Almost Forever Page 14

  I need to get to him and tell him that I know, that I know now, how much I always meant to him. I curse myself for how badly I treated him, after what happened in his bedroom that night. I hate myself for the punitive silent wall I built between us after he told me he had a girlfriend. As the cab moves swiftly through the morning traffic in South London, I think back to that time in our relationship, with regret at the time I lost.

  ***

  It was the summer of my eighteenth birthday. I was in my bedroom at the FitzRoys’ villa in St-Tropez and like many of my friends, and others my age, I was waiting for the A-level results to be made available. I was so nervous I hadn’t slept or eaten anything for the past twenty-four hours. I had applied to all five university options my UCAS would allow – some with less demanding entry requirements than others – I was holding conditional offers from all of them but there was only one choice for me. Cambridge.

  My future depended completely on these results and I had to admit, I was absolutely terrified even though I’d aced all my mock exams. Everyone else in my class had already collected the results personally and I was seeing constant updates on social media about who had got in and where, who had failed what, and the ones who felt they had been wronged by the exam board; but, because I was in France, I had to wait for a dreaded text from my father to know my destiny.

  He had promised to let me know as soon as possible, but somehow, he was taking a very long time to get in touch, and I was starting to fear the worst. I remember how the night before at dinner I had floated the idea of flying back to the UK, so I could be there when they were released. I was expecting a little resistance from Josephine and Albert but when my suggestion was met with an uproar of dissent from everyone, including Harry, who usually supports me no matter what, I resigned myself for the dreaded wait.

  I’d been staring at my phone all morning, perched on the armchair in my bedroom, still in my PJs, refusing to leave the room, looking out of the window and lost in endless ‘what ifs’. When my phone finally pinged, I was far too stressed to turn it and look at the screen to see who it was from. So I took a deep breath first. Several of my friends had already texted me their results and asked about mine – just to make me feel even more unhinged. Eventually, with shaky fingers, I picked up the phone. The text from my father was short but said all it needed to.

  A*A*A*A – well done! Dad x

  I read it again and again, unable to catch my breath. When it all clicked into place, and my brain realised that it was enough to get my Cambridge offer confirmed, I felt the need to scream at the top of my lungs to dislodge the knot in my throat. Not wanting people to think I was deranged, I stood up instead and did a little celebratory dance.

  I was still shaky and needed to share my news with Harry. I texted him, but he didn’t reply. I went straight for the second person on my list, Georgie, but she didn’t reply either. She had texted me earlier with her results. She was going to Manchester Metropolitan and was pretty pleased with her grades. I knew my father would tell Becca about it, but I really wanted to talk to someone, so I called anyway. Her phone went straight to voicemail.

  Frustrated, I finally changed out of my pyjamas and into my favourite summer dress, before running down the stairs in search of Harry, hoping that we could go into town and celebrate. For a second I let my thoughts steer to Paul. I let myself wish that nothing had happened between us and we were still friends, so I could just pick up the phone and call him.

  I checked the time. It was dawn on the West Coast but I was sure the Paul who used to be my friend wouldn’t have minded that. We were not friends any more, I reminded myself, and directed my thoughts elsewhere. I continued my search for Harry, who seemed to have disappeared into thin air. I looked in every room of the ground floor, my sandals echoing loudly off the marble tiles.

  The house was unusually quiet and so was the garden, and yet there was a strange electric atmosphere around, like on a sunny day just before an unexpected storm. I was too busy feeling happy about my A-level results to actually stop and think about it in more depth.

  When I reached the pool I started to worry. There was nobody was there, either. Where was Harry? Where did everyone go today? I walked up to the pool house and opened the door.

  I froze at the sight of him. Paul. I hadn’t spoken to him in eleven months, refused all his attempts to get in touch, and of all the days I had to meet him face to face, he decided to show up today: the most important day of my life, so far.

  ‘Paul,’ I whispered. ‘I didn’t know you were coming.’

  ‘Yeah, I made sure of that. In case you decided to run again.’

  His tone wasn’t friendly but neither was it hostile – it was just determined to take my fences down. It was always a jolt to see him, but just as I’d forced myself to stop loving him a year earlier, I’d taught myself how to keep my emotions hidden. I crossed my arms tightly against my chest because, in spite of that, I just wanted so desperately to run to him. I had stopped dreaming of him, I had promised I would never let myself fall in love with him again, and that was exactly what I was going to do. So, I stood, still and stiff, and just asked in even voice, ‘When did you arrive?’

  ‘This morning,’ he answered flatly.

  Uncomfortable, I fidgeted with one of my bracelets.

  ‘Have you seen Harry?’ I asked, hoping to find a way to escape the awkwardness of our encounter. It was drowning the euphoria of my A-level results and I was not going to allow that. So, even if I was desperate to tell him that I made the grade, that I was going to Cambridge, I worked up an excuse to leave. It was too risky to share the joy in my heart with him because I knew that if I opened that door even by an inch for him, I would never be able to shut it again.

  ‘No, why?’ he asked coolly.

  ‘Nothing important. I’d better go now. See you around,’ I said, unable to hide the bitter disappointment of our impersonal relationship, even if I was the one who wanted it to be this way. I turned, started to walk out, but barely managed a step before Paul grabbed my wrist and gently pulled me back to him. Angry about his actions, I lifted my blazing eyes to his.

  ‘Just a minute,’ he said. ‘Where are you going? We need to talk.’

  ‘I need to find Harry and I’ve got nothing to say to you,’ I snapped.

  ‘Can’t you at least pretend to be nice?’

  ‘Nice?’ I snorted. ‘I’m perfectly nice. And it’s you who’s not exactly being Mr Nice right now,’ I said, looking down at his fingers wrapped around my arms. He wasn’t hurting me and I knew it was a childish remark, but attacking him was the best defence I had against my feelings for him.

  ‘I know I’m not hurting you, Fran, but it’s hard to be nice when you snarl at me.’

  ‘You deserve worse.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘You know why!’

  ‘I broke things off with Blair as soon as I went back to the States. I had to do it in person, Fran. I tried to talk to you about it, to explain to you my feelings. I’ve tried to be Mr Nice Guy for the past eleven months and lots of good that did me. Do you know how long eleven months are in minutes? No? Well, neither did I until I lived through it. That’s about five hundred thousand minutes of pain and frustration you caused me. Five hundred thousand minutes of my life that I spent thinking of you, that I spent begging you to listen to what I have to say. So excuse me if I believe I deserve to take one minute of your time.’

  I shook my head, refusing to be charmed again, refusing to believe in anything he had to say. ‘We used to be best friends. Do you remember that, Paul?’ I asked him, looking into his eyes.

  ‘Of course I do.’

  ‘So, how did we manage to get to a point where we can’t even talk to each other politely any more?’

  He pursed his lips and I watched him struggling with his emotions. ‘I don’t know, it looks like the circumstances played on our fears, on our weaknesses. They pulled us apart.’

  I laughed sarcastically at hi
s answer. ‘I wouldn’t call your girlfriend “circumstances”, Paul. You decided to go down that path – so there, that’s how we got to this point,’ I shouted at him. I sensed that he was about to say something but before he could speak, we both heard the ping of a message been delivered to his phone. He didn’t read it but kept his furious eyes on me.

  ‘I don’t know if we can ever find our way back if you don’t get past that point,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t know if I can either …’

  ‘I want you to at least try, Fran. Why don’t you understand that you turned my world upside down when you said you wanted to be with me and then you broke my heart when you decided that it was easier to hate me and refused to give us a chance? I know I was a dick when I walked out of my room and left you there crying; I just thought it was better if I gave you some space to cool down, so then we could calmly talk about it, find a way to fix it. Believe me, it was the hardest thing I ever had to do, but I thought it was the most respectful option. I was wrong and I regret that. I should have stayed, kissed you, made love to you, instead of giving you enough space to close the door on us.’

  ‘You had a girlfriend! A long-term one, no less. Still, you kissed me, undressed me, you were about to make love to me, before sharing that little insignificant detail with me. Apologies if I can’t get past that.’

  ‘I stopped! That’s because I didn’t want to make things worse,’ he said with a pained look in his eyes.

  I scoffed. ‘That’s just an excuse, Paul. You were ashamed because you got yourself a girlfriend the minute you stepped into your new life in California and never bothered to tell me. In two years, you never once bothered to put any effort into keeping our friendship alive; then, suddenly, I’m about to kiss someone else and you step in, claiming what? That I shouldn’t do that because you couldn’t stand seeing me with someone else? That’s the worst case of double standards I’ve ever seen.’ I pointed an accusatory finger at his chest. ‘And you know something else,’ I spat out, furious with him, ‘it makes you feel like shit when you tell someone that you love them, and they don’t say it back.’

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, Fran!’ he said, holding me by the shoulders. ‘I had a girlfriend. I wasn’t going to tell you that I loved you when I’d been seeing someone else for two years. That would have made you feel like shit.’ He shook his head. ‘If I’d said those words to you, right then, I would have burned any chance we may have had at a proper relationship, because you would have doubted me every step of the way, from that moment forward, even if I swore to you that I’d break up with her. Maybe not straight away, maybe not when you were in my arms, but as soon as I went back to Stanford, doubt would have crept in. I was trying to do things right, Fran. I was trying to be the good guy!’

  I’m speechless for a moment, because I never considered the fairness of his actions, never quite looked at it from his point of view. I need some time to process everything.

  Taking my silence as an introduction to go on, Paul continued, ‘I’m here now, single, with no strings. I broke up with her eleven months ago, had no one else since. I’m asking you to give me a chance, to give us a chance.’

  He looked so hurt that I almost faltered into my decision not to let him into my life again, but then his mobile started to ring, loud and insistent, breaking the moment and catapulting us back to reality. He swore under his breath and looked at the caller ID.

  ‘I have to take this,’ he said apologetically.

  ‘Go ahead, your minute is up, anyway,’ I answered bitterly, turning to the door.

  He reached out for my hand, held it in his, preventing me from leaving. ‘I’m not letting you walk away, not this time,’ he said before answering the call.

  ‘Yes?’ His tone was sharp, his eyes locked on to mine. ‘Yes, we’re ready too. Right now? Okay, great, yes. I’ve got that …’ he answered, putting the phone back in his pocket.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I asked surprised by his use of the word ‘we’ and the unexpected change of energy around us. I felt as if a strong wind had blown the ominous clouds away and the sun was shining above us, brighter than ever.

  ‘We need to go,’ he said with a smile and his sudden good mood was contagious. I wasn’t quite ready to put this behind us, so I kept up the sulk.

  ‘I’m not going anywhere with you,’ I told him with determination.

  ‘Please. Trust me,’ he implored me and, keeping my hand firmly in his, pulled me towards the door without waiting for an answer. When I resisted him, he stopped with his hand on the handle, turned to me, and, with grave eyes, he said, ‘We are not done discussing this, Fran. There’s a lot more I have to say to you, but it’ll have to wait.’

  ‘I … I …’ I couldn’t speak knowing that he had just opened the door of my heart, slightly, and this was the moment I had to decide whether to leave it ajar and listen to what he had to say or close it shut and seal our fate forever.

  ‘Do you still hate me?’ he asked me, point-blank.

  His eyes were on me, his lips only inches apart from mine, and I knew the answer was no, I could never hate him.

  ‘No,’ I said unable to lie.

  His grin was growing confident, his eyes were full of determination as if that was only the first of the many answers he wanted from me; in fact, he took my chin in between his fingers and asked, ‘How about love?’

  ‘You have no right to ask me that,’ I whispered, not able to look him in the eyes.

  ‘I have every right … every damn right.’ There was an impatience in his voice that I had never heard before. ‘Do you still love me, Fran? Yes or no? It’s very simple,’ he said, pushing me for an answer.

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe,’ I said with a shaky voice that simply screamed that I was lying.

  ‘Maybe I can work with … but right now there is something else that we need to do,’ he said, kissing the top of my head. A smirk on his face told me he knew that before long we would finally be together. I wasn’t quite so sure, but he opened the door and gently nudged me forward into the brightness of the afternoon sun.

  I was not prepared for what was waiting for me outside. My mouth fell open in absolute disbelief. When my eyes adjusted to the light I was able to put the details into focus.

  The swimming pool was covered with floating flowers, colourful candles were displayed in tall glasses all around the patio, the big table under the veranda was set with white linen, ten plate settings and a shabby chic fabric bunting ran all around the columns.

  I was speechless.

  When Paul squeezed my hand, I turned to look at him and asked, ‘What’s all of this?’

  ‘Just a little party, for you,’ he said with a smile, then added, shifting his gaze, ‘And look who just arrived.’

  I turned and couldn’t resist grinning at the little crowd that was walking towards me. My father, Becca waddling under the weight of her bump, her husband Alex in tow and Georgie were crossing the lawn towards us and waving. I waved back and then turning to look at Paul I asked, ‘Did you do all of this?’

  ‘Some of it,’ he said humbly. ‘Harry helped a lot too and so did Becca and Georgie. We all thought that you deserved a special celebration for your eighteenth birthday and with the A-level results only a few days before it, we decided to bundle the two together and give you the party of all parties.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say, Paul. I wasn’t expecting this, from you …’

  He looked straight into my eyes and lowered his face to mine. My heart stopped as I held my breath. He slowly lifted my chin with his fingers again and kissed me softly at the corner of my mouth. ‘Give me a chance to prove to you what I feel for you, Fran. It’s all I’m asking,’ he whispered in my ear.

  ‘Why are you doing this, Paul? It’s not going to work between us – just let it go,’ I said to him, too scared to open my heart again and risk getting it broken.

  ‘I love you, Fran,’ he answered with a final look at me, before he turned to smile at t
he arriving guests. He then let go of me and stepped aside to make space for them.

  ‘Hello, Dad.’ My father stepped into the space between Paul and I.

  After kissing his cheek, I went to hug Georgina and Becca. I squeezed them tightly, trying not to press against Becca’s bump. When they both looked at me with a puzzled expression and Georgie asked, ‘Are you okay? You look a little flushed,’ I nodded and gave her another hug.

  ‘Just so happy to see you all – what a fantastic surprise!’

  Josephine, Albert, Harry, and Robert came over to congratulate me and to wish me an early happy birthday. I loved them all so much and I was overwhelmed by what they’d done for me, today and always. I made a point to hug Harry last and, when I was in his arms, I asked, ‘Why didn’t you tell me Paul was coming?’

  ‘Because I thought it was the right time for you to talk. I took your side for the entire year, Fran, but it was time to switch teams.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Because you are better together,’ he said and left me with lots to think about.

  The party was organised to the last detail. Someone had put a lot of effort into this and the idea that it had been Paul made me melt, but my head was still full of doubts.

  After cocktails and canapés were served on the lawn, we celebrated with an exceptional dinner. The champagne flowed copiously as more and more courses were served. I was stuffed, the atmosphere around the table was buzzing, and we were having an amazing time. The few times I had the courage to look at Paul he stared back at me with unreadable eyes.

  I wasn’t letting my heart run away with fantasies and dreams; in fact, I was keeping my feet firmly grounded in reality. When the sun had almost set and the sky turned from pink to indigo, lit-up floating candles were added to the flowers in the pool. A band arrived and swiftly started to set up on the far corner of the patio and a two-tiered cake was brought in.

  ‘This is amazing, thank you! A bit much for ten people though!’ I said, elbowing Harry and pointing at the cake that was at least a foot high.