Page 11 of Wish You Once More
The dots jumped again.
Bree: You’ve got my number. Any questions, fire away.
I’d always had her number. I just hadn’t had a reason to use it again until now.
6
Bree
Fuck, fuck,fuck.
Mat Redmond’s message asking who I was tipped me over the edge.
I’d gone back to the studio with the best of intentions to sketch out a few ideas for the chest of drawers Harry had discovered. But a sunny Friday afternoon put paid to the plans. Instead I ended up sitting outside, listening to music and idly scrolling through social media, sipping from a can of lager I found in the fridge.
Until my phone pinged.
Mat: Who is this?
I sat bolt upright, staring at the screen, as if expecting Mat to appear and reach out to me.
Of course, he’d deleted my contact number years ago.
Of course, he wouldn’t know why I was contacting him.
Of course, he didn’t give a shit about me.
Alcohol had made me bold earlier and I regretted it now. My fingers tapped against my thigh, while I tried to think of something witty to say. Then I spotted the kiss on the original message and slapped my forehead with an open palm. Fuck’s sake, why had I done that? Beer goggles, probably.
There were many things I wanted to say in response to his question, but I chose to keep it light and professional, telling him Darla had asked me to get in touch. Hopefully he’d remember her, and it would take the heat off me. He replied almost immediately, saying his brother had told him a lot already, but he’d be in touch if he had questions. Desperate to end the conversation as soon as I could, I told him that was fine and if he had any questions to ask.
Then I switched my phone off.
Going back inside, I sat down at my desk. I flipped open my laptop and fired it up. Switching on the radio station I usually listened to while I was working, I tried to busy myself by reading and responding to emails, anything to try and take my mind off what had happened.
Coming face to face with Mat Redmond after all this time terrified and excited me in equal measures. I hadn’t really thought about him in years. Occasionally, I’d hear a Trash Gun song on the radio, and it would transport me back to their early days when we were at uni. Then I would remember they were the reason we weren’t together, and I’d switch it off.
A message popped up on my screen from Callie, distracting me from my Mat-filled thoughts.
Callie: Is your phone off? I’ve been messaging you.
My gaze flicked up to the railway clock on the wall. Originally sited at Bristol Temple Meads station, the Victorian GWR clock was one of my favourite pieces I’d restored. Harry had found it, and I rescued it from him before anyone else bought it. It was close to five. The afternoon had flown by and I’d achieved very little, except give myself stress and heartburn.
Bree: Must’ve run out of battery. I’ve been working.
Callie would forgive me the tiny lie when she heard why I’d been incommunicado.
Callie: Working? Sure… Harry said you guys had lunch together.
Seriously, gossip travelled fast in this town. It wasn’t unusual for us to have lunch, anyway, given we had a working relationship. I could have been more bothered, but with everything else going on, it wasn’t worth the effort.
Bree: Yeah, we did. You still up for getting a few drinks?
Callie: Why do you think I messaged you? I’m headed to the Black Cap now. Hopefully get a table before all the fucking tourists do.
I laughed. The balancing act between having a decent economy and not being overrun by ‘up-themselves’ London types was a year-round struggle, not just one we faced at festival time.
Bree: Sounds good. I’ll finish up here and join you.
