When I was seventeen, a couple months before our exams, I told Josh that I was going to propose to Emily, and he chewed me out. Told me that we were too young, and it was a terrible idea. I was so mad that we didn’t talk for a week. Then we had a parents’ evening at school, and his mum turned up looking all frail and red-eyed. I remember hanging back with my mum and dad, watching as Josh’s father barked at his wife, shouting at her in front of all the other parents. I remember Josh’s closed, blank, utterly emotionless face as people turned and stared at him.
I’d known Josh almost all my life, but that was the first time I really understood why he was the way he was. So reserved and closed-off and alone.
Josh is watching me intently. “You still love her,” he says quietly.
“I don’t even really remember her,” I admit, my voice cracking. “I can’t even picture her face anymore. I can’t remember her voice. I don’t…” My eyes suddenly blur. “When I die, my Wikipedia page will still be online. People can watch reruns of my matches. They can listen to the podcast. Emily has none of that. If I forget her, then she may as well not have bloody existed. And she was important. She was so much better than me, and I…”
My lungs collapse inward. I put my head in my hands and try to breathe through the waves of emotion slamming through me, but I can’t get the air in. Josh doesn’t say anything, waiting patiently as I fist my hands in my hair, yanking. “Dunno what’s happening with me,” I finally get out. “I don’t know why I feel like this.”
“You’re grieving,” Josh says, as if I’m a bit thick.
I kick the stone step. My bad knee jolts, pain radiating through the joint, but I don’t care. I want to smack my foot against the concrete. I want to hear the bones crack. “I’m not grieving. She died twelve years ago.”
“Does it feel like she died twelve years ago?”
“Feels like it was yesterday,” I mutter. “And a million years ago at the same time.” Pain shudders in my chest, and I shove it down. “I’m not grieving,” I repeat. “I don’t have the damn right to grieve.”
He frowns. “Of course you do.”
“I don’t,” I say into my hands. “I really, really don’t.”
“But—”
“You don’t know what I did,” I cut him off. “After I left for training. You don’t know what I did to her.”
SEVENTY-ONE
JOSH
I go quiet. I don’t know what to say.
We’ve never talked about this. Almost thirty years of friendship, but we’ve never talked about the seven years of utter radio silence after he joined the national rugby team. We’ve never talked about why he suddenly cut me off, or why I found him, all those years later, drinking himself to death in a hotel room.
“I’m sorry I ignored all your calls,” he mutters, his head bowed. “Wasn’t personal. I wanted to talk to you. Jesus, you were the only person I could talk to. But—”
“Emily,” I surmise.
He nods, scrubbing his face. “I had to get away from this city. I had to get away from our school. When I was playing rugby, I could be a different person. I had new mates. A public persona. I just… threw myself into that, tried to leave all this shit behind.”
“What did you do?” I ask. “What did you do that was so bad?”
“I cheated on her,” he growls, kicking the step again.
I try to hide my surprise. “You cheated on Emily? Before she died?” Zack is the last person I can imagine being unfaithful.
“No,” he says gruffly. “After.”
I narrow my eyes. I’m not sure Zack is really using the word ‘cheating’ right, but I don’t think now is the best time to mention it. “Okay.”
“I started getting with girls two months after she died,” he says, his voice breaking. “Two months. I couldn’t handle it anymore, I couldn’t sleep alone, I couldn’t not… have anyone to hold anymore, I couldn’t do it.” He swallows convulsively. “And isn’t that the shittiest thing I could do to her? Who the Hell has a one-night stand sixty days after their fiancée dies? Even my teammates thought it was harsh. Big rugby dudes who spent every night getting drunk and picking up women, and they were literally shocked that I was sleeping around so soon.”
I don’t say anything.
He looks down at the ring in his hand. “Wasn’t just one, either. It was a new girl every night. For years. S’like I couldn’t help myself.” He swallows. “But the one thing I could say is that I never fell in love with any of those girls. Not one of them. So, no. I don’t love Layla.” He shakes his head, his voice rising. “I can’t. I can’t. It would be—”
“An insult to Emily’s memory?” I ask drily.
He dips his head. “Yeah. That.”
“Do you think it would be more insulting than what you’re doing now?” I ask levelly. “Do you honestly think that Emily wanted you to ruin the rest of your life over her? You think she wanted you to treat a girl who loved you like utter crap, in her memory?” I shake my head. “Zack, if Em heard what you said to Layla in that garden, she’d probably be in tears herself.”
“I don’t know what else to do,” he groans, wiping a hand over his face. “I can’t just forget her.”
“You don’t have to forget someone to move on,” I say, looking at the brick wall opposite us. “When my mum died, it consumed my life. It doesn’t, anymore. Some days, I don’t think of her at all. It doesn’t mean she’s gone.”
He starts to protest, and I cut him off. “You didn’t cheat on Emily, Zack. She was dead. And you were a lonely, heartbroken eighteen-year-old kid who had bad coping mechanisms. That’s it.” I reach out and brace a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve got to let it go. You’re not honouring Emily, you’re just obsessing over her death. You gotta let it go.”
He grimaces, but before he can respond, the door behind us swings open again.
Luke almost trips over us as he falls out of the doorway. His shoulders slump when he sees the two of us. “Jesus. What are you two doing?” His voice rises with anger. “Why the Hell didn’t you answer your phones? I’ve been looking for you everywhere! Zack, what the Hell were you thinking, hitting Donny in front of everyone? It’s already all over social media, for Christ’s sake. As if we weren’t already in enough crap, now you’re assaulting people!? I—”
“I think I’m in love with Layla,” Zack tells him flatly, cutting his tirade short.
That takes the wind right out of Luke’s sails. For a moment, he’s silent, mouth open. “Oh.” He leans against the brick wall, obviously processing that. “Oh.” I watch him swallow. “Me too.”
My eyebrows raise. “When did you come to that conclusion?”
“At the wedding,” he says quietly.
“You knew at the wedding, and you still broke up with her?” Zack asks, coughing to clear his throat. “Mate, you’re worse than me. At least I was in denial.”
Luke dips his head in a curt nod. “I broke up with her because I was in love with her. I thought it was an irresponsible match.”
“Why?” I ask, confused. “I’ve never seen you happier.”
“Yes. Well. It was stupid. And after this past week without her—” he shakes his head. “I’m sick of being a coward.”
I nod. “Me, too.”
“Me, three,” Zack adds morosely. “Poor Layla. We romanced her half to death, then dropped her as soon as she got the balls to tell us how she felt. It’s not her fault she fell in love with three total idiots.”
“We were stupid to think we could teach her anything,” I agree, my mind flashing back to Mother’s Day. I remember Layla dragging me to her pretty pink flat and curling up next to me. I don’t want you to be alone right now. “She was already better at loving someone than all of us combined.”
The three of us are silent for a moment, reflecting. Unseen cars rumble down the nearby road. Horns honk and people laugh as they walk by on the street.
Zack slips Emily’s ring carefully into the pocket of his jeans and stands, taking a deep breath. “Okay,” he says, with more energy than I’ve seen from him all week. “So, how are we gonna get her back, then? ‘Cause something tells me she’s gonna be stubborn.”
SEVENTY-TWO
LAYLA