Always and Only You

Chapter Sixty-Three

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

Five years ago

‘Here …’ He pushes a pint of beer across the bar towards his best friend. Simon isn’t paying attention, having turned round to watch two girls in tight dresses walk to the back of the pub. They’re giggling and one turns and smiles at Simon.

He turns back to Gil with a triumphant grin on his face. ‘I think I’m in there.’

The idea of bringing Simon out for this drink was so they could have some time away from their housemates to talk undistracted. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all? Even so, he allows Simon to chatter on about the rugby match they watched that afternoon, letting the beer do its work before he brings up the issue that’s burning the tip of his tongue. The issue he can’t stop thinking about, day and night.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and his instinct is to reach for it, but he stops himself. He’s been trying to wean himself off her. It felt wrong to keep messaging so frequently with Simon on the verge of dumping her. His thinking is that now he’s pulled back on contact with her, the break-up won’t come as such a shock, that it’ll help let her down gently. So instead of long, in-depth conversations, he’s stopped initiating chats and has been sending shorter and shorter replies. It’s killing him.

Even worse, it’s now the thirteenth of February, five days past the date when Simon was supposed to break things off with Erin, and Gil is pretty sure he’s done nothing of the sort.

When Simon’s beer is half gone, Gil puts his elbows on the bar and takes a long gulp of his own pint. ‘You still haven’t done it, have you?’

Simon looks innocent. ‘Done what?’

‘You know.’

‘I’ve been thinking about it. But I just haven’t had the chance.’

He stares at Simon, not amused. ‘You’ve had plenty of chances. You and I know the reason you haven’t contacted her is because you would do anything to avoid an uncomfortable conversation.’

Simon doesn’t miss a beat. ‘Then why don’t we avoid this one and have some shots instead?’ He turns and raises his hand to catch the bartender’s attention and manages to order two shots via sign language. The girl also gives him a smile and flips her hair.

Gil folds his arms. Free tequila isn’t going to work on him. Not this time, anyway. ‘You’ve got twenty-four hours, Si. If you haven’t talked to her by then, I’m going to do the talking for you. It’s been months now. You can’t keep her hanging on like this.’

‘All right, all right. But I can’t do it today or tomorrow, can I?’

Gil starts to feel as if he’d like to punch something. ‘Why not?’

‘Because it’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow,’ Simon says, laying down his trump card. ‘That would be cruel.’

He has to admit Simon’s got him there. It would be horrible for someone to break up with you – via text – on Valentine’s Day. Although he’s pretty sure Simon’s motives aren’t as altruistic as he’s making out.

The shots arrive. Simon claps him on the arm and pushes one in his direction. ‘Look … give me to the end of the week. If I haven’t broken up with her by Friday, you can do whatever it is you need to do.’

Gil feels as if he’s had this conversation a hundred times before, but what other option does he have? He has to give his friend this one last chance to do the right thing.

He’s sitting there on the bar stool, body turned half towards the bar, half towards Simon, when the heavy door of the pub opens and a gust of icy February air slices in. This tends to happen every time someone enters or leaves the pub, but usually it’s just a quick blast. This time, the arctic wind just keeps on coming. Goosebumps pucker his skin, and he’s about to turn and yell at whoever it is to shut the flippin’ door when he sees who’s standing there. His mouth drops open.

It’s Erin.

She’s wearing a coat the colour of ripe berries, with a cream-coloured knitted hat and matching gloves. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen her look so adorable.

The last time he saw her in person was probably last September. There was a heaviness about her then. Today, she’s holding herself differently, as if she feels lighter, almost buoyant. If he had to pick a word, he would say she was glowing. And it makes him feel warm inside to think that their text conversations might have brought her some relief, that he might have had a part in that.

His muscles tense, readying himself to move, to push himself off his barstool and stride across the pub to where she is standing, but he doesn’t get any further than that. He’s completely arrested by her, by the quick intelligence in her eyes, the nervous, hopeful smile on her face. She scans the crowded pub and when her eyes rest on him, the smile blooms and grows into something even more glorious.

She walks towards him and his pulse slows to half speed, each beat pounding in his ears. She doesn’t take her eyes off him. This is everything he dared hope for. More.

But when she’s ten steps away, he realizes she isn’t looking at him. She’s looking at the man sitting beside him.

Simon looks just as frozen as he is, possibly more so. On the surface, his friend’s face is a mask of smiling surprise, but Gil knows him well enough to see the shock – and horror – that lies behind it. If it wasn’t such a horrendous situation, he might laugh. If what goes around, comes around, Simon really is getting his comeuppance now.

She stops right in front of them, smiles sweetly at Simon. ‘Hey, you …’

Gil’s heart contracts. She’s speaking their secret code, but Simon doesn’t know it.

‘Hey …’ Simon mutters back. His face is blank. He doesn’t kiss her cheek, doesn’t hug her. The beautiful, full-wattage smile she’s wearing dims.

Gil jumps off his barstool. ‘Erin! This is a surprise!’

Her gaze flicks across to him, rests on him for a split second.

‘Hi, Gil,’ she says in an absent-minded way, as if it’s a politeness, an automatic response she’s put no thought into, and then the beam of her attention returns to Simon, leaving him cold and shivering.

He wants to jump in between them and wave his arms, tell them not to have the conversation they’re about to have. Not because he wishes it was him she was looking at with such devotion – although he does – but because it’s just hit him she’s flown across the Atlantic to surprise Simon and this joyful reunion will not go the way she’s expecting. It strikes him that Simon might well be about to break her heart.

‘Listen, Erin …’ Simon begins.

She nods, smile returning slightly.

He looks around. ‘Why don’t I take you out for a bite to eat? Somewhere more … private. And we can talk. Properly.’ He shoots a look at Gil, one that both says Help me! and Wish me luck! And then he takes Erin by the hand and leads her back out into the frosty evening.