Page 54 of Keep in Touch

Slowly she thumbed her tattoo, desperately searching for a bit of logic to fix the situation. She wanted to cry and shout, but instead, she closed her eyes and forced back the tears brimming at her eyes.

“Oh,” Bradley said, dragging her attention back to him. “He told me to tell you that he left something on the table for you.”

“Thanks,” she exclaimed before bolting back to the table. A piece of white paper caught her eye. It was from the art pad she’d bought when she was seventeen years old. On it was her shooting star and a phone number. She smiled. It also held the drawing she’d completed of Chris on the beach eight years earlier. At Chris’s scrawled message, she held her breath, willing herself not to get her hopes up. But the butterflies that had resurrected in her belly refused to listen to her naysaying.

Lucie, meeting you changed my life eight years ago, and I never forgot you. I couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing you again. It hurt enough before because I don’t think I ever stopped loving you. Please keep in touch, Chris

Her heart swelled as she stroked a fingertip across the drawing of the boy with the beautiful green eyes and dimples when he smiled.

“Babe, who was that guy to you?” Bradley asked, knocking into her, his beer sloshing over the number on the paper. “Oh, crap, sorry.”

He grabbed some napkins and dabbed at it, but the number was smudged a little. She made out most of the numbers. There were several combinations she could try to get hold of him. But what if something happened and they missed their moment again? She stared at the image of him that she’d drawn.

Her hands trembled as their weekend from eight years ago flashed through her mind. The moment their eyes first met, the faces Chris made as she drew him, the confidence he’d given her when she’d asked for chocolate chips, the honesty they’d shared, and the way they’d flown together down the hill on their bikes. The images came faster as she got closer to that moment of being in his arms as they danced before her first proper kiss. That weekend had changed her life in so many ways. What if she never got the chance to be that person again?

I have to see him.

Chapter Thirty-Two

“What am I doing here?” Lucie whispered to herself from the corner of the pub. The phone number was blurring even more because of her dabbing. If she ran, maybe she could reach the train and say goodbye properly. She had to have her moment.

“You need to run to see that hearts tie, Chris guy,” Bradley said.

“Yes. I do.” Lucie’s eyes widened. When did Bradley get astute? Maybe they could be friends because she liked this side of him. She searched for her stuff, but she already had it all. This was not the time to fluster but to be decisive. Lucie kissed him on the cheek as if she was kissing goodbye to her old relationships and readying herself for something new.

“I’ll call ya,” Bradley said in her ear.

“Please do.”

She ran through the pub, dodging chairs and avoiding bags people left on the floor. Emma’s shout from the forest repeated in her ears. I need to go get my man.

Lucie gripped the drawing tightly in her hand. Whatever happened, she wasn’t losing this paper that Chris had kept safe all this time.

Lucie dashed across the walkway and ran to the station, thanking no one in particular that she didn’t need to elbow her way through crowds. Her Mary Jane heels and swishing skirt were not ideal for the panicked run, but she kept going, fighting the demons from her past that told her she couldn’t have what she wanted. Nothing was going to stop her from getting to the station.

Concrete and glass loomed in front of her, and she ran headfirst at the electronic doors that opened at the last minute. She squeezed through the gap and continued her pursuit of happiness.

It was like she was back at the holiday village on that Sunday night, bolting through the rain, desperate to get to the beach. She didn’t carry the same fear as she had that night. Something different gripped her belly this time.

Announcements surrounded her, and she caught a whiff of coffee and perfume. Where was he? It was as if she refused to let her eighteen-year-old self fail. That Sunday night, sobbing through the holiday village was one of the worst moments of her life, and if she could go back now, she would have told her eighteen-year-old self that she would do everything to make it okay. Life was going to work out. Was this run her way of telling herself that?

She suddenly stopped in front of the screens that announced which platform each train was on by final destination. It made no sense to be rushing to Chris like this. His train must have gone by now, but she had to try to get to him. She scanned the screens. What was the final destination of the train or what time it should have gone?

She touched her eyes, expecting them to be wet with tears, but there was nothing. Was it because she’d hadn’t given up hope yet? It wasn’t over.

“Excuse me,” she shouted boldly to a guard several metres away. Strangers stared, but she barely saw them. “What platform for the train to Manchester?”

“Manchester? That would be platform five, but it’s—”

She ran to the stairs that led to platform five, shouting a thank you behind her. She didn’t want to hear that the train had gone. She wasn’t losing her opportunity to say goodbye. Not this time.

Suddenly she saw the same grey-haired stranger who’d ploughed into her after her call with Emma before she nearly had an anxiety attack. She shouldn’t stop, but all the realisations she’d had about herself from being with Chris again forced her tosay something. “Hey, you. You banged into me earlier and didn’t apologise.”

The guy looked startled as he fumbled his words. “I expect you walked into me.”

“No, I didn’t. If I had more time, I’d sit you down and talk to you about appropriate phone behaviour and respect, but I have a heart to win. Just don’t do it again, okay?” Lucie refused to move until he agreed even though she knew how imperative time was.

“Okay, sorry.” The stranger shrugged, but his attitude wasn’t the most important thing that second.

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