Читать книгу Love Your Neighbour: A laugh-out-loud love from the author of One Day in December - Kat French, Kat French - Страница 13

Tom stared at the artisan chocolate stand in the busy department store. Shoppers bustled around him, but he stood oblivious and racked his brain to remember Emily’s favourites.

Because this wasn’t just a box of chocolates.

It was an olive branch.

Over the last week or so, something had changed. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he’d sensed a profound difference in Emily.

A subtle detachment, and it scared him witless.

She wasn’t waiting for him any more.

He felt like a prize fool, because he knew with the crystal clarity of the damned that he was just a few steps away from the most colossal fuck-up of his life. Emily’s change of attitude had stripped the scales from his eyes and he’d finally, finally realised that he didn’t want to fuck up.

So many things he hadn’t made the time to say.

So many occasions when he’d made the coward’s choice and run when he should have stayed with Emily and been her rock.

He’d let himself blame her, cast her as the villain of the piece for forcing them through the barrage of tests and check-ups.

He’d allowed himself the luxury of behaving like the victim, and he was deeply, deeply ashamed.

‘Emily?’

Clammy fear settled over his heart at the sight of the suitcase propped against the radiator in the hallway.

He’d left it too late.

Emily came through from the lounge and stood in the doorway, car keys in hand and an expression on her face that went so far beyond sadness that Tom felt his own heart crack open too. Fear paralysed him. He didn’t know whether to pull her into his arms, or if he should just step aside and let her pass.

‘I wrote you a letter,’ she said.

No. No way was this all going to end with a ‘Dear John’.

‘I don’t want to read it. Talk to me instead. Tell me.’

Tears spilled down her cheeks, and he closed the distance between them in two paces and grabbed her hands. ‘In fact, don’t. Don’t say anything. Listen to me first. Please Em, just listen, and then go if you still want to.’

His eyes searched her face as his thumbs rubbed back and forth over her knuckles.

‘I’m so sorry. I’ve been such a prick. I’m never here when you need me. I’ve deliberately missed appointments. Truth is, I’m scared.’

‘Tom …’

‘I can’t make it without you.’ His voice cracked. ‘A family, kids … all that stuff would be great, Em. But if we never get lucky enough, then it just means that I can be selfish and keep you to myself forever.’

He hauled her into his arms, not sure where her tears ended and his own began.

‘We aren’t defined by whether or not we have children, Emily. We are so much better than that. Aren’t we?’ He held her at arm’s length and studied her face. ‘We’ve let this … this thing push its way between us. It’s in our bedroom like an unwelcome mistress. I hate it.’

He touched his fingers against her wedding ring. ‘This means everything to me. Do you still love me?’

Emily nodded. She loved him with all of her being, but that hadn’t stopped her from finding solace in the arms of another man. Guilt ate at her heart as surely as loneliness had eaten away at her fidelity. ‘Of course I do. But I barely see you anymore to love you, Tom. You’d rather be at work, or away. Anywhere but here. And when you are here, it’s worse. I’m so lonely, even when we’re in the same room.’

Tom reached out and cradled her face in his hands, unsure how to pull their relationship back from the cliff edge it teetered on. ‘I don’t know what the future holds, Em. I just know I want to hold you in mine.’

He moulded her against him as she cried, the familiarity of her curves feeling like home under his hands. Comfort slid sideways into raw desire, as instinctive as breathing.

He unbuttoned her blouse, desperate for the warmth of her skin against his own.

Clinging.

Remembering.

Longing.

Reawakening.

Soothing away the bruises from each other’s heart.

Sometime after midnight, Tom dropped a kiss on Emily’s warm shoulder and slipped out of bed, careful not to wake her. He stepped out onto their front step, cigarette lighter in one hand, and Emily’s unopened letter from the mantelpiece in the other.

Should he read it? He could rip open the envelope right now and read the words she’d written, know for certain why she’d stopped waiting for him.

Or should he flick the flame of his lighter against the unopened corner, let what had passed between them over the last few hours be all the truth they needed? His thumb pushed against the cold metal, wanting to burn the unread words, unsure which of the choices was braver or best.