Chapter Eleven
The next dangle of the carrot was a couple of months later. Just as Sasha was beginning to move on, Kirk popped up again, with another email, tempting her by seeming to say, see? I can’t forget about you. See? It really was love. See? I can’t move on either.
How many break-ups were clear-cut, Sasha wondered? How many times, from the point of someone saying, ‘we need to talk,’ was that really the end?
How many times was that the last contact, the final chapter, no more epilogues or going back for more? Next to never, Sasha imagined.
Sasha was sitting in her favourite morning coffee shop when the next email arrived. It had become a habit, this morning coffee shop. It had become her haven. Her head was constantly whirring, constantly trying to process the heartbreak that had just happened, and this coffee shop gave her the peace to do it. It had comfy sofas, and strong coffee, and low lighting and good looking waiters; guys with scruffy hair and low-cut jeans, guys whose motorbikes sat parked outside, guys who looked like they snorted powder up their nose at the weekend and spent their Saturday nights banging their heads in a mosh-pit in town, guys that were eye candy.
There was one guy in particular who caught her eye. He had shoulder length dark hair which he pulled back into a ponytail. He had chiselled features and dark eyes. He wore jeans that hugged his cute bum and outlined the contours of his legs. He was cool personified. Sometimes, she’d look up and catch him looking at her, and then he’d look away quickly. It was a fun game and it distracted Sasha momentarily.
Sasha would sit on the low comfy sofa with her hot Americano on the coffee table in front of her. She’d have a notepad of paper on her lap and a pen in her hand and she would write. Write and write and write. Morning pages, she called them, or a diary. A stream of consciousness. It was her therapy. It cleared her head in the morning. She’d get everything off her chest about Kirk and then she’d put the pen and paper away and walk to work and start her day afresh, trying desperately to move on from the constant heartbreak that consumed her.
After a while, someone joined her on the opposing sofa. A woman in her fifties. Attractive. Well-dressed. Smiley. Polite. She wore a wedding ring and an engagement ring. Lucky bitch, Sasha thought, imagining her cosy, settled, suburban lifestyle.
But the woman was too pleasant to be resentful towards. She was smiley and polite, without being gushing or over the top. She made small talk but then knew when to be quiet. It was as if they had an unspoken rule: quiet time.
Sasha would have her head stuck in her writing and Mrs Wedding Ring would have hers stuck in her Kindle and that would be that – perfect quiet.
It got to a stage that Sasha began to keep a seat for her – setting her coat on the empty sofa to deter other customers. And removing the coat when Mrs Wedding Ring came along.
If Sasha was honest, it was for purely selfish reasons. Mrs Wedding Ring knew how to respect the quiet code, while other customers would chat noisily on their phone and interrupt Sasha’s peace. It seemed that Sasha needed a lot of peace at that time. Her head was so chaotic with analysing, figuring out and resolving her heartbreak that it felt that her head was on a washing machine spin of epic proportions.
So, that morning, when Kirk’s email arrived, Sasha was sitting opposite Mrs Wedding Ring.
The email that Kirk sent her was a YouTube link to a song – the Castaway soundtrack. There were no words in his email – just the link to the song.
Sasha knew what that meant. Castaway was a film they had watched together, lying cuddled up in a hotel room together, when they had been wrapped in a cloud of love and togetherness. It was a time that Sasha pined for; a time that seemed so real and so recent and yet it had been snatched from her, as though a thief in the night had left her empty and desolate.
Sasha knew what that soundtrack meant. Kirk had started crying the moment the orchestral tones had flooded out of the TV set that night. It was a song of hope, of determination, of strength over adversity. But most of all, the song was a memory, of that night they’d had together.
Sasha felt her inward spirit soar. It was as if her heart was saying, See? He does love me! I knew it didn’t make sense that he just walked out that day. He does still love me!
Her heart soared with confirmation and validation. I knew it.
In her joy, she found herself telling Mrs Wedding Ring.
“I’ve just got an email from my ex,” she blurted out, despite herself, her face glowing. “He sent me a song.”
Mrs Wedding Ring smiled in a conciliatory manner. “See?” she confirmed. “He’s thinking about you. He still misses you.”
“Yes,” Sasha glowed, despite herself. Even though any other normal girl would have been saying ‘Fuck him! It’s months since he’s been in touch. What? He sends you a poxy song with no words in his email and you’re supposed to jump up and down in excitement?’
But that’s exactly what Sasha was doing internally – jumping up and down in excitement. I knew it. I knew he still loved me!
His email had been sent the night before – in the early hours of the morning. Sasha replied straight away.
“Lovely song. I remember that night we watched that film.”
A reply pinged back from him straightaway. “Indeed! X”
That was it. “Indeed.” There were no more emails for days after that. But it was enough to raise Sasha’s hopes and lift her spirits. He’d be back. She knew it.
Mrs Wedding Ring confided in her one day. “I’m actually widowed,” she said, in response to Sasha’s casual conversation about ‘you and your husband.’
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sasha said with sympathy. She chided herself. All along, she’d put Mrs Wedding Ring down as a smug married, with a perfect life. But here she was with her own grieving.
“He died when he was thirty-four,” she said. “Cancer.” She spoke briefly about what had happened. The sad time, how she had tried to pick herself up. From then on, it was as if there was a bond between them. Both of them nursing private hurts. Both of them experiencing loss. Both of them trying to put on a brave face, to get through the day. Both of them comforted that neither of them was alone.