Page 113 of That Reunited Feeling

“I feel the same amount at home here and there.” But I don’t tell him that that amount is “not at all.”

Hugo pulls open the red door of The Frisky Ferret. “Okay, that’s my physio for the day. Let’s have a pint and try to put a smile on that super grumpy face of yours.”

“I’m not grumpy.”

“Okay, well, I was going to say ‘heartbroken,’ but I thought you might punch me. And if someone caught that on their phoneit would be reframed as me attacking you and any hope of a future career would be even more in the toilet than it already is.”

“You’re worried about getting a job?” I ask in disbelief as we enter the warm relief of the pub and head to the nearest empty table.

“Oh, no.” He points at me. “No, no, no. You don’t get to make me the subject.”

Hugo takes off the parka and hangs it on the back of a wooden chair.

“I’m not heartbroken,” I lie as he eases himself down to sitting.

Hugo’s full belly laugh fills the room and turns a couple heads. “Right, yeah. Sure. If that’s the way you want to play it.”

He blows into his hands to warm them before picking up the laminated drinks menu.

“I’m not.” I take the seat opposite him. “I’m totally fine.” Of course the constant hollow emptiness inside me and the fact I feel like nothing will ever have any meaning without Hannah around means I’m not. But I’m not prepared to admit it to anyone. Even Hugo.

He drops the menu, rests his clasped hands on top of it, and leans toward me. “Now, I know I’m not someone you would ever consider taking relationship advice from?—”

“Too fucking right.” I tap my menu. “The Brown Burrow is the closest they have to British beer.”

“Don’t care,” he says with a look in his eye I don’t recognize. “My main concern right now is that this Hannah business has left my best friend more down than he was three or four months ago when his marriage ended.”

I recoil like he’s just punched me in the face as hard as he punched that reporter.

Well, shit. If rubbish-at-relationships Hugo hasn’t just hit the nail on the fucking head and seen what I haven’t been able to see myself.

I came here tired, fed up, and needing to relax and rejuvenate before heading back to London, raring to go at work and to throw myself headlong into my new life alone.

But here I am, in an even worse state than when I arrived. Fuck, yes, losing Hannah has affected me more than the end of my bloody marriage.

That was definitely not how these couple months were supposed to go. I was supposed to be taking steps forward, not backward. To be feeling better, not worse.

I try to listen to what that tells me, but this revelation is screeching inside my brain like a thrash metal guitar solo.

“You can’t do anything about the timing of when things happen.” Hugo plows on with his out-of-the-blue enlightenment. “Look at me.” He indicates his buggered knee. “I didn’t plan for my career to end right now. Just like you didn’t plan to fall for someone right after your divorce.”

“I can’t cope with you being wise, Hugo. Could you please just order a beer?”

“Honestly, Tom. You can’t always control the timing of your life. Sometimes you have to just go with it.”

I stare at him, speechless for a second. Not only is he talking in platitudes. That one makes actual sense. And it comes from someone who’s learning that lesson in the hardest and most painful way.

But I have no intention of letting him know he might be right.

“Is your new career going to be as a radio show agony uncle?” I point at an imaginary poster in the air between us and read out the imaginary show name and tagline. “‘Dear Hugo: He can’t sort out his own love life, but he’ll give you advice about yours.’”

His attention is back on the menu. “Just don’t leave it too long till you figure out I’m right. And yeah, I’ll have the Brown Burrow.”

34

TOM

Ilean back against the padded headboard in Maggie and Jim’s guest room and pull the duvet higher up my bare chest.

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