A few days later, I found myself in the tearoom near the park. There was something comforting about being lonely in a crowd sometimes, for me at least. It was the tearoom I’d met Andrew in, and it wasn’t until I sat down with my decaf coffee and a piece of cake that memories of the last time I’d sat there came flooding back. As I sipped my tea in a strange bubble of solitude amidst the bustling café backdrop, I became acutely aware of a shuffling presence behind me. I turned around, and my eyes instantly met a pair of familiar, piercing blue ones. It took a moment to figure out who they belonged to.
I swallowed hard. ‘Andrew?’ It was as though I’d’ conjoured him up. I could feel that my eyes were puffy and knew I must have looked my worst. He was the last person I expected to see.
For a moment, he looked like a rabbit caught in headlamps, and I wasn’t sure if he was about to flee. ‘Charlotte,’ he said, then after a terrifying moment too long he added, ‘Can I sit down?’
I nodded slowly, still in shock.
‘I read your message,’ he said, as I sat with bated breath. ‘The truth is, as weird as it may sound, I did stupid stuff too when I was going through my rough time. I bit off the heads of well-meaning family members and pushed them away. I thought all kinds of dark things and for quite some time, I wasn’t a nice person to be around. You were going through something too.’
He paused and I wanted to disagree – what was I going through when I set up a fake dating profile? A little bit of husband neglect?
‘Last time we met I called you a bored, spoilt housewife or something along those lines.’ The words stung as much in retrospect as they had at the time. ‘And that was wrong of me. You were lonely. You didn’t know it but your husband wasn’t around if he was off having an affair so you busied yourself with trying to fix the life of your personal trainer because you couldn’t fix your own – but you didn’t know that then did you?’
I stared back at him unsure if he was incredibly insightful or way off the mark. ‘I—’
‘Sorry, let me finish – there’s an apology coming, I swear. Beth would scold me if she saw how I behaved as she always saw the good in people and I did too. I suppose I was embarrassed as the truth is, I did feel a . . . connection with you. When I found out you hadn’t been honest I was so angry, I couldn’t even look at you, never mind think about forgiving you or whatever.’ He took a breath and looked around. ‘I need a drink. Do you want a drink?’ I shook my head and gestured to the almost-full coffee cup in front of me that was probably stone cold but I could no longer face it anyway.
He went to the counter to order and I looked him over. Seeing the sleeves of his white polo shirt wrapped around his biceps sent a swarm of butterflies through my stomach. I didn’t know why he’d even turned up – whether it was by coincidence or if he’d come to find me. Either way, the things I’d wanted to say to him when I’d tried to bump into him in the park were gone and my mind was vacant. All I could do was wait and see what he had to say.
‘So your email,’ he began, placing his drink down on the table. ‘It seemed so honest and it made me think about you. The real you. But it was hard because the personality I’d grown to love—’ His face flushed red. ‘To like had always been associated with Megan’s face. Even after I’d met you in person, I’d catch myself imagining Megan saying those things.’ He allowed his dark hair to fall into his eyes.
Seeing it from his point of view was worse than I’d expected. The whole situation I’d created was awful.
‘You’re very attractive,’ he continued. ‘I’d be punching above my weight to have you or Megan for that matter on my arm if I’m honest, but the whole thing has confused me. You’re voice, your personality, projected on another person’s face. It was horrible, even worse than when I found out Nancy Cartwright, a woman, did the voice of Bart Simpson.’ He smiled, but there was a sadness in his tone that humour couldn’t mask.
I felt a pain in my chest – a concoction of guilt and sadness rolled into one. ‘I understand. I should never have done what I did. This whole outcome just wasn’t on my radar.’
‘The problem I’m having is that I can’t stop thinking about you, Megan, or whoever. I’d deleted my Me & You account and your number because I wanted to move on, but I couldn’t. I missed talking to you and for a while, I tried to convince myself it was because you were the only person I had spoken to properly, for a while at least. So I agreed to a blind date a friend set up. She liked documentaries and wasn’t bothered about travel. She was attractive and nice enough but thought Notting Hill was “contrived” for goodness’ sake and that The Hunger Games was “for kids”. So I’ve been coming here every weekend, going to the local restaurants and pubs, just trying to see you.’
He paused and studied my face, trying to gauge a reaction. I didn’t really know what to say. I was glad he’d forgiven me and there were no hard feelings, and I agreed with him about how nice it was to chat but what did he want from me? What had I wanted from him? Eventually, apparently sensing the silence was growing awkward, he continued.
‘I didn’t have a plan for if I saw you. I wasn’t even going to approach you, so I don’t know why I did it. My teaching salary certainly felt the strain of all those meals out.’ He smiled properly for the first time. Seeing the darkness lift from his face momentarily allowed me to see his features better, like in his photograph on the Me & You website and not in the twisty, downward way they’d been on our previous encounter.
‘I suppose I’m curious.’ He sipped his coffee.
‘I can’t apologise enough,’ I said. ‘I’ve no more secrets, I can assure you.’
‘You are married though.’
‘Not for much longer.’ I glanced down at the natural oak table. ‘I’ve filed for divorce. It seems my husband was actually a serial appreciator of the female form, a bit of a collector if you will,’ I forced a humoured smile. ‘So it turns out he was dishonest about who he was too. I know exactly how you feel.’
‘I’m so sorry to hear that.’ His brows were pressed together, backing up his statement. ‘How long were you married?’
‘Eleven years.’ I pressed my lips together to keep my emotions in.
‘Oh God, that’s awful.’
‘I think he regrets it. But right now, I’m focusing on myself and moving forward.’
‘Those are good things to focus on – it’s all you can do. And you’re pregnant!’
I nodded. ‘I am, but we’ll be fine.’ I patted my stomach for emphasis. I felt a familiarity talking to Andrew, like he was an old friend or something and we slipped into conversation quite naturally. ‘I’m buying a house and it’s all going through. It’s odd, but I thought I had this perfect life – the perfect husband, the house, cars, and nice holidays – but I’ve come to realise none of it matters. It’s just materialistic nonsense that doesn’t matter; it doesn’t mean anything. This baby matters to me and that’s it. Being alone doesn’t scare me.’
Andrew nodded slowly. ‘I know what you mean about focusing on what’s important. When Beth got ill, things were put into perspective pretty quickly. We’d been saving hard for a new kitchen and when she was diagnosed, ten thousand pounds was sitting in an account, ready to plough into shiny new cupboards and an integrated fridge.’ He let out a humourless laugh. ‘Once she was diagnosed I just felt sick to the stomach. I resented all the late nights I’d spent offering tuition after school and all the overtime she’d done just to gather this pile of meaningless cash when, actually, those nights could’ve been—’ His voice trembled and cut off and he sipped his coffee, which I guessed was to mask his emotion. ‘Spent together,’ he finished.
It was hard not to notice the tears welling up in his eyes even though he’d turned his head towards the cake counter. His pain seemed to jump across the table and puncture my chest.
‘I can’t begin to imagine,’ I said sympathetically. I wanted to reach across the table and put my hand over his, but I couldn’t. It wasn’t right; I was still the deceptive woman who’d spun him a web of lies.
He took a deep breath. ‘When it was clear she wasn’t going to get better, we spent the money on trips, days out, and silly things she’d always wanted to buy but could never justify the expense of. We managed to blow the lot.’ He smiled. ‘Ten thousand pounds of memories.’
‘Money well spent,’ I said softly. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hands, and I looked away to allow him some privacy.
‘Focusing on your baby will never make you sad or regretful,’ he said. We’d both learned the lesson the hard way – him harder than me, but we were both in the same place now.
‘I know.’ I was at risk of tearing up myself so drew a breath. ‘And that’s exactly what I’m doing.’
‘What does your husband think about the divorce?’
‘He thought it was a whim, that I was teaching him a lesson and it would soon pass, I think. He’s so self-sure that I don’t think he could imagine a woman turning him down at any cost. Perhaps I’m actually the first. It certainly doesn’t seem as though the women at work were keen on turning him down.’
‘I’m sorry, you don’t deserve that.’
‘And no one deserves what you’ve been through,’ I replied.
We sat in silence for a moment. ‘How about we start again?’ he asked suddenly. ‘As friends?’
I nodded. After everything that had gone on, friends sounded perfect. ‘I’d like that.’
‘Hello, I’m Andrew Watts.’ He reached his hand across the table and I shook it.
‘And I’m Charlotte Emsworth, soon to be Thomas.’
We chatted as friends for a while and I realised something. When I’d told Kate and Megan I didn’t need a man, I didn’t know it at the time but I meant it. My new life was all figured out and executed by me. What I’d actually craved was a friend. Andrew’s friendship, because we’d clicked.
I left the tearoom feeling much lighter and happier than I had in a long time. Patching things up with Andrew relieved me of the niggling feeling that had encroached upon me after he’d found out I wasn’t Megan. I still couldn’t believe he’d forgiven me after what I’d done, but as he explained, life was just too short to push away the people you get along with.
The pieces of my life were starting to fall into place and as I walked back to my car in the warm afternoon sunshine, I felt like I’d weathered the storm and it had passed, leaving me battered and bruised but still intact.
I felt so good, I went straight back to Megan’s with a plan in mind. The house was in darkness when I arrived home, but that made it all the better – nobody was home. I went upstairs and rummaged around in my drawers and cupboards looking for the white envelope I’d got for James all those months ago, when spending a few weeks on a beach with him was all I could imagine wanting.
By the time I’d concluded my hunt, it looked like a mini tornado had passed through the small room, but I didn’t care as I clutched that envelope in triumph. Ten thousand pounds was what it had taken to buy happy memories for Andrew and his wife – ten thousand pounds that they’d scrimped and saved for. The exact same amount that I’d frittered away on a luxury holiday without a second thought all because I’d felt a little bit sorry for myself because my husband was working too much. It put things into perspective, all right. Ten thousand pounds could mean so much more than a pick-me-up for a bored, rich housewife.
I popped the tickets on the kitchen table and wrote a short note:
To Megan and Sam,
A little treat to cheer you both up after everything you’ve been through. Make some memories.
Charlotte
x
I’d have to get the names changed on the documents, but it shouldn’t be too big an issue to do, and Megan and Sam would get so much more from the trip than I would, sitting alone, tummy blossoming on a beach, unable to sip a Piña Colada. It was the right thing to do, and leaving it there for them gave me a feeling so much better than the one I’d had when booking it for me and James. I knew Megan would never have experienced a holiday like that – in a beautiful sea cottage with a glass floor. It would be sheer luxury, the kind I had taken for granted for years, and she deserved it.
I decided to check into a hotel that night to give her and Sam space to talk and get excited about the trip, but also because I didn’t want any gushy thanks. As I lay on the bed I got thinking. At the start of the year, I’d had no idea what lay ahead. I’d expected another year of keeping the house nice, having luxury holidays, and keeping my charity work going and rebounding backhanded compliments with the likes of Lauren, but there I was, pregnant, single, and much less financially secure.
In the solitary confinement of my hotel room, I dared to admit something to myself. It was something that was growing slowly, consuming me a little bit more every day.
I was scared.