Page 51 of Conviction
Ten minutes later we’re sittingat his kitchen bench, drinking tea and eating hot, buttery toast. We’ve not really said much, but as Conner gets up to make himself another cup of tea, he says, “So come on then, Meebs, what happened? Tell me why you never turned up that night?”
I take a sip from my cup, grateful that I have some food in my belly and not just alcohol. It’s four in the morning, but I now feel wide awake. Adrenaline is pulsing through my veins.
Fifteen years I’ve waited to have this conversation with him and now finally, the opportunity that I never thought I’d have, is here.
He leans back against the kitchen worktop, his arms crossed over his chest, mug of tea in his hand. Conner was always a bit on the skinny side, and he’s still pretty slim now, but he has muscles, and I can’t help but cast my eyes over his forearms and his biceps and notice the definition he has going on. His chest is much broader than I remember and he may even be a little taller.
He’s wearing a pair of light blue jeans, a three-quarter sleeved black T-shirt, with a white T or vest underneath. He looks like a model, a rock star, but most of all, he looks like Conner Reed, and I feel just like I did back when we were younger… inadequate.
“Do you really not know?” I ask him. “Please don’t lie to spare my feelings. I’d much rather you were honest.”
He looks up at the ceiling like he’s debating telling me something. “Meebs, I stood in that carpark, freezing my bollocks off for an hour waiting for you to show up. I called your phone over and over. I swear to you, I had no idea that you were at the hospital. Now please, will you tell me why? Why you were there?”
He’s telling the truth. Despite the years apart, I know he’s telling the truth. What reason does he have to lie? He’s Conner Reed, he has zero reasons to lie, my feelings are irrelevant to him.
“I lost our baby.”
He stares at me blankly for a few seconds, then frowns. “What?”
He really didn’t know. I start to feel nauseous.
How does he not know?
“I spent the afternoon and all night in the hospital losing our baby.”
He shakes his head, his eyes never leaving mine. “No. Meebs… no.” He puts down his drink. Both hands rake through and then grip at his hair.
“Why didn’t you call me? What… I can’t…” I watch as he paces in front of me, still gripping his hair.
“Why? Why the fuck didn’t you ring and tell me what was going on?” he shouts.
“Why? Why? Because I was in the middle of a miscarriage, Con, that’s why. I was in pain, I was bleeding. Sophie rang you, Pearce rang you. All I got was a ‘fuck you, we’re done’ message left on my phone in return.”
“No,” he shouts. “No fucking way. I got nothing. I called your phone, I called Sophie’s. I got nothing. Meebs, I swear, I swear to you.” His eyes are wide as he begs me to believe him. “I didn’t have a clue. No one called, no one left a message. I only left you that message when I didn’t hear from you. When you didn’t show.”
I feel strange. Like I’m floating. My skin prickles, like little shards of ice are settling all over it, but my insides, my belly and my chest, they feel too hot. Almost like everything is bubbling and boiling inside me. My head feels like a snow globe that’s just been shaken, my thoughts, the little white flecks churning around inside. I really don’t know what to think or feel about what he’s telling me. It doesn’t make sense, and I have no idea where to try and start working out what could’ve happened that night. How things could’ve gone so wrong for us.
He leans forward, toward me. His hands gripping the edge of the marble worktop. His beautiful eyes are looking all over my face, and it suddenly strikes me, this is real. We’re really here. After all these years, we’re finally here, together, discussing what happened that night.
We stare at each other in silence for a moment. The churning in my belly and of my thoughts eases mildly as I look into his beautiful blue-green eyes, which are looking more like a grey kind of colour right now. They’re shining like he’s about to cry.
“You know what hurts the most, Meebs? You know what hurt me more than anything?”
I shake my head, my mouth opens to say no, but nothing comes out. So I just shake my head, not breaking his stare.
“After… after the accident, when they locked me up, you were the one person…” His jaw trembles and I ache to reach out to him. “You were the one person I thought I could rely on. I was so sure that you’d get in touch. That even if you’d changed your mind about us running away together, that you loved me enough to reach out, to visit or write me a letter at least. My brother was killed, and I was remanded, locked up.” The expression on his face changes, his tone becomes harsh. “You abandoned me, Meebs. You did exactly what everyone warned me you’d do. You proved that I wasn’t good enough, that I was just your bit of rough. You stayed away,” he sobs out the last few words and tears run down his face. He wipes his nose with the back of his hand and storms out through the timber doors and onto a decked area, which seems to run around the ground floor of the house.
“I thought you’d left me in the hospital, Con. I thought you didn’t care. I stayed away because it’s what I thought you wanted,” I shout after him. I sit motionless for a few moments, then move my hands to grip my head. If I press down hard enough, it might hold my thoughts still.
None of this makes any sense. Sophie’s my best friend, she wouldn’t lie to me about calling Conner that day. Josh was Reed’s best friend. I gave him the letter I wrote to take to the prison and give to Conner when he went to visit. Josh promised that he would.Why would they lie? Why would either of them want to lie to us?
I get up from the stool and go in search of a bathroom. I seriously need to wee and maybe vomit, I’ve not decided yet, and I most definitely need to splash my face with some cold water.
The guest bathroom isn’t hard to find, and once I’m done, I wash my hands and splash my face with cold water, I no longer feel the need to be sick. I wipe the makeup from under my eyes and head back out to Conner. Determined to get to the bottom of whatever went on, all those years ago.
Conner is leaning with oneelbow resting on the wooden handrail that runs around the deck. He’s smoking a cigarette while looking out over a large pool below. He doesn’t look at me as I lean my back against the handrail and watch him.
“I wrote to you,” I tell him, eventually.
