Page 3 of The Wedding Pact
‘But the thing is, couldn’t he have just said no? That he wasn’t ready to live together? We didn’t have to split up over it.’
‘What exactly did he say?’ Bel probed.
‘I told him that the perfect flat had become available, and that I really wanted to live there, with him, and that it would be a perfect next step in our relationship. Although, maybe instead of “our relationship” I might have said “our blossoming love”, but I was clearly only joking.’
‘ … And what did he say?’
August sniffed. ‘Well, he said no, that he wasn’t ready to live together. Then we got into a huge argument and I think … that’s when I started acting like a toddler being told I couldn’t have what I wanted.’
August could practically hear Bel rolling her eyes at her over the phone.
She continued. ‘I said something about how, if he didn’t want to live with me I’d find someone else who would, and move in without him. And he said, “Okay, sounds great,” and then somehow things escalated, and the last thing I remember screaming at him was howclearlyhe had a problem with the way I buttered my toast in the morning, and if he couldn’t get past that he could just fuck off for ever.’
Bel sighed on the end of the phone. ‘Wow. How did your weird toast buttering come into it?’
‘I do not have weird toast buttering!’
‘Who else in the world slices lumps of butter and presses it between two slices of blackened bread?’
‘Whatever,’ grumped August. ‘I just felt like he was always judging me for it.’
‘Are you sure you’ve split up completely? This isn’t just a fight?’
August knew. She was glossing over the details to her best friend, but they’d said some mean things to each other. The flat had just been the catalyst, a reason for James to put the brakes on like he’d been intending to before things went any further. They’d been on different pages and that was painfully clear now. Yes, four months was early to ask to move in with someone, but August had felt ready. Or, at least, she was willing to be ready if it meant having someone to help split the cost of living in the flat on Elizabeth Street with.
August picked the phone off her cheek and pulled herself into a sitting position. ‘Yes, we’re done. But it’s fine. What are you doing today?’
‘Steve and I had been planning to pop out to Marshfield to visit his mum, but I can come over to yours if you like? We could go to the spa? Or the Pump Room for an afternoon tea, because we haven’t played at being tourists for months?’
‘No, that’s fine, let’s do that soon, when I’m feeling a bit stronger, but for now, you and Steve go ahead to Marshfield.’
Bel paused. ‘Would you like to come to visit Steve’s mum?’
‘No really, I’m fine. I just needed a little vent. Thanks, though.’
‘Okay, sugarplum. Well, take care today and call me if you need another vent,’ said Bel.
‘Will do,’ answered August, and she bid Bel goodbye.
August sat on her bed staring into space, feeling like she wouldn’t look out of place as a background player in a sad music video right now.
Something was bothering her, and it wasn’t just the break-up.
Her eyes scanned her bedroom, resting briefly on the shadows James had left behind on his last visit: a notepad with a message scrawled in his handwriting, a pair of his headphones, a book of hers which he’d taken off the shelf and not put back (stupid prick). Try as she might, she couldn’t convince herself that James, or rather his departure, was what was needling her. It was the loss of an opportunity; the feeling that her long-held dream, which she’d always believed would be a catalyst to her other dreams coming true, was slipping away from her grasp, after being so close.
August’s grandmother’s voice entered her head, as clear as it was before she’d passed away. ‘One day you’ll grow up to be successful enough to live in that house,’ she’d told her, pointing at Number Eighteen, Elizabeth Street while August’s six-year-old self looked ahead in awe.
August stood up. She didn’t need James, not at all. Why the hell should she tangle her dreams up with him? Sure, it would have been easy to rent with him, and logical, she thought, but she could probably, somehow, string together enough rent to keep her going until she did manage to find a flatmate. Perhaps her temp job in the press office of a historical holidays company, which wasn’t actually so temp, if she were honest, would fancy giving her a raise? Or maybe she could try and get some more acting work …
Either way, all she’d need was a little creativity and a stroke of luck that somebody would materialise who would be ready, and willing, to move in with her at the drop of a hat. It would be fine. Where there’s a will there’s a way, and all that.
This had been August’s dream home since she was six years old, and now, aged thirty-one, she had a chance to make that dream real. She wouldn’t let it drift by; she would grab it and force it to become her real life. ‘Come back!’ she said out loud.
Chapter 4
Flynn
Elsewhere in Bath, Flynn woke up, if that’s what you call it when a zombie takes its first parched gasp as it comes back from the dead. That’s how Flynn felt when he came to, following a night – more like half a night – on the lumpiest of all the hotel beds in the world. The hotel wasn’t as close to the bus station as he’d imagined, so he’d ended up wheeling his large case up and down several streets for a good fifteen minutes in the middle of the night, passing a number of more appealing accommodations, before he found it.
