Chapter 62

I smile at Sarah's Comment. “Yeah, I get that. I already have her number.” Emma gives me a disparaging look. “What?”

“Why didn’t you call her when you got back?”

“Because it’s easier to forget about things.”

“You big fat liar! You never forgot. I know you.”

“And I know you and I should’ve expected you to interfere,” I say with a mock pout.

She crosses her arms. “I don’t want to see you in the same mess as last time you couldn’t cope, William.”

My lips are thin. Nobody gets to dig into what’s going on in my head, apart from Sarah, who doesn’t need to because she’s always uncannily seen right into my thoughts.

“I think you want to talk to each other. You need to give this a chance.”

“Fine.” I cut the conversation dead.

As Emma wanders away, seemingly happy with her actions, I turn back to the gray London outlook. There were many other places I could’ve chosen to go for Christmas; this is the first time I’ve been in England at this time of year since Mum died.

The pull to Sarah is stronger than the memories that keep me away.

* * *

Sarah

My interest in a relationship with Ryan falls away the moment William’s name re-enters my life. I can’t decide whether to let Ryan down gently or break things off altogether.

In the end, I decide to take the coward’s way out; we’re apart over Christmas so I’ll ensure things stay that way. If I’m lucky, he might hook up with someone when he’s in his hometown.

2020

Delusional Sarah envisages William in her life again. A couple of days have passed since I saw Emma and no contact from William. I didn’t factor in that he might not want to see me either, forgetting Emma chose to come to me and he didn’t ask her to. Maybe he’s annoyed that she did.

The sleepless nights and reawakening of hope that the rape never happened could be a waste of time and energy. Emma could’ve dredged my emotions back to the surface for nothing.

I check my emails for the tenth time in an hour. No more messages from Emma. I permitted her to give William my email and mobile number in case he lost them.

The fear he might show up unannounced as he once did follows too, but I don’t think that’s likely.

This time the inbox contains what I’ve waited for.

An email from William.

Emma told me she spoke to you. Can we meet to talk? D

The words float across my vision as I attempt to read between the one line. He signed D — what does that mean? And didn't address me. Is the tone distant? Pissed off?

After several attempts at writing an answer, and an hour of typing and deleting later, I came up with a response.

I did speak to her. If you want to talk, I will. Sarah

I stare at my inbox, but nothing happens apart from a sick and giddy sensation in my stomach. When there's no immediate reply, I make lunch instead of obsessing and returning to a new William message.

But do you want to see me? William

My heart thumps unsure of the answer. Part of me screams yes, but she's hidden down in the Broadbeach memories. Over the past couple of days, I've debated where I'd meet him if we both agreed. Due to his dislike of the general public, our options would be limited.

This emailing is stupid and increases the possibility of miscommunication.

Call me instead so we can arrange something. Do you still have my number? Sarah

I wait.

Of course I do, Sarah. William

Then use it, I mutter at the laptop and slam the lid shut. Setting my phone on the kitchen counter, I stare at it and wait. After ten minutes, there’s no call, so I give up and distract myself by cleaning the kitchen. Jeez, I must be mentally disturbed to attempt such a crazy act.

When the phone rings, I drop the spray bottle of cleaner into the sink in surprise. The number is unknown.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Sarah.”

The familiar yet unfamiliar sound of William’s voice triggers tears I’ve held at bay for weeks, which takes me by complete surprise. Crap, what will I be like if I do see him? I shake as if I’m a teenage girl talking to her first boyfriend, and attempt to speak without letting William know I’m crying.

“Sarah?”

“Sorry.” I clear my throat. “Hi, William.”

“Are you okay to talk? You’re not busy?” His voice. The American tone is back, with a tinge of tired sadness.

“Cleaning the kitchen.”

“Okay.” I hear the amusement and can’t help smiling.

In my mind, I envisaged William, who left for Belgium, the last time I saw him, but I’ve seen in pictures that he looks different from my memories.

Awkward silence. Please can we not do awkward silences, but what else do we have?

“Thanks for calling,” I say

“Sorry, I took so long.”

“It was only half an hour.”

“I mean four months so long,” he says quietly.

“I didn’t expect you to call me after you left. You made your decision. That’s fine.”

“No. I didn’t want to upset you.”

Attempting to wiggle my fingers out of the yellow glove, I shake one across the kitchen. This is as bad as the emails. Until we see each other face to face, this skirting around and small talk won’t change.

“Where do we meet, William?”

There’s rustling as William moves something. “Wherever you want.”

“But not too public.”

“Yeah, probably a good idea.” He pauses. “I understand if you don’t want to be alone with me.”

I screw my eyes closed, the hint at the topic of rape reminding me this isn’t a long-lost lovers’ chat.

“Maybe if Emma is around?” he asks. “You could come here?”

“London?”

“Oh. Sorry, yeah, that’s a long way but I thought you’d prefer that to me coming there.”

“No. I mean, yes. Okay. I guess.” What the hell? Does the William Effect linger after four months and operate over telephones? London and back in one day is a bit much.

“How’s your car?” he asks.

“Failed the MOT. It currently lives on the road outside my flat because I can’t drive anywhere.”

“Ah.” There’s that hint of amusement in his voice again, as if he’s having the same memory as me—our cars colliding. “I can get someone to drive over and collect you then?”

I don’t want to be picked up and deposited in his world. I need this on my terms. “Come here. I want to talk to you here.”

The length of the next pause leaves me with the impression he’s hung up. “William?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m not scared of you, William. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be agreeing to meet.” Another pause. “This is annoying the hell out of me doing this on the phone. Can you just tell me if you want to come over and when?”