Page 34 of Heart of The Night

‘More than well,’ I said, smiling. ‘He’s beyond dreamlike.’

Olivia dragged out the chair beside her. ‘Right, have a seat. I want to hear every last detail.’

Chuckling, I ambled over, settling down for an exhaustive recap of the date.

‘He didn’t tell me about the medal,’ Jason said once I was done recounting, a bemused expression on his face.

‘Didn’t he?’ I asked.

He shook his head.

‘Maybe he was worried you’d find it cheesy or something,’ Olivia said.

‘Maybe.’ Jason shrugged. ‘But I don’t – not at all. If anything, I find it rather creative.’

‘And a great keepsake,’ I said with a contented sigh. ‘Anyway, I need my bed. Barely slept a wink last night.’

Jason chuckled. ‘Before you go, Livy and I were wondering if you’d be all right with us hosting a small party here next Friday. You’re obviously invited, and so is Will.’

I tipped my head to the side, unsure. The idea of a long night drinking, and wasting the subsequent days recovering from it, wasn’t particularly tempting. ‘I don’t mind you hosting anything, but I can’t promise I’ll attend. I might be swamped with work, even at the weekend. But in that case, I’ll just sleep over at Will’s, or my parents’.’

Jason nodded. ‘All right, thanks.’

‘Of course.’ I turned to Olivia. ‘You’re welcome to crash in my bed again if you want to stay late tonight.’

She gave me a sweet smile. ‘Thanks. I just might, to be honest.’

‘Great. Good night, then.’

‘Good night,’ they echoed.

Sliding my chair back, I took my leave, the low murmur of Olivia and Jason’s focused conversation trailing me as I made my way to my room. As I got ready for bed, I slipped into the T-shirt William had given me the morning after we first met, then tucked the medal from last night under my pillow. Sleep came to me quickly, a contented smile lingering on my lips.

7 | a token from a past

WILLIAM

Last night, the bed felt impossibly large and cold without Cara beside me. The hours dragged, punctuated by restless turns and the hollow sound of my own thoughts. I wanted to bring her back, to fill the emptiness with her presence, but I knew how exhausted she was. She needed rest, a reprieve from my insatiable needs. Yet, the stark quiet of her absence gnawed at me, a dull ache that followed me through the morning as I got ready for lunch with Chloe. The ticking of the clock in my living room, the hum of the refrigerator, the distant murmur of the city – all these sounds seemed to amplify the silence Cara had left behind.

As I was sitting across from Chloe at our favourite haunt, each second still seemed a reminder of my own solitude, as if I were suspended in a limbo until I could see Cara again. It was remarkable how time could deceive the mind, dragging on in moments of longing and slipping away when we wished it would linger. We often regard it as a constant, a silent companion dwelling on the periphery of our consciousness, barely noticed as it marches on. Yet, now and then, it forces its way into our awareness, into the sharp, unforgiving focus of the now. And it often requires only the slightest of triggers, the most mundane of cues – a glance, a word, a familiar setting – to bring about this jarring awareness, reminding us of the weight of each passing second.

Today, Chloe’s face was another such trigger. I found myself studying it, really seeing it, as if for the first time. There was a delicate pallor to her complexion, a canvas of fatigue etched under the warmth of her brown eyes. The insidious tracery of fine lines had begun to weave their way across her skin – playing faintly along her forehead, dancing discreetly at the corners of her eyes, and drawing a vague parenthesis from her nose down to the corners of her mouth.

And there, in those gentle creases and in the weight of her gaze, I saw the passing years. The memories we’d made, the moments we’d shared, they all seemed to surface onto her features. She was not the same woman I’d met all those years ago. But then, was any of us the same as when we started? Time, the silent sculptor, had done its work, shaping, moulding, creating. She was older now, as was I, as were we all. But her trouble with Andy seemed to be ageing her faster.

‘How is he?’ she asked, her gaze veering away as she cradled her cup of tea. Her tone held a cautious embarrassment, possibly for fear I might misconstrue her intentions – that I’d think she was only here to glean news about Andy. But I knew better; I knew she was primarily here for me. Information about Andy was but a bonus, one I willingly provided. Andy was well aware of this – I had made sure of it. He had yet to ask me to stop. Did he trust my discretion or was it sheer indifference? I couldn’t say.

‘He’s as lost as you,’ I replied, meeting her look as I raised my cup of English Breakfast tea. The server’s slight disappointment at my conservative choice had been palpable, given the vast range of exotic blends on offer. She should have realised that some people’s loyalties were tenacious once a particular fondness had taken root.

Chloe exhaled, setting her cup onto its saucer with a sound barely perceptible. My gaze moved to the untouched delicacies that lay carefully arranged on the tiered cake stand between us, an undercurrent of concern stirring within me.

‘Are you going to eat?’ I asked, not bothering to mince my words, for gracefulness was wasted between us. ‘You’ve lost weight since I last saw you.’

Her lips folded into a brief frown, her eyes averted, a silent refusal to the charge. I reached for a cucumber sandwich, biting into its soft freshness, the act serving as a patient fill in the silence. As I swallowed, my fingers gestured toward the smoked salmon sandwiches. ‘These were always your favourite.’

The succession of afternoon teas that Chloe and I had taken in the antiquated grandeur of this hotel’s drawing room had become countless. A shared affinity for the comfort of tradition was an undertow in our friendship, an anchor that held us tethered amidst the tumult of change. Andy and Alex often turned this affection of ours into a source of amusement, but their jests were no deterrent; Chloe and I would merely shrug and smile.

‘I…’ She hesitated. ‘I haven’t had much of an appetite lately.’

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