Page 3 of Note to Self
“Papa? My back!” The pretty little girl with long blonde hair, wearing a flowery summer dress, is holding the hand of a, well, basically, tattooed god of a man.
He bends down. “What have we said about indoor voices, Willow?” He scoops her up and strides confidently through the room. Mr Sexy Rugby Captain is with them, but neither of them notices me in the background.
Motionless, I stand, my feet fixed to the floor like they’re buried in concrete. Tears well up in my eyes. That little girl—Willow—is my niece, not by blood but through love. I want to go after them, hold my niece, but I think stumbling around in here is not going to be welcome.
A door at the side of the room opens, and my brother-in-law steps out. He says something to Willow, then kisses the drop-dead gorgeous man. Well, well. Good for you, Merrick!
They talk for a while. Then the tattooed man and Mr Rugby Captain, Merlin, leave. Merrick leads Willow through the side door.
I back away, intensely aware of the eyes of the blonde woman. I give her a smile, but she looks between me and the closed door, a shrewd smirk teasing the corner of her lip.
Can I greet Merrick? Of course I can. It’s why I’m here. My feet seem to have a life of their own and take me to the door. I knock and wait. It’s too late to walk away now.
The door opens, and Merrick stands in front of me. He looks confused, and I get it. I’m the last man he would expect to see. When the moment clicks, his eyes go wide. “Trent?”
I smile. “Hi, Merrick.”
“Trent? Oh my god, it’s you? You’re here. How did you know where I was?” He scrubs his hand through his curly hair. It’s longer than he used to have it, a cool surfer kind of look, but it suits him. He grabs my arms and pulls me into a strong embrace. I grip the back of his shirt. The hug is full of emotion from both of us, his tremors matching mine.
“This is amazing.” He looks over his shoulder. “Willow, come and meet your uncle Trent.”
Surprise courses through me as Merrick calls me uncle. I didn’t expect him to think of me as that. As he picks her up, I reach out my hand, wanting to touch her, but just as quickly I withdraw it. I’m a stranger to her. “Hello, Willow, I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” I turn to Merrick. “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long.”
“Hey, don’t think like that. I haven’t been in touch with you either. When did you get here? Where are you staying? Ohgod, we’ve got so much to catch up on. I’m ready to leave. Would you like to come to my house? We can share all our news.”
I nod. How can it be this easy? I’ve imagined all kinds of scenes: him slamming the door in my face or telling me to go away as he doesn’t want me in his life. “I’d love to. Is it far? I don’t have my car with me.”
“I’ll drive. Give me a second to sort out everything here, and I’ll be with you.”
“I’ll wait outside.”
Every one of my friends and my family think I’m crazy to move away, and to a little coastal town of all places. But I’ve had enough of the busy city. I want to get my hands dirty, be outside and not have to breathe in air-conditioned air and work under bright LED lighting. I’ve spent too many hours staring at a computer screen to basically line the pockets of people who already have more than they will ever need.
“I give it a year,” my brother Tom says at my farewell party. I love how supportive they all are. Not.
“No way, six months. No one wants to be in a no-nothing town for longer than a long weekend. You’ll get bored.” My best friend, Alex, downs another pint.
“Plus, these kinds of places are bound to be full of cute hetero families. You’ll never get any dick down there. It will be far too strait-laced,” Tom cuts in again.
“I’ll be fine, and if I’m not, I’ll let you do the I-told-you-so dance.”
They chug down more beer and cheer when they finish.
They are going to have some very sore heads and ugly hangovers. Not me. I’m leaving in the morning. I’ve traded my sleek two-seater sports car for a Land Rover Defender.
My one concession to keep my mother happy was not to sell my flat and let my sister stay there. “Just in case,” she said. “I believe you will make it work, but you’ll have a safe place to return to if you need it.”
When the rugby songs start up, I slip out of the pub. They won’t even notice I’ve gone.
My new work phone rings, surprising me. I’ve put up posters and handed out leaflets advertising my new gardening business, but I hadn’t expected any calls yet. I’d prepared myself for the orders to be slim pickings this late in the year.
“Hello, Andrews Gardening Services.”
“Hi, my name’s Merrick Green. I need some garden clearance work done. Is that something you do?”
Happiness bubbles inside me. “Absolutely, yes. I can do that.”
“Can you come over and assess the work needed and a timescale?” he asks, his soft voice more from where I come from than the gentle Devon accent of the locals.
