Page 76 of For One Moment With You
He nods. ‘I think I know what you mean.’
* * *
I’ve asked myself over and over, when it comes to Adam, why I’m holding back. And slowly I’m working out what the answer is. Having only just started to find out who I am, I can’t risk losing myself again.
Forty-eight hours later, after a rather quiet and poignant farewell dinner at Nicos’s, Adam drives me to the airport. Neither of us says much; it feels like every other time our paths have crossed, that it’s still not the right time for us, as for the first time I consider that maybe it never will be.
‘Take care of yourself,’ he says in my ear as he hugs me in the drop-off zone.
‘I will.’ Pulling away, I gaze into those gorgeous eyes. ‘You, too.’ I pause. ‘The next step… It will work out, you know.’ I smile. ‘For both of us.’
There isn’t much more to say. We’ve said everything we can. I don’t stop to watch him drive away. Just turn and merge with the crowd making its way towards the terminal building, only as I leave him behind finally realising something.
You see, it’s taken until these last few moments, but I think I’ve worked out what I want.
But first, I have to face everything that brought me here.
25
You must ask for what you really want. Don’t go back to sleep.
RUMI
Inside the airport, I drop my bag and make my way through security. Today, even the duty free doesn’t exert its usual pull as I head for the gate, stopping to buy a coffee and drinking it along the way.
I’m still questioning the wisdom of what I’m doing. But whatever comes next, I have to make this trip back to England. Even though it’s now January and the weather will be appalling; that our family home is not my home any longer. That every fibre of my body is telling me to stay here. To go back, find Adam; that I shouldn’t be leaving him like this. But my head is telling me I have to.
The flight is quiet – four long hours of contemplation during which I replay the weeks that have passed since arriving here. How I felt when I got in the taxi in England that first day, dreaming of going to San Jose before the fog changed my plans; to all the stops and signposts, as well as leaps of faith, that eventually led me to Crete.
And now, I’m going back to England. By choice. I can’t think of anyone in the world who wouldn’t think I’m mad right now, going back to face a cheating husband, a grumpy father and a family home that’s going to be sold – in January – when I could have been staying in Greece.
But sometimes, you just have to face things. There’s also the small matter of the legality of staying. Oh yes, since Brexit, you can’t even do that any more and have to deal with layers of bureaucracy, not to mention mountains of paperwork in order to do so. That, most definitely, is for another day.
As it happens, I’m spared the gloom of January, at least for a few hours; it’s dark by the time my flight lands. Outside the terminal, I find the taxi waiting to drive me back to the house.
‘Had a nice holiday, love?’ the driver asks.
It wasn’t exactly a holiday. And I did spend half the time in hospital. But he doesn’t need to know any of that. ‘Yes, thanks,’ I say, gazing out of the window.
One hour later, when the taxi pulls into the drive, the security light comes on and to my surprise, I notice a car parked outside; trepidation filling me as I realise I’m straight into the thick of everything I came back for. Because it’s Gareth’s car.
My first thought isOh no, he’s broken up with Olivia and moved back.Worse still, he wants me back.Paying the driver, I’m wary as I get out. The driver lugs my suitcase towards the house just as the door opens and Gareth comes out. ‘I’ll take that.’
I follow him in, closing the door behind us. ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you here,’ I say warily.
‘I thought I’d come over and make sure the heating was on.’ He pauses, looking at me. ‘I heard – about you being in hospital – from the boys. Are you OK, now?’
‘I’m fine.’ I take off my jacket. ‘I really am. I nearly wasn’t.’ I take my bag through to the kitchen and seeing a vase of flowers on the table, I stop in my tracks. They can’t be from Gareth. ‘They’re lovely,’ I say.
‘There’s some wine in the fridge. I thought you might like a glass – after your journey.’
Frowning, I turn to look at Gareth. ‘Why are you being so nice? Or maybe, considerate is a better word.’
He looks taken aback. ‘I didn’t like the thought of you coming back to an empty house. Is there something wrong with that?’
Oh my God. We’re doing it already – overreacting to each other, slipping back into those tedious, pointless, niggling exchanges.‘No,’ I say hastily. ‘And I appreciate it. Really. I mean it.’ I get out two glasses. But for once, I’m not walking on eggshells. I’m trying to break a pattern. ‘Why don’t you have a glass with me?’
He hesitates. ‘Just the one.’ Pulling out a chair, he sits down. ‘How are you?’
