He’s lying, he’s got to be lying. I press my fingertips into my temples to try and stop the headache that’s building inside. Conner passes me a glass of water and two headache tablets. I throw them both to the back of my throat and swallow both tablets down with the entire contents of the glass. With how much alcohol I’ve consumed the last couple of days, I’m surprised I don’t feel much worse.
Conner takes the glass and passes me a box of tissues. I must look a complete mess with all the crying I’ve done tonight.
“D’you want a cup of tea?” he asks and I can’t help but smile. Conner and his tea. It was such a part of the boy I knew, I’m so glad that hasn’t changed.
“You still need twenty cups a day to function?” He shrugs and gives me that same shy smile as earlier.
“Thirty when I’m in the studio.”
He holds his hand out to me. “Let’s have a cup of tea and some toast, then you can tell me what happened that night and why you were at the hospital.”
I stand and take his hand, realising then that I’m barefoot. My shoes are sitting neatly at the edge of his sofa. He notices me looking at them.
“I like your shoes, the colour matches my favourite guitar,” he says, sounding almost shy.
“Thank you, we obviously have great taste in colour,” I tell him. I want to be angry with him and say something bitchy, but I just haven’t got it in me and, I might possibly still be a little drunk and just can’t think clearly.
“We always did like similar things,” he takes my hand as he speaks and I let him lead me to the kitchen. My thoughts a jumbled mess in my head. How can he not know why I was at the hospital that night? Sophie called him, my brother called him. They both left messages, letting him know what was going on.
Ten minutes later and we’re sitting at his kitchen bench, drinking tea and eating hot, buttery toast. We’ve not really said much, but as Conner gets up to make himself another cup of tea, he says, “So come on then, Meebs, what happened? Tell me why you never turned up that night?”
I take a sip from my cup, grateful that I have some food in my belly and not just alcohol. It’s four in the morning, but I now feel wide awake. Adrenalin is pulsing through my veins.
Fifteen years I’ve waited to have this conversation with him and now finally, the opportunity that I never thought I’d have, is here.
He leans back against the kitchen worktop, his arms crossed over his chest, mug of tea in his hand. Conner was always a bit on the skinny side and he’s still pretty slim now, but he has muscles and I can’t help but cast my eyes over his forearms and his biceps and notice the definition he has going on. His chest is much broader than I remember and he may even be a little taller.
He’s wearing a pair of light blue jeans, a three-quarter sleeved black T-shirt, with a white T or vest underneath. He looks like a model, a rock star but most of all, he just looks like Conner Reed and I feel just like I did back when we were younger… inadequate.
“Do you really not know?” I ask him. “Please don’t lie to spare my feelings. I’d much rather you were honest.”
He looks up at the ceiling like he’s debating telling me something. “Meebs, I stood in that carpark, freezing my bollocks off for an hour waiting for you to show up. I called your phone over and over. I swear to you, I had no idea that you were at the hospital. Now please, will you tell me why? Why you were there?”
He’s telling the truth. Despite the years apart, I know he’s telling the truth. What reason does he have to lie? He’s Conner Reed, he has no reason to lie, and my feelings are irrelevant to him.
“I lost our baby.”
He stares at me blankly for a few seconds, then frowns. “What?”
He really didn’t know. I start to feel nauseous.
How does he not know?
“I spent the afternoon and all night in the hospital losing our baby.”
He shakes his head, his eyes never leaving mine. “No. Meebs… no.” He puts down his drink. Both hands rake through and then grip at his hair.
“Why didn’t you call me? What… I can’t…” I watch as he paces in front of me, still gripping his hair.
“Why? Why the fuck didn’t you ring and tell me what was going on?” he shouts.
“Why? Why? Because I was in the middle of a miscarriage, Con, that’s why. I was in pain, I was bleeding. Sophie rang you, Pearce rang you. All I got was a ‘fuck you, we’re done’ message left on my phone in return.”