The Story of Us (20 page)

‘Oh God, Emma. I'm so sorry.' His words struck me like a physical blow, and I staggered backwards, fortunately in the direction of the trees, and not the steep drop-off. I was vaguely aware of his hand reaching out to grab hold of me, but I backed further away, as though retreating from a monster.

‘It's true?' I said in shock. ‘Are you telling me it's
true
?'

I saw him nod just once, before his face contorted in despair. My knees felt suddenly weak, and a wave of nausea threatened to choke off my words before I could get them out. ‘How could you do that? How could you do that to me? To us?' He shook his head, already knowing there was nothing he could say to answer that accusation. He took an unsteady lurching step towards me, and I screamed at him, ‘Stay away, don't come anywhere near me.'

‘Emma.' My name sounded like it was being ripped out of him. I shook my head violently as the image of him and Amy naked together was suddenly projected into my mind upon a screen of red hot rage. I swallowed down the bitter taste of bile in my mouth.

‘Why, Richard? Why? Wasn't I enough for you?'

‘It wasn't that,' he groaned in protest.

‘Then what? Were you bored? Felt like a change? What did she give you that I couldn't?'

‘Nothing. It wasn't
like
that.'

My eyes were blazing like hot coals as I rounded on him. ‘So what
was
it like? Because I can't think of a single thing that could possibly justify you destroying everything we have so you could screw around with
my best friend
.' And, as I said the words, I felt the knife slice through me, not once but twice, because the betrayal was dual-edged. The next question came out on a whisper. ‘Were you… were you in love with her?'

‘No. No, of course not. It's
you
I love. Amy was… a mistake, a terrible stupid mistake. It wasn't even an affair, it was just sex – it was just one time.'

‘Is that supposed to make me feel
better
?' I thundered. ‘Because it bloody well makes it worse.'

Richard looked around in desperation, knowing he'd said the wrong thing even as the words were leaving his mouth. To be honest there was nothing he
could
say that was going to stop the noose from tightening around his neck.

‘So tell me.' The words were spat at him, as though they'd come from a serpent.

‘What?' he asked helplessly. ‘What do you want to know?'

‘Everything.'

His eyes were blue pools of torment. He had nowhere to go, no defence he could possibly offer, and no way of avoiding answering my questions. He tried one last evasion. ‘Why, Emma? Why? Can't we just find a way past this? I did a terrible, stupid and weak thing, but dissecting it isn't going to help.' His choice of words was particularly apt, because that was what this was starting to feel like: a post-mortem following the death of our relationship.

‘Tell me,' I demanded.

He turned away from me as he began to speak, unable to look me in the eye as he ripped the skin from my body with his words. ‘I guess it all started a couple of years ago—'

‘What?' I cried out, my voice like a demented harpy. ‘You've been sleeping with her for
years
?'

‘No, no. I told you it was just one time. What I meant was that we started getting closer a few years ago. After you'd gone away. After we broke up.' He glanced over at me, but my eyes were narrowed in bitter anger; I could scarcely bring myself to look at him. ‘At first we were just friends, we went out with Caroline and Nick most of the time, just as mates. But as time went on…'

‘You fancied her,' I said bitterly.

He ran his hand through his hair. ‘No, not at first. She was just Amy, your old friend. I couldn't even think of her that way. Couldn't think of
anyone
that way. I was still in love with you.'

‘I'm so touched.' My voice dripped sarcasm like venom.

‘Time went on, and I started seeing other people, but nothing came to anything. Because of you.'

‘You're breaking my heart,' I said viciously, and then had to look away suddenly, because the truth of it was, that was precisely what he
was
doing.

‘Amy understood me. We got on well, we shared the same sense of humour, but I knew… well, I suspected, anyway…' His voice trailed away, and he sounded embarrassed as he finished, ‘I knew she liked me. I knew she wanted something more.'

Amy. Her face appeared before me like a mirage. I had known her for most of my life; I'd shared secrets, hopes and fears with her. I had trusted her. And yet she had broken the cardinal rule of friendship, the sacred code: she had gone after her friend's ex.

‘I resisted for a very long time.'

‘Well bravo to you.'

He ignored my interruption. ‘But eventually, when it looked like you were
never
going to come back, things began to…
develop
between us.'

It didn't matter how many euphemisms he used, I was still getting the full ugly picture in glorious technicolour. ‘So you got with her when I was in London?'

‘No. Well, almost. Things might have happened then, I could see that, but then you came back home. And I realised what I'd really known all along: that it was
you
,
it had always been you; I couldn't love anyone else, because my heart was yours.'

‘So she just got a different part of your anatomy?' I sniped.

Richard winced, as though he'd been shot, but still continued. ‘We cooled everything off immediately, as soon as you came back. We just went back to being friends, nothing else.'

‘And you didn't think any of this was important enough to tell me when we got back together?' I fired on him angrily.

‘You and I agreed that we didn't need to tell each other details of the other people we'd dated.'

‘That's because I thought they were nameless strangers,
not
my best friend.'

‘And it wasn't like we dated, well not properly. We just kissed a few times and—'

‘Enough!' I shrieked, already having enough trouble getting the unwanted visuals out of my head. I certainly didn't need him to elaborate
.

We were silent for several minutes. Richard was hoping that I'd finally heard enough of the ugly tale, while I was just trying to summon up the strength to hear it through to the end.

‘So when did you fuck her?' I don't know what shocked him most: the way I had phrased it, or my need to know it all.

His voice was hesitant, guilt in every syllable. ‘It was last year, after you got me to arrange a date for her with that prat at my school.' He looked up at me, expecting acknowledgement perhaps. All he got was a glittering stony stare. ‘Well, she went out with him, but the guy was a real bastard. I told you I hadn't wanted to set it up.'

Richard was very lucky there was nothing near enough for me to throw at him right then, because he had come perilously close to making it sound that I was in some way partly responsible for what had happened. He continued in a rush, ‘Anyway, things got really ugly, and she ended up calling me in floods of tears.'

‘Why?'

‘I don't know why. Because I was the one who'd set her up? Because I was her friend? I don't know. You don't know how many times I've wanted to turn the clock back and have her call someone else.' I braced myself for the final avalanche to bury me, as Richard completed his story. ‘It was late. I went to comfort her, we had a few drinks and then… well…'

He didn't finish. He didn't need to. I got it.

‘Afterwards, we both felt terrible. We both knew it had been wrong. Amy knew all along that I loved you, that it was you I wanted to be with.' He looked at me beseechingly, but got nothing in response. My heart felt like a petrified lump of stone buried in my chest. ‘She begged me to let her tell you. She wanted you to know how sorry she was.'

I shut my eyes, but the pain was still there behind my closed lids.

‘In the end, I convinced her that
I
should be the one to do it. I was the one who had betrayed you most. It was my job to beg you to forgive me.'

‘And yet you didn't,' I said coldly.

‘I couldn't,' he answered, his voice a broken whisper. ‘I couldn't risk losing you, couldn't risk the thought that you might leave me. So I lied. I lied to you, and I lied to Amy. I told her that you said you would forgive her, but only on condition that the two of you never spoke about it. Ever.'

So. The mystery was finally solved. That was what she had meant as she lay dying on the road. That was why she was thanking me. I looked at the man who had betrayed me in the worst way possible, and knew that he'd been right to be afraid that this would be the end of us. Because it most certainly would have been. And now it was.

He saw my actions, and gave a moan that sounded wrought with pain. ‘No,' he cried, as he watched me begin to twist the engagement ring from my finger. ‘No, Emma, please.'

I looked up and saw he was crying. Strange. My eyes were dry; it was the complete reversal of our first break-up.

‘Please no,' he begged, bridging the distance between us and trying to hold me. I gave one final twist and the diamond was off my finger. I held it in my palm towards him.

‘Take it.'

He shook his head.

‘Take it, Richard. I don't want it. We're over. Done.'

‘Don't say that,' he pleaded, as tears rolled down his face. ‘Give me another chance. I will never, ever, do anything to hurt you again for the rest of my life.'

The hand that held the ring remained rock-steady, although inside there wasn't a single piece of me that wasn't ripped to shreds. ‘It's too late. You gave me this ring just weeks
after sleeping with another woman. You told me I was the only person in the world for you, while you could probably still remember the scent and taste of her.' I thrust the hand bearing the ring closer towards him.

‘Take it,' I commanded for a third time.

‘I don't want it. It's yours.'

I looked into his eyes and something inside me just snapped. ‘You don't want it?' He shook his head. ‘Well neither do I.' And with that I closed my fist around the large diamond ring and hurled it with all my strength out into the ravine. It fell in a tumbling arc through the sky, its facets catching the last rays of sunlight as it plummeted like a shooting star on to the rocky ground far beneath us.

There was shock and horror on his face at my actions. To be truthful, I was a little horrified myself. ‘Do you know how much—' He broke off, which was just as well, or I might actually have pushed him over the edge to join his bloody ring. He took a step closer to the precipice, which was foolish, I thought, giving my current state of mind, and looked down solemnly on to the vast rocky terrain. ‘We're never going to find that now,' he declared.

I didn't feel a reply was warranted, but I did ask a question. ‘Do you have your phone with you?'

He looked stunned and confused, but nevertheless put his hand into his pocket and retrieved his mobile. He held it out to me, in much in the same way as I had just held out his ring.

‘I don't need it. You do,' I said abruptly. He frowned, still slow to realise my intentions. I met his eyes one last time. ‘You'll need to call one of your friends, or a cab company, or anyone you bloody well like.' He still didn't seem to get it, not even when I started to walk away. ‘I'm going, Richard, and how you get back from here is not my concern. In fact nothing about you is going to be my concern, ever again.'

In the days following our break-up Richard employed every conceivable method to get in touch with me. He phoned, he texted, he emailed; he even sent me a letter. Short of sending a carrier pigeon, he used just about every means of communication possible. It did him no good; I tore to shreds anything that couldn't be eliminated by simply pressing a
Delete
button. I suppose it was inevitable then that his only remaining option was to turn up in person at the bookshop. He was dressed in his work suit and wearing the tie I'd bought him for Christmas. The gift exchange hadn't been entirely equitable last year: I'd bought him a cashmere jumper and a tie, and he'd given me a diamond solitaire that had cost him three months' salary. I still felt a little guilty about that. Perhaps I should suggest he throw the jumper off the ravine, to square things up a little?

‘Hello, Emma,' he said cautiously, loitering near the shop's doorway.

I met his gaze coolly. ‘Richard.' That was all he got from me, no hello or greeting, just his name. He seemed to think that was enough encouragement, and took a step towards the counter.

‘What are you doing here?'

He tried the smile, the one I'd always said was so irresistible, but it seemed as though I had finally found some immunity. Richard saw the impassive look on my face, and read it well. He cleared his throat in a way which I knew meant he was really nervous.

‘I came to buy a book.'

It wasn't even worth rising to the bait. This wasn't my business or my shop, so I could hardly throw him out and yell at him to go away.

I raised a hand to indicate the stacks of books around us. ‘Knock yourself out.'

My attitude clearly had him flummoxed. He must have been anticipating Furious Emma, Vengeful Emma, or even Distraught Emma. Couldn't-Give-a-Shit Emma clearly hadn't factored into his plans.

He maintained the pretence that it really was a book he was after, by pulling some volume from the shelves and opening it at a random page. He looked at it unseeingly for a minute or so, then interrupted the silence of the shop. ‘You haven't answered my calls.'

I stopped pretending to be checking deliveries off an invoice, and laid down my pen. ‘No, I haven't. And I'm not going to. I have nothing more to say to you, I said it all the other day.'