Читать книгу The Map of Us - Jules Preston - Страница 29

Matt called back an hour later.

‘Sorry,’ he said.

I didn’t say anything for a while.

That’s when he hung up again.

Great.

We’ve been having a lot of conversations like that. Not really conversations. Single words followed by about a thousand miles of tense silence. ‘Sorry’ was fairly common. We’ve both said it. I’ve said it more. Not that I’m counting or anything.

We used to a talk a lot. Nothing profound. Just normal stuff. Endlessly.

I miss it and I don’t.

Sometimes I wanted to talk about things that mattered to me. That didn’t happen so often. That took preparation and timing. Maybe a takeaway. Or a rented DVD from the corner shop. And a bottle of wine. Always a bottle of wine. Or two.

I had to pay for the preparation. Sometimes it worked. I couldn’t always make him listen though. That’s where the timing came in. After the takeaway was normally too soon. After the film had finished and Matt had watched all the special features and deleted scenes and alternate endings – that was my chance. After the bottle of wine was too late.

I don’t buy as much wine now. Or takeaways. I haven’t rented a DVD since he left.

I lied about the wine. I still buy about the same amount. I just get better wine, and it lasts a lot longer.

I’m getting used to the quiet. It’s hard. I talk to myself. There’s no one else.