t replied to any of my messages for almost two weeks. Is something wrong? Are you okay?

And then two more arrive.

I’m not angry.

I’m just worried about you.

Oh, God. He can feel himself weakening. He knows it’s the wrong thing to do, but he can’t tell her it’s all over like this, not through a message. This is a conversation that should be had face to face.

But that isn’t possible. She’s thousands of miles away.

He presses the phone to his chest, hoping that hiding the bright screen will dampen the twitch in his fingers to reply.

It doesn’t work.

He misses her so much. It’s like an ache … But he can’t tell her that.

Inhaling again, he places the phone face down on the counter and walks to the other side of the kitchen, where he pulls a random mug off the crowded drainer and presses a button on the fancy coffee machine one of his flatmates brought with them to their new shared flat. Who cares about the caffeine? He won’t sleep for hours now, anyway.

The phone buzzes. He flinches.

No, he tells himself as he puts his cup down and takes four strides across the kitchen. This is a bad idea.

It doesn’t stop him typing, I’m here.

He almost hears her sigh of relief as he waits for her reply, which arrives only a second or two later.

Oh, thank God! Are you okay?

He stares at the screen for a moment before replying. He’s already in so deep. What’s one more lie?

I’m fine.