Always and Only You

Chapter Eighty-Two

CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO

Present Day

The letter arrives on the second Saturday in February. I open it and a huge grin spreads across my face. It’s my new licence. Twelve months and six days since I had my head injury, I’ve been given the all-clear to drive again.

Mum insists on sitting next to me in the car while I take my first trip, but she’s such a nervous passenger I drop her back home and Emir takes over. I drive around the familiar roads where I grew up for over an hour and when I return home, I feel as if I’ve reached an important milestone. One more small freedom has been reclaimed, and hopefully, there will be more to come.

I’ve found out Simon’s seeing someone. But I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at that. It’s been five months since I walked out on him now. I’m not proud of myself, but I checked out his Instagram feed, mostly because I was being pathetic and hoped Gil might have been tagged or there might be a photo of him. There, at the top of Simon’s grid, was a selfie with a girl I didn’t know. She’s younger than me, and a lot more glamorous. They seem to be having fun. I got the impression from the lack of other images of her on his timeline that it must be relatively new and relatively casual. I want to say good for him but I’m still feeling a little bitter, it turns out. I’ll get there in the end.

But there are no images of Gil on Simon’s page. And no activity on any of Gil’s social media accounts either, not that he was one for posting much anyway. Even so, it’s like he’s disappeared from the face of the earth.

I pick up my phone, head through the living room, and drop onto the sofa. I’ve been putting this off, but I think it’s time to see if Heron’s Quay had been sold. It’s the only link I have to Gil at the moment, and I’m desperate.

Once on the estate agent’s website, I search for Lower Hadwell and I’m relieved to see a picture of the boathouse near the top of the list, sporting a banner alerting prospective buyers that it’s newly on the market. When the page loads, the first thing I do is scroll hungrily through the photographs.

It looks amazing, and I’m warmed to see he’s put some of my suggestions into place – a doorstop made of a ball of white waxy rope that looks like it belongs on a yacht, a driftwood carving on a windowsill. That bloody conch shell in the bathroom.

I scroll further down the page to remove it from view, and that’s when I spot some large type in bold letters: Open House, 10 – 4 p.m. … And it’s today’s date! I check the clock. It must have only just started.

I close my eyes. I want to go so badly. I’ve forbidden myself from reading those messages again in case it muddies the waters, but I still have all these big feelings towards Gil. It’s almost more than I can bear.

I talked to Naomi about it when I saw her for the last time just before Christmas, even though I felt like a complete idiot. She says it’s unlikely my feelings for Gil are down to the head injury. I’d probably have other random fixations too if that was the case. She said to step back, give myself breathing space rather than responding in the moment when I’m up in my emotions and ready to jump in and follow a whim. So that’s what I’ve done.

I’ve waited, and I’ve waited.

And I can’t stop thinking about the way Gil looked at me the last time I saw him.

Always and only you.

Stuff it.

I head back to the hallway and pick up my car keys.