Bridge of Hope (32 page)

“I know you all are gradually discovering how eclectic ma taste in music is. Well, just to prove the point even further, I’m going to kick off with a little bit of Chicago. The band, not the musical.” I managed a chuckle and the crowd laughed along. “This is a beautiful song called ‘Hard to Say I’m Sorry’.”

I began to sing with my eyes closed and tried very hard to rein my emotions in, but even
I
could hear the rawness of my voice. Opening my eyes, I fixed them on Mallory behind the bar and willed her with all my might to look at me. To
see
me like she said she did before when we came so close. But she completely avoided my gaze and eventually, just after the middle of the song, she walked out of the bar toward the ladies’ toilets.

When my song finished she still wasn’t back. I leaned down to take a swig of my drink in the hope that it would dislodge the lump of knotted sadness from my throat. When she appeared again I could see that she’d been crying. I wanted to hold her in my arms and kiss her tears away. But it wasn’t an option.

Alice appeared from toward the bar and kissed the top of my head. I glanced over and realised that Stella had seen her do it. I hoped Mallory hadn’t noticed, as I didn’t want her getting the wrong impression regardless of what she felt about me.

“Anyway, onto my next number… ahem… Now unrequited love is a bitch, eh? I know I’ve been there—anyone else?” A rumble of agreement travelled the room. Clearly I was not alone, then. “Aye, some of you should relate well to this next one. It’s by one of my favourite bands, Fleetwood Mac and it’s called ‘Go Your Own Way’.
Oh, and don’t sing along, eh?” The audience laughed at the catchphrase I’d become known for. I forced a smile before I began.

I played the song with a semblance of anger even though I was breaking up inside, and I glared over at Mallory once again, willing her to see me. But once again she kept her eyes firmly focused elsewhere.

My next song was bound to get a reaction. Or so I hoped. But I realised that maybe this was all a very self-centred night. The audience hadn’t come to hear me pouring my heart out to someone who didn’t want to listen. But I thought fuck it.
I’m the one with the microphone. They can fucking leave if they don’t like it. Realising that my selfish attitude could end up in Stella losing paying customers,
I decided to make a token apology to the crowd.

“Sorry, folks, it’s all a bit melancholy tonight. I’m feeling that way out. Must be my hormones. Anyway, this next one is a sad, sad song by a wonderful song writer called John Waite. It’s about a guy who’s in love with a girl. She left him and moved away. He really doesn’t know why she’s gone and he misses her desperately, but he’s trying to convince himself that he isn’t… he’s failing miserably. She’s all he can think about. She’s all he sees. He wants her to realise and come back to him… it’s called ‘Missing You’.”

I began to play and the lyrics flowed from my lips like a prayer that I hoped she would hear and answer. I didn’t want to say goodbye. I didn’t want her to go back to Yorkshire. How would I cope? What would I do if I didn’t get to see her bright blue eyes and warm smile? The thought brought the tightening to my throat once again. I caught sight of her in my peripheral vision. She’d stopped what she was doing and was listening intently. I made eye contact with her for a moment but she turned away and walked through to the back.

She didn’t return.

Chapter Forty-Three

I awoke early the next morning and decided I was going to confront Mallory about why she walked out during my gig. I knew the answer deep down. She still felt something for me and had a hard time hearing my feelings expressed like that. But I
needed
to hear her say it. Maybe if she could admit that to me, we had a chance. So with renewed hope I left the house and made my way down to the village.

To my horror she was just pulling away from home. I ran in front of the car like some crazed lunatic with a fucking death wish and held my hands up. Luckily she had her wits about her and slammed on the brakes.

I jogged around to the driver’s window and noticed her belongings piled on the backseat and Ruby’s bed in the passenger foot well
.

Fuck!

She wound the window down and I panted, “Mallory… are you leaving?”

“What does it have to do with you?” she snapped in that acidic tone she’d been using toward me lately.

“The case in the back. Ruby… Are you going for good?”

With a sneer she bitterly retorted, “Why don’t you ask your
wife
, Greg.” And with that she sped away, tyres screeching across the bridge and out of sight. All I could do was stand and watch her retreating vehicle with my hands in my hair.

I flopped down onto one of the benches outside the pub and rested my head on my folded arms on the table. I didn’t know what else to do. As if she had been listening in, Alice appeared from out of nowhere to offer comfort. Or her
version
of it.

“Hey, are you okay, honey?” Her sickly sweet voice made me nauseated. Or was it the way Mallory left me with her venom in my veins? Whatever it was, I felt sick as a fucking dog.

“Don’t call me honey,” I growled.

She sighed. “Oh, Greg, it’s just a term of endearment.”

I lifted my head and glared at her. “Yeah? Well
nothing
is going to fucking endear me to
you
so fuck off.”

“Oooh, touchy. Did she kick you to the curb, then?” She sniggered and I wanted to slap her but I would
never
hit a woman—even one like Alice with all her fucking sly, nasty deviousness.

“Drop it, Alice, if you know what’s good for you.”

She huffed. “There’s no need to
threaten
me, Greg. I’m trying to be a friend.”

I laughed derisively. “A
friend
?
You
? Is that what you were doing with Connell when you
fucked
him in our marital bed, eh, being a
friend
?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh for goodness’ sake, Greg. Why can’t you just let that go?”

I stood up, anger boiling beneath my skin, and spoke through clenched teeth. “I
have
let it fucking go. And I’ve let
you
go, Alice. But you
still
turned up and hung around like the smell of rotting veg under a fucking cupboard. Now I suggest you go home and get a fucking lawyer because
this
time I’m divorcing your fucking arse right out of my life for good!” I stormed away toward home, hoping that she wouldn’t follow me for round two.

No such fucking luck.

I heard her feet crunching against the gravel as I increased the pace at which I was trying to escape her.

“Greg!” she called. “Greg, please slow down. Let’s talk about this like adults, eh?”

I stopped in my tracks and turned to her with a bitter laugh. “Like adults? Okay… here we go… this is me talking to you like an adult. I don’t love you, Alice. I don’t want you and I don’t fucking love you. I feel nothing for you. Is that adult enough for you?”

Her lip began to quiver and I somehow felt exhilarated at finally getting through to her. Revenge had never been my intent, but seeing her in emotional pain had no effect on me, because in threatening the woman I loved, she’d gone too far.

She shook her head. “You don’t mean that. I know you don’t mean that.”

“Alice, I’ve never meant anything more in my fucking life except for the time I told Mallory I love her with all my heart. Now
there
is a woman worth fighting for. There is a woman capable of genuine love and I don’t fucking deserve her. But do you know what? I’m gonna fight for her anyway. Because that’s what you do when you love someone. You want their happiness above anything. And that’s what I want for Mallory. I want to see her happy, not cut up over my fucking mistakes. And yes, you are one hell of a mistake, Alice. One I will never repeat again. Am I making myself clear enough?”

She nodded as tears spilled from her eyes. “I… I’ll go home.”

“Yes, go home and call your solicitor. And do me a favour, okay? Don’t come back again.”

~~~

Alice left the following day after one last-ditch attempt at getting me back. As she stood at the door with her bag, she asked me to at least think about us, but I just shook my head and closed the door in her face. I sat on my couch after she’d gone and stared at my phone. I was desperate to contact Mallory. I needed to know that she was okay. But of course if I called she’d more than likely hang up. In the end I resorted to cowardly tactics. It was unlikely she would ignore a text message—even if it was blind curiosity that made her read it. Picking up my phone, I began to type.

G: Hey, how r u? Am worried u will not come back. I miss u so much. Please just let me know u r ok.

I hit send and then reread what I’d written.
Great, I sound like a pathetic loser. Way to get the girl, McBradden. My phone vibrated almost instantly and I dropped it through the sheer shock.
After fumbling around on the floor and picking up the phone, I opened the reply.

M: Greg, I’m fine. Please just let me be for a while. I need some space, okay? Concentrate on your own life for a while and let me deal with mine.

Yikes, that’s harsh. But at least she replied, I suppose.
I relaxed a tiny bit, knowing that she was okay and had arrived in Yorkshire safe and sound. All I had to do now was get her to come home so we could try and sort this mess out.

~~~

Pressuring her probably wasn’t the best thing to do, so I left her to it after that. But I did resolve to bloody go down there if she actually
didn’t
come home. I’d told her as much in the Foo Fighters song I’d put on her CD.

Working at the pub wasn’t the same without Mallory. Even before Alice turned up I’d see her briefly at shift changeovers. Now, being here without her was making me dread going in to work. I played a gig whilst she was away, and as I placed the chalkboard that she made for me outside the door of the pub, my heart sank. Once I’d walked back inside, my phone rang.

Fumbling it out of my pocket in the hope that it was her, I answered in a rush. “Hello? Yes?”

“Hi there, is this Greg McBradden?” a female voice—not belonging to Mallory—asked down the line.

“Yes, this is Greg. Who’s calling?”

“Great, my name is Cassandra Carlton. I’m one of the agents with Class Act Talent, or CAT as we like to say for short. My business partner and I have been informed about your shows by another of our artistes, and we’ve watched a clip of you online too, which impressed us. We’d like to come along and check you out with a view to contracting you for the venues we cover.”

Huh? What? Contract me?
I suddenly realised that the conversation I was having was thankfully happening in my head.

“Greg?”

“Um… sorry… sorry. Yes, that’d be great. Thank you,” I finally replied with a pounding heart and a head full of disbelief.

~~~

A couple of days later and the call from the agent still hadn’t really sunk in. I kept replaying it over and over in my mind. As I stood drying glasses behind the bar, the door opened and I got a wonderful surprise.

“Mallory, you’re back!” My eyes widened and I wanted to dash out and hug her—but then the thought crossed my mind that she probably wouldn’t want that, and the joy of seeing her suddenly evaporated. “How long are you here for?”

“I’m not sure, Greg. Not yet. Can I speak to you in private, please?”

We stepped outside and I was dreading what she was going to say to me. “Is everything okay, Mallory?”
Please don’t tell me you’re leaving now. Please.

“Greg, I’ve done a lot of thinking whilst I have been away.”

Okay, brace yourself, McBradden, here comes the blow.
“I’m not going to like this, am I?” I cringed in readiness.

But she smiled. “I think maybe I was… too hard on you about the whole marriage thing. I don’t feel able to be anything more at the moment, and I doubt that I ever will now… but I think we can maybe be friends… if you want to?”

What? Really? Fuck, take what you can get, arsehole.
“Mallory, I love you. I probably always will. It will be hard to be just friends, but I would rather have that than the icy chill between us.” I absentmindedly stroked her arm but she flinched.
Why the fuck did she flinch? Did I really scare her that day at my house? Shit.
Guilt shredded my heart and I wanted to apologise, but it felt too little too late; and she was offering me an olive branch.