You Had Me at Hello (43 page)

‘Well,' I say, with lead in my belly, ‘Manchester's going to miss you.'

Ben sighs. ‘I'm going to miss Manchester. It's been great to be back.'

I hesitate. ‘Are you going to take the house from her parents?'

He hangs his head.

‘I don't know. It's not a price I want to pay for keeping my relationship together but it looks like that is the price, whether I like it or not. Please don't ask me any more questions. I feel depressed about the answers.'

‘Sure,' I say. ‘Sorry.'

His head snaps up again. ‘Tell me this, Rachel, did you ever think being a proper adult would be this hard?'

‘I think I thought once I got finals out of the way, it would be plain sailing to the family plot. All downhill sledging.'

‘Exactly,' Ben laughs. ‘Going downhill sounds about right. If I'd known what was in store, I wouldn't have moaned about Old English so much.'

We grin at each other. My ribs ache.

‘It's been lovely to see you again,' he says. ‘Shame you can't say the same about me and mine. First Simon goes off at you, then Liv. I bet you wish you'd never started learning Italian and visiting that library.'

The lie that restarted everything. It's my turn to speak, to insist no, it's been wonderful to see him too and then let him go as if it's easy for me. Yet Olivia's gone. They might not stay together even if he does move down there. He might decide not to move, if all the facts are made available to him. This could be it. This could be a second chance, and it's going to melt away forever if I don't seize it and show the mettle I failed to the first time round.
Put what's right to one side and do what's necessary
, wasn't that what Ben was saying?

‘There's something I have to tell you.'

I hope to see some glimmer of recognition in his eyes to make this easier. He's totally impassive. ‘OK.'

‘I didn't bump into you by chance that night at the library. Caroline told me she'd seen you there and I was waiting for you, hoping to see you.'

Ben frowns.

‘I've thought about you so much during the last ten years. I've never had what we had with anyone else. I don't know how I failed to convince you how I felt, back then. If you're leaving now and you're not sure you want to, you should know that I still love you. I'm in love with you, Ben.'

My words hang in the space between us and I can't quite believe they're my own.

Ben's eyes narrow. ‘This is a joke, isn't it? You're winding me up? 'Cos it's in really poor taste.'

‘I mean every word. Surely you know I wouldn't joke about this?'

He stares at me. Before he speaks, he takes a deep breath, as if about to swing something heavy.

‘Liv said this was what you were doing. My wife said I'd let someone into our life who was trying to break us up. I called her paranoid and ridiculous. I defended you and your good intentions to the hilt and I've been sat here apologising to you and criticising her behaviour. You're telling me she was right all along?'

‘I wasn't trying to break you up—'

‘Then why are you telling me you're in love with me? What am I supposed to do?' Ben exclaims. ‘Why did you even come looking for me?!'

‘I … I couldn't stop myself.'

He pauses, a log-jammed pause, as if he has so many things to hurl at me he has to stop to sort them into order of priority.

‘I can't believe this. No wonder my wife's walked out on me. Do you honestly think I'm the type of man to put the small matter of being married to one side for a while? That I'd go, well she's down there, I'm up here for a bit, I'll take this opportunity and cheat on her?'

‘No! I wasn't talking about an affair.'

‘What then?' Ben stares me down. ‘I'm married. I intend on staying that way.'

I gulp and slump as if I've been shot. ‘OK.'

‘I'm sorry about you and Rhys. You're not yourself at the moment. I get that. But if I'd thought you thought this was in any way …' he scrambles for the word ‘…
romantic
, I'd have run a mile. God, what kind of impression have I given you?'

I could honestly lean over and retch into the shrubbery from sheer humiliation.

‘It's not your fault. It's just. You said Liv had left …' I trail off.

I comprehend what he's thinking, from his appalled expression, as clearly as if he had more of Rupa's gold letters to spell it out on a wall.
What makes you think I'd be interested if I wasn't married?

I should've known. It became such a cherished memory I couldn't allow the possibility that Ben's passing interest in me was a glitch in space and time, an anomaly, a freak occurrence, the sort of youthful folly you look back on like using Lambrini as a mixer, or MC Hammer pants. I allowed myself the fantasy that being married to Olivia was the reason he wasn't with me. Now that's gone too.

Ben clears his throat. ‘You don't want me, anyway. You're upset after breaking up with Rhys. In fact, I think we've been here before, haven't we? Deja bloody vu.'

‘No!' I cry. ‘He arrived at the ball and you disappeared.'

‘I didn't want to cause a scene by standing there with him. I assumed you'd make your choice. There wasn't going to be a duel.'

I'm almost struggling to get my breath now, to get the words out. ‘I didn't get a chance to choose you. You went. I couldn't bear to leave Rhys standing there. He deserved better than that.'

‘Even staying the night?'

‘What?'

‘The next day I walked to your house, early, to check. His car was outside.'

‘Yes, he stayed over, strictly on the floor. I couldn't throw him out on the street. We talked, he slept, he left, and I went to yours first thing and found you'd gone back to London. You wouldn't take phone calls from me, you didn't reply to my letter. That was it. Over.'

Ben says nothing.

‘Then one day when I rang, I got Abi.'

He winces at this. ‘She wouldn't have meant it.'

‘She wasn't nasty. In fact it was the kindest thing, probably. She told me you'd brought the date of your travelling forward and she didn't understand why I kept calling when you obviously weren't going to talk to me. What was I supposed to do? Come down and camp on your doorstep? I was desperate enough but by then I was sure
you'd
had second thoughts …'

Ben shakes his head. He doesn't want to rake this over, I know. I've not left him much option. He fiddles with the handle on his briefcase, as if reassuring himself he'll be able to make a swift getaway.

‘I didn't know what you were thinking. For the entire time at university, really. Rhys dominated you, and you let him. Sometimes I thought what I felt might be mutual, but other time … and I knew you didn't mean for us to end up in bed. I couldn't tell where your head was afterwards, even though you said nice things. I had to give you some breathing space so you could make a decision. And you did.'

‘I didn't.' I shake my head. ‘Or not the one you think I did.'

‘Hang on, you were with the bloke all this time. You got engaged. Are you honestly saying that wasn't your choice?'

‘I'm not proud of this, but I fell back into being with Rhys. I thought I was a good person to spare him finding out what had happened, the night of the ball. In the end it was much, much crueller. For everyone.'

Ben stares at me. He opens his mouth, closes it. Then says: ‘OK, even so, for three years I gave you all the signs I could, without actually jumping on you. You think with rose-tinted hindsight that you were unlucky, but when I was available you were undecided. Anything you can't have any more starts to look more appealing.'

‘I never decided I didn't want you. I never would.'

‘It was a decision by default. Which is how you seem to make your decisions, by not making them. They happen to you.'

The justice of this hits me like a tin of Spam in a swinging sock. I want to contradict it, with every bone in my body and fibre of my being, but sometimes, there's not enough fresh evidence to appeal.

‘I'm sorry I ran off,' Ben says. ‘That was poor. Bloody hell. Maybe I've got more of my dad about me than I'd like to think.'

We sit in silence again. With the whole truth you're supposed to feel some completion –
closure
, as they say in California. I feel more hopeless than ever. And what's the point of arguing about who's at fault, anyway? We are where we are. Not as if we're going to come to a different conclusion about the past and suddenly present day outcomes will be altered.

‘How did seeing Simon fit in?' Ben asks, eventually.

‘He was interested, it was flattering. You'd said I was nondescript.' This is perhaps too much honesty about my thought processes. ‘For about five minutes, I thought it was possible. It was a way of staying around you, I guess.'

‘You were using him?'

‘Not intentionally.'

‘That's going to be on your headstone. Here Lies Rachel Woodford. Not Intentionally.' He smiles. ‘Mind you, it's about time Simon was on the receiving end.'

His voice is steadier but his eyes keep darting towards me, as if I'm a mesmerising, gruesome museum exhibit: a mummified body with burnt-paper skin and eye-sockets like the wizened scoops left by peach stones.

‘If you hadn't told me Olivia had left, I'd have never said any of this. I'd have let you go.'

He ruffles his hair, tiredly. ‘Yeah, I know. It's never a good idea to be mates with someone you want more from. Take it from a man with bitter experience.'

We sit in silence.

‘I wish I had a time machine,' I say, in a tone of voice that's meant to sound wry and comes out plain defeated.

‘So do I,' Ben says, then waits for the right beat to add. ‘I'd go to Leeds University.'

My laughter mechanism is broken. Also: too true.

‘I'd better be going,' he says, getting up. I nod miserably, getting up as well, fighting an urge to grab him by the lapels and beg.

‘Goodbye.' I try to sound brave, and fail.

‘Come on.' Ben turns back. ‘You'll be OK.'

‘I'll miss you.' I hear the crack in my voice, the desperation,
why don't you care the way I care
, even though he's told me he doesn't, I can't accept it.

‘Oh, Ron …' Ben finally looks sad.

The unexpected resurrection of my nickname sends silent tears rolling down my face. It'll all end in tears, Caroline said, or if she didn't use those exact words, that's what she meant.

‘What were you going to say to me?' I wipe my cheeks with the heel of my hand, ‘Graduation ball, on the dance floor?'

‘I don't remember.'

‘Oh.' Hard gulp.

‘Look, I do. But. It doesn't matter.'

‘It does to me. Please, Ben.'

He looks doubtful about obliging me, and with good reason, as I'm apparently on the verge of nervous collapse. He looks around to ascertain we're still alone, apart from the barefoot guy with his tie wrapped round his forehead, doing tai chi underneath the statue.

‘I was going to tell you,' he says, softly, ‘I'd given my tickets away for the travelling so we could rebook the whole thing when you could come too. I didn't change the date I left. I bought new tickets and went on my own.'

I stare at him through swimming eyes. This is pretty much unbearable. He looks upset and steps forward as if he's going to touch my arm, but his hand drops to his side.

‘Something I want in return,' Ben says, voice still low.

‘Yes. Anything.'

‘Please don't come looking for me again.'

And in a few purposeful strides, he's gone. I bet he had to discipline himself not to run. What a finale.

I walk round and round the park, trying to get my face under control before I go back out in public. The broken heart I can't do anything about. I test my eyesight by reading the inscription on the cross. In this tranquil space, it calmly notes: ‘Around lie the remains of more than twenty-two thousand people'.

How apt. The blossoming idyll is in fact a well-fertilised graveyard.

‘He's going to go back down south and live in this giant gilded cage bought by his in-laws and be miserable,' I say, entering the forty-eighth minute of pointless rehashing with Caroline as abused, patient audience of one. She's already listened to it all the way to Tatton Park, her reward for driving me here.

I'm shouldering a wicker picnic basket, she's carrying the gingham oilskin blanket and cool bag full of clinking bottles. It was Caroline's birthday last week and she nominated a classical concert and fireworks here as her celebration, making us book tickets what feels like a lifetime ago. It confirms the greatness of Caroline's mind: the day's dawned, she has Mindy and Ivor AWOL, status unknown, and Rachel, status, wreck. Visa card debits and a sense of duty are all that's knitting us together.

She and Mindy have already heard the tale, of course. I called them individually. I had to concede it didn't have much of a twist. They both listened with the kind of mounting apprehension you get in the horror genre when the teenagers announce ‘It's nothing but superstition' and go down to the old boat house holding tiki torches.

‘Mmm,' Caroline says, throwing the blanket out, testing the ground underneath for lumps with the toe of her shoe. ‘You don't know that he's going to be miserable.'

I put the basket down, plop in an ungainly heap onto the rug.

‘No,' I say. ‘No. A house, though. No one should force their partner to do something that makes them feel that compromised, surely?'

‘Rachel. It doesn't matter if she's mixing him Paraquat Martinis. He's told you he loves her and he doesn't love you. You have to let this go. I say that as someone who definitely loves you.'