I didn’t expect to be welcomed with open arms, a passionate kiss, and sex on the conference room table, but thestop right there, don’t come another step closerwarning wasn’t expected either.
A discussion about the book tour was the reason I planned on using to drop in without a scheduled meeting. I had every intention of negotiating the date changes with Jackie next week. After all, she’s in charge of marketing and promotions, not Katie. But when I was met with Katie’s hostility, the bullshit just flew out of my mouth before I could think to stop it.
Katie just made it very obvious she doesn’t want anything to do with me. I rub my hands across my eyes, trying to work out what happens next. I’m not sure if there is a next move though. What the hell did she mean when she said I blew my chances? I didn’t even realize I’d been given a chance. I thought Cornwall was just bad timing for us. My lack of relationship experience puts me at a complete disadvantage. I’ve never been in a long-term, serious relationship, and it’s clear I have no idea how to navigate my way through even a discussion with a woman I’d like to take to dinner.
I’ve been so buried in my writing and recovery that it never occurred to me she wouldn’t want to see me. My few days with Katie in Cornwall seemed to reset what I felt I’d lost with the accident. It unleashed a writing frenzy, and I spent hours every day at my laptop. The only real breaks in those first months after she left were Sean’s torture sessions every couple of days.
Slowly, the pain receded enough for me to stop taking the medications completely, my muscles grew stronger, and I no longer needed the crutches. When I could walk unaided, I introduced a beach walk every day. Eventually, some of those walks became runs. Then, last week, for the first time since the accident, I managed to do a three-mile run. It felt good knowing that the slight limp I will be left with is not going to prevent me from doing all the things I love.
A feeling of wholeness is what brought me to London and to Katie’s conference room. I guess it’s going to take a lot more than that to get Katie to go to dinner with me. I leave the conference room, stopping at her personal assistant’s desk on my way out.
“Hello again, Laura. Ms. Carlson suggested you could schedule a meeting with her and Jackie next week.”
“Of course, let me just check the meeting calendars.” While I wait, I pull my phone from my pocket and bring up my own calendar. I was planning on staying with Aaron for the next three days before driving up to Scotland to see my family. I’ll be having a family Christmas with my mom and siblings. I can delay a few more days if it means I’ll see Katie again.
“Mr. Campbell, is Monday at eleven okay?” I check my phone and add the date and time.
“Aye that’s fine. I’ll look forward to seeing them both then.”
“Sorry, but only Jackie will be available to meet with you. Ms. Carlson is flying to New York on the weekend and won’t be back until early January.” Well, that’s an interesting piece of information. I thank Laura and leave.
Two days is not long enough for me to fix what is clearly broken with Katie before she leaves. I did this to her. I made her hate me by pushing her away in Cornwall. Guilt stabs me like a sharp knife thrust into my ribs, and I run my fingers through my hair, trying to figure out how I’m going to make things right.
I look down at my phone and swipe to the last message I sent to Aaron.
Me:Can you meet me at the Broadway pub at six? I think I’ve fucked up with Katie.
Aaron:Sure. And why am I not surprised you fucked up with a woman?
I ignore his jibe. I’ll save my response for when I see him in an hour and forty minutes. Aaron’s not exactly a relationship guru, but he’s the only option I’ve got to help me sort this mess out.
Maybe between us we can come up with something that might result in me getting a second chance with the woman who inhabits my dreams on a nightly basis. My spur-of-the-moment idea of forcing her to join me for the book tour was a shit one, given the look on her beautiful face. The combination of shock, disgust, and sadness all rolled into a storm of emotion swept over her features before she could mask it. I wanted to snatch the words back.
But it was too late. The damage was done.
I’m early to meet Aaron, so it’s not surprising he isn’t waiting for me when I push through the heavy wood and glass door of the pub. We’ve spent many nights over the years sitting on the same old wooden stools pushed up to the permanently sticky wooden bar, talking or just drinking our pints in silence. Aaron’s place is just around the corner, and this has been our pub from the first day he moved in about five years ago.
I don’t travel to London often, but when I do, I like to spend as little time as possible amongst the city crowds. I’ve always preferred the quieter local pubs like the Broadway rather than the ones on the high street.
I order a pint of the locally brewed craft beer they have on tap and settle onto one of our usual stools. The beer arrives with another splash of froth to the bar, and I eagerly bring it to my lips. The cold liquid going down my throat immediately relieves the tension permeating every cell in my body.
It’s always the same when I’m in a confined space like a train with a bunch of strangers pressed up against me. The push and shove of people as they fight for the few vacant seats. The lights flickering brightly on, then off again while the tube train speeds through the deep tunnels of the underground, then slowing, threatening to stop due to a signal failure or something on the tracks. It’s a terrifying scenario, otherwise known as peak hour on the underground. I could never do this on a regular basis. Maybe I should have had a couple of pints before getting on the tube rather than at the other end.
Unlike some of my former teammates, I don’t suffer from full-blown panic attacks in crowded places, but it still makes my palms sweat and my heart pound, and I end up holding myself so rigid that my muscles ache under the stress. I don’t belong in the city. I need open spaces with views to the horizon, like my house on the Scottish coastline or, more recently, the rental in Cornwall.
Another few gulps of my beer, and I’ve completely recovered. Minutes later, Aaron strides through the door. He’s a big dude, and in his custom-tailored suit, he tends to draw all the attention in a room. A couple of girls sitting at one of the tables running along the back wall track his progress. He doesn’t turn his head, but I know he’s noticed them. Aaron never misses the ladies.
He pulls up the stool beside me. “Awrite! How’s it gaun?” Aaron still speaks with a heavy accent, the same way he did as a kid, and it’s a complete contradiction to the way he looks these days, the professional lawyer. I’ve had to adjust my accent, words, and phrases for my writing, and it’s only when I’m with Aaron or my family that I tend to slip back.
“Hi! I’m fair trashed.” He looks my way and nods. I expect I look as exhausted as I feel. Aaron grabs the bartender’s attention and orders himself a pint. While he waits, he scans the room. Just like me, he still needs to check out everyone and everything in the near vicinity. Patrols along the dirty, dusty streets of Iraq taught us the hard way to never assume a place is safe.
When the pint comes, he turns to me. “Talk to me. How’d you fuck up with yer woman?” I suck down some more beer, then launch into telling him about my meeting with Katie.
By the time I’ve finished, he’s shaking his head and grinning. “For a clever guy, you’re a fucking idiot. Forcing her to see you is never going to work.”
“No shit.”
“Hey, as my mum always says, failing means yer playing!” It’s true. I might be making a mess of everything with Katie, but at least I’m trying.
