Page 97 of Better Left Unsent

He’s leaving.

He’sleavingand this is it. This is his last day. The last time he will probably ever drive out of this car park.

This could be the last time I see him again. And I’ve ruined it. I have ruined this beautiful, perfect thing I had with this beautiful, perfect person.

‘Oh. Jack,’ says Petra.

‘Hey,’ he says.

‘All packed?’ She sips her prosecco and holds up the bottle. ‘I’m engaged.’

Jack smiles then. A small, but genuine, warm smile. ‘Congratulations, Petra. That’s really awesome.’

‘Hope it doesn’t go horribly wrong!’ she says in a giggly sing-song. Then she stumbles and holds a hand out on my car. ‘Oops .?.?.’

I press the fob to unlock the doors on my car. ‘You can get inside, Petra.’

She does a tiny salute with an index finger and gets into the passenger seat.

Jack looks at me, and I look at him. I can’t believe I ever doubted him. I hate myself for it.

‘Where are you going?’ I ask.

‘Jonny’s,’ he says. ‘Seeing some friends before I go.’

I nod. And all I want to do in this moment is throw myself at him. Fold my arms around him, breathe him in, beg him not to leave. Say, don’t go, Jack. Please don’t go. I’ll come. I’ll comeanywhereif you’re there. And the words – they sit so close to my lips .?.?. But I can’t. I can’t say them again. ‘Jack, I’m so sorry about earlier. I’m just .?.?. I’m so sorry.’

Jack nods sadly, drops his eyes to the pavement. ‘I know,’ he says.

‘It’s not OK.’

‘I know,’ he says again. And there is something so pained, so resigned about it, that it makes panic rise in my chest. I feel like I’ve lost him. That he might be standing there, but he’s already gone. ‘Where’re you going now?’

I swallow. ‘Owen’s,’ I say shamefully. And then I rush out, ‘Petra checked the records and Owen’s car was here.’

Jack nods, a barely there bob of his head. ‘Well. Good luck,’ he says, shutting the boot of the car and circling to the driver’s side.

I stand, rooted to the spot. Good luck? I think of the rhubarb farm. I think of the treehouse. His kisses, his touch. I feel like someone has shoved a dagger in my heart.

I turn on the damp concrete, my trainer soles crunching on the hard ground.

‘Millie?’

I swing back to face him, tears in my eyes. Hope sparks in my hard. Like a single, struck match.

‘Yes?’

And he says nothing.

There are so many thousands of things I want to say and want to hear.Don’t go. I’ll stay. Come with me. I won’t leave you. I’m so scared to say goodbye. I can’t do this again. I think .?.?. I love you.

He shakes his head, looks down at his feet. ‘Look after yourself,’ he says, gruffly, and a flash of images go through my mind like a flipbook. Pulling me to my feet, Jack Dawson, onInstinct.All that time we had together, and now .?.?. now he’s going. Now he’s as good as gone.

I nod. ‘You too,’ I say, as a tear slides down my cheek.

‘Bye, Millie.’

‘Bye, Jack.’

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