Page 76 of Ex in the City
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Rowan greets me at the front door. It’s late – the boys will most definitely be asleep – but from the look on his face I can tell that he wants to talk, so it’s probably for the best.
I open my mouth to say something, but nothing springs to mind. Before I have a chance to figure it out, Rowan grabs me and pulls me close. He hugs me, and it is warm, and comforting, and everything I need right now.
I relax in his arms, his familiar embrace soothing me.
‘Come on,’ he says as he releases me. ‘Let’s sit down, in the lounge. Let’s talk.’
I abandon my bags in the hall. I’m knackered, after one hell of a draining day.
The first thing I did, after I saw the messages, was call the hotel and see if I could book my room for another night – which thankfully I could. It wasn’t that I wanted to stay another night, far from it, but I was too scared to leave the room. I worried that there might be paparazzi lingering around, and that I might bump into one or, worse, that I might bump into Dylan or anyone else on the tour.
So the plan was to hole up there, to wait it out for a few hours, wait for it to get dark and then head home with minimal attention. I guess it worked, no one spoke to me, although I was paranoid the whole time, wondering if people were staring at me, if they recognised me from the online article. Anyway, I’m here now.
‘Let me start by saying this,’ Rowan begins, taking a deep breath. ‘I have, well and truly, monumentally fucked up. I’ve been stupid. I got caught up in some stupid scheme, I put myself, you and our entire family at risk. And I let myself get manipulated by Carrie – she didn’t want me, it was all part of the plan, to get me involved. But still, there are no excuses, and no apologies that will ever come close to making this right, and I am certain that you will never forgive me. But I’m willing to try, to spend every day, for the rest of my life, making it up to you. I love you, the boys love you – we will love you forever. But, if you decide that we are not what you want, that’s okay too. There will always be a place for you here, even if it’s just to visit. You can see the boys anytime you want, no matter what. But I hope you come back to me, I hope you stay, I hope you give me another chance.’
I give him a slight smile. It’s a huge relief, to hear that I can see the kids no matter what happens, because the thought of suddenly up and leaving them, of never seeing them again, it’s one of the reasons I stuck it out as long as I did.
Wouldn’t it be nice to believe him, to forgive him, to try to get our family back on track? If being with Dylan again – even briefly – has taught me anything it’s that the fireworks just aren’t worth it, they’re not realistic – or, at the very least, they come at a huge cost. I want to believe that the people we ultimately settle down with are the big, amazing loves of our lives, the ones who give us fireworks, who set our skin on fire with their touch, the people who the butterflies just never wearoff with… but the kind of people who give us the above are never the ones who actually settle down.
If you want the explosions then you need to accept the noise, the mess, the casualties. Maybe I was silly, to dismiss Rowan so quickly, to feel so apathetic when we were together – even before the mess. It doesn’t change what he did, and I don’t think I can ever forgive him, or get that trust back. It’s almost funny, in a world where it seems like no one can be trusted, who do you give your heart to? Perhaps it’s best I don’t give it to anyone.
‘Rowan, even if I could forget about all of that, I still can’t get over what you did at the fundraiser,’ I tell him. ‘You’re telling me you made a mistake, that you got caught up in a moment. But what happened at the fundraiser was different, it was cold and calculated and cruel.’
‘I didn’t know what else to do,’ he says. ‘I was ambushed, by the mums, when they presented me with all this information about you and Dylan. I was hurt that you didn’t tell me, and watching the two of you getting closer again terrified me – not just because I thought I was going to lose you, to him, but because I was scared he was going to hurt you. And I suppose he has.’
‘Hmm,’ I say simply. ‘You saw the article then.’
‘I did,’ he replies. ‘And, look, I’m not exactly happy about that article being out there, but I know you, so well, and I know you would never touch a drug.’
‘Thanks,’ I say softly.
It is nice, that he knows me like that, that he can just look at it and know that it’s not me.
‘I know you won’t have touched them, and, as far as Dylan goes, look, I hurt you, I cheated on you – I don’t like it, but if we can say we’ve levelled the playing field?—’
‘Wait, what do you mean?’ I interrupt him.
‘I mean, you sleeping with Dylan, I don’t like it, but it seems to me like he set his sights on you from the day he arrived here, and I don’t blame you, for going for it,’ he explains.
‘You can tell that’s me in the photo?’ I check.
‘Well,Ican, Nicole, I know your body like the back of my hand,’ he tells me with a smile, like it’s some kind of compliment. ‘But I don’t think anyone else is going to know for sure and, even if they thought they did, I don’t care. It’s our business, not theirs. I can find a way past this, if you can.’
I sigh. Obviously I plan on clearing my name but, I don’t know, part of me hoped that Rowan really would know, deep down, that I would never be involved in a ‘drug-fuelled romp’ at a party.
‘I think I need to get some sleep,’ I tell him. ‘Clear my head.’
‘Of course,’ he replies. ‘But think about what I said. Whatever you want to do, I respect it.’
Rowan takes my face in his hands and places a light peck on my lips.
I head back to the hall, grab my case and head upstairs.
It makes me sad that he couldn’t just tell from looking at that photo that it wasn’t me. It was so clearly the blonde girl, the one who invited herself and her friends to the party – although I spent most of the night, while I was there, looking at the back of her head, so perhaps that’s why it is so obvious to me.
Could I track her down? I’m sure I could channel my inner journalist, if I wanted to, although I didn’t get her name, so I wouldn’t know where to begin – and do I even care? It would be good (to say the least) to clear my name, but what’s the point? I cleared my name before, and people still dragged it up years later, and as far as Dylan goes, well, if it’s another decade before I see him again, I can’t say I’ll be disappointed.
