Busted,she’s written underneath the picture.I need all the gossip. I’m assuming you and George are returning as more than good friends.
It’s not phrased as a question.
I put my phone down and think while I drink my coffee and look at the view. The beach isn’t busy, but guests are already heading toward the loungers, having had breakfast. George and I should get a move on soon. I look at the sea, glimpsed behind tall trees, swaying gently in the breeze.
I pick up my phone again. I have an unstoppable urge to text Davey, which has come from nowhere. I don’t know what possesses me to do this. It’s not to rub it in. Not at all. It’s something else that motivates me to text him. I feel only good things toward him. I always have. But all this time later, I’m in a different place mentally now. And, I hope, so is he. I think I want Davey to know that. And I want him to know I am here for him, if he ever wants to talk.
He must be approaching his second chemo cycle by now. I actually have no idea. I’ve lost track of time, stopped wallowing. It’s what I needed to do. I realize I have George to thank for that. I’d have got there myself, eventually, but George has sped up the process of whatever the strange grief was that I felt when Davey ended things.
I smile as I think about my message. This comes only from a good place. I click online, open up our dormant chat and see that Davey is online too. But not only is he online, he’s typing a message to me. I uncurl myself from my chair, sit up straight, stare at it. “Oh my God,” I mutter, waiting—painfully waiting. I’d long since stopped waiting for messages from Davey to magically appear in my inbox. I’d known he was serious when he ended things. I’d known it was in the cards that I’d never hear from him again. But he’s still typing. Whatever this message is that he’s writing to me, it’s lengthy. I scratch my neck in nervous anticipation.
Behind me, the bathroom door opens and I turn. George emerges, wet, naked, giving me a look that’s unmistakable, and when I don’t immediately move he asks, “Everything OK?” as he sees me stare back down at my phone.
“Yes,” I say. “I’ll hop in the shower in a sec. You get dressed. Grab a table for us.”
“Sure. Want me to raid the buffet for you?”
“Hmm? Oh…yeah, I’ll have pancakes,” I mutter halfheartedly.
“You had them yesterday,” he says and I look back up again.
“Fruit then.”
“You can eat what you like, Hannah,” he laughs. “I wasn’t commenting on the fact they’re covered in sugar and you douse them in syrup.”
I stare at him, totally unable to comprehend what he’s saying. Davey is still typing. Any second now he’s going to hit send and Idon’t know what that’s going to do to me. I actually now think this is incredibly cruel. It’s making me pathetic. Look what I’m doing: sitting here staring at my phone, waiting for a man I’ve never met to throw me a bone. And yet…it’s Davey. I need to know what he wants to say.
“Hannah?” George asks.
“Yeah?”
“Never mind. See you down there.” He’s already thrown on his T-shirt and shorts, his hair ruffled, cute. He puts it in place in the mirror by the door and leaves.
I look down at my phone again. Davey’s offline. And whatever he was typing…he’s not sent it. Is he mid-flow and come to a natural pause? Has he changed his mind entirely? I want to throw my phone in anger. But I’m angry with myself, not with Davey. Whatever innocuous message I was going to send, would it have done that to him? No. I’ll bet it wouldn’t. That’s why I’m angry. If only Davey had been a complete shit, it would have made these feelings easier to bear. Only he wasn’t. Isn’t. He’s a good man who is going through the unthinkable.
He didn’t send the message. He’s offline. As if he was never there. Only hewasthere. And so I’m going to be the brave one. I send exactly what I wanted to send him:Davey, I know we said we wouldn’t speak anymore. Well, you said it. I agreed. But I’m going back on it. Just this once. Because I want you to know that I’m here for you, if you ever need me. I don’t know where you’re at with your treatment, but if you want to talk…you know where I am. I don’t say this to rub anything in, but to let you know that although I miss you, I’m happy. I’m with someone. And he’s kind. So please don’t feel that by getting in contact with me, it would lead to anything complicated. We started as friends. If you want to be that again, we can be. Hannah xxx
I don’t even hesitate. I just hit send.
Chapter 13
Davey
I stare atmy cellphone—Hannah’s words cut like a knife. But honestly, what did I expect? That she would join a convent just because what we had was over? I could see her online as I was typing, and I’ll admit it scared me. Not much scares me in this life. Turns out my two current things are the chemo not working and Hannah being online at the same time as I am. I liked to think that she’d taken me seriously not to contact me. That she had to go live her life, not wait for some dude she’d never met. But I was wrong. She was online. I was online. She messaged me. I chickened out.
I do that a lot. Chicken out. I miss Hannah. But I know that what I did—bringing what we had to a close—was for the best. How can I get through each day here knowing I’ve made some girl on the other side of the Atlantic wait for me? What’s that saying,man makes plans and God laughs.God must be laughing real hard. My plans are all kinds of messy right now. But that doesn’t mean Hannah’s have to be. I think of what should be happening right now. It’s the end of February, and somewhere along the line I missed Valentine’s Day, swept up in my own drama, pulled from appointment to appointment by sheer force of will. I’m glad I missed it. Guilt might have overtaken me, forced me into messaging her. It’s for the best that I don’t. I pull up the picture of herthat she sent me, way back when. I touch her face and my touchscreen cell does all kinds of crazy shit, so I pull my hand away.
The oncologist enters my room. “Hello again, Mr. Carew,” he says, fumbling with the notes on his clipboard. I put my cellphone down on the bed, tell myself to stop being such an idiot, and to get on with the job in hand.
Chapter 14
Hannah
Eleven times. Georgeand I have had sex eleven times during our stay in Phuket. It turns out that if I bribe George with sex, he doesn’t insist we visit more temples and Buddhas. I love the temples and I love Buddhas even more, especially when they’re bright gold, but I just couldn’t see any more. And besides, sex with George is as consistently mind-blowing as he initially led me to believe. And now we’re on the plane, working our way back to England. He’s asleep and I’m nestled against his biceps, staring out of the window, my breathing in tune to the rise and fall of his chest. This was good. Thisisgood, because after dinner last night George made it abundantly clear he wants this to continue when we’re home. We walked down to the water’s edge, both of us shedding our shoes at the shoreline, carrying them in our arms as we walked alongside each other, our toes getting wet.
“If you can put up with my strange working hours…I think we’re good together, Gallagher. I like you. I think you like me.”
“I do.”
