“Sorry?” I ask. I’m trashed. I know this. The world isn’t exactly spinning. If I wasn’t feeling so…odd about today, I’d call myself merry. However, I am anything but.
“At the station, when you ran off. I got to you a few seconds before I called your name.”
I turn and look at him. “I feel drunk,” I say, because I don’t exactly understand whether he’s asking me a question that I need to contrive an answer for. Not yet.
“Kitchen,” he barks. “Coffee.”
He makes us some instant coffee and we sit at the little table that’s pushed against the kitchen wall.
“Can I have some milk in it?” I ask hopefully as he presents strong black coffee. “It’s a bit bitter.”
“So am I,” he startles me by saying.
I look at George as he sits down, ignoring my request for milk. I want to stand up and fetch some, but I don’t. I’m unsure if that will help things right now.
“You were running after someone,” he declares. It’s not posed as a question. “I saw him look at you. I saw him say your name. Who was he?”
George saw it too. I don’t know whether to be pleased or mortified. It means I didn’t imagine it, at least.
“No one,” I lie instinctively. I don’t want to talk about it. It won’t help us. It won’t help me by talking about it. It will do no good whatsoever. “No one who means anything to me anymore.” And I know this is also a lie, but in time I’m sure it won’t be.
He holds the handle of his mug and I can see he’s working out how to phrase the next thing he says.
“I didn’t see your face. Just the back of your head. But I saw the speed at which you ran. I’ve never seen you run like that, Hannah.”
I notice he’s not calling me “Gallagher” anymore and I know this is a bad sign.
“I need to know who it was. I think you owe me an explanation as to why you ran away from me that fast—who you were running to.”
I can’t lie anymore. I don’t have it in me and it’s not fair to George. So I tell him. “Davey.”
He looks confused. No idea what I’m talking about. “Who’s that?”
“Davey. The American.”
He still has no idea, and that’s because those words are so entirely devoid of detail. But also I think this says everything about us. I know that I didn’t exactly open up about Davey. But I was honest. I did tell him Davey had dumped me. I used his name. I even told George that we were seeing each other without actually being together. And that the reason Davey finished with me was because he wanted me to live my own life and not stick around while he battled cancer. And as I remind George of this, he starts laughing.
I stop. “Have I said something funny?” I ask quietly.
“Davey?Thatwas Davey?”
“Yes.”
And then he stops laughing. “Video Davey. Davey from thousands of miles away. Davey who you never even fucking met?Davey who dumped you?” I can’t get a word in and he continues. “You leave me standing on a train platform to run after a man you dated, who dumped you, who you never even met?”
I’m silent. It does sound bad.
He tips his head back, looks at the ceiling as if it contains all the answers.
“You ran away from me for a man you’ve never met,” he says, but it’s more to himself, to remind himself torturously.
“I didn’t run away from you. I…acted on impulse. I just ran.”
“That’s not good enough, Hannah. This isn’t good enough.” He slumps in his seat. “This hasn’t been good enough for ages.”
I know this. I’ve known it for such a long time.
“Have I ever asked anything of you?” George demands.
