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Rebecca tells herself she doesn’t miss him.
It’s ludicrous to miss someone who was never yours to begin with. Really, she only had him the way every player on the team did, the way the fans did. All of London. The world. He was everyone’s, and because of this he could never have been hers.
Of course with the players there are some tears, a few drunken nights where they tell stories, laughing about Yankee Doodle Dandy and all that he gave them. There’s a bittersweetness to it, but there’s also so much joy. Pissed off their faces, they sing a round of Richmond ‘Til We Die, and then everybody goes home feeling all the better for it.
A collective feeling has settled over Nelson Road in his absence, a kind of happiness that is catching. People smile as they pass each other in the halls, and say ‘I appreciate you’ as a shared vernacular now. Everything has gotten so much sunnier. And so Rebecca tries, my God does she try.
As a new ritual, she sets some time aside on Tuesday mornings and Beard comes up to see her. It’s not in any way a replacement, because they don’t do a lot of talking. Beard has a watchful way about him, and Rebecca certainly feels watched. She knows she’s been obvious. During the last week that their much-beloved coach was here in Richmond, Rebecca gave up pretending she didn’t want him. It was written all over her face, in the slouch of her shoulders. God, how she must have reeked of desperation when she begged him to stay. Or when she suggested she’d happily leave her home, her family, to follow him. It should be embarrassing, but it isn’t. It hurt like hell, but she did it anyway. And though she feels like a walking bruise that will not, cannot heal, she will not apologise. She will not cringe over being someone who dares to show the fragile, vulnerable parts of herself to the person she loves.
Fuck. She needs to stop using that word. The same way she has stopped saying ‘Ted’ unless absolutely forced to.
It’s a game she plays with herself when in the company of others. Can she get away with never mentioning him, and if not can she say as little as possible? Can she change the subject in a way that people don’t notice? It’s too hard having his face everywhere, his name like a jump-scare. Rebecca knows she needs to move on from this. The what-ifs of a life she considered with him, across the ocean. She refuses to be that sad old cow in the top office mooning over a man, even if he is the best man she’s ever known. Despite everything, she still thinks this about him. Because he may not have been able to love her, not in the way she wanted. But he loved her in the way she needed, loved them all into being better than they were.
For Chrissake Rebecca, he isn’t dead.
So, Tuesdays. Beard comes up to her office, ostensibly to talk team strategy, but mostly they sit in silence and share a cup of tea. Beard will drink it without complaint, and she wishes she could talk about this to the one person whose reaction she’s always wanting to hear.
‘You could call him.’
Rebecca blinks out of her revery.
‘Excuse me?’
Beard is staring back at her, his expression impassive.
He shrugs.
‘Just a thought.’
‘No,’ she says. ‘No, we’re not doing this right now.’
‘Ok.’
She narrows her eyes at him, and they sit there in silence for a little bit longer, sipping their tea. She finds herself tapping her foot, fidgeting with her bracelet. Beard’s expression is kind when he looks at her again, which is worse than indifference.
‘He won’t call you, even though he wants to.’
Rebecca wants to throw something, wants to rail at him. But mostly she’s unable to stop herself from rising to it.
‘Does he now?’ she snaps.
Beard takes a sip of his tea in lieu of an answer, and she’s hit with a wave of melancholy, because dear God how she misses Ted. Bodily, misses him. His presence, his smell, his face. Misses how he would natter on at a mile a minute to fill the silence. Even misses being quiet in a room with him, when they were both awkwardly distant with no way to broach it. Misses his godawful puns.
Beard lets out a long breath.
‘He thinks you’re upset with him.’
Rebecca feels her patience leaving her even further.
‘And why would he think that? I swear, one of the best things about you is how little you talk, but if you’ve been saying something to him…’
Beard looks at her, and she can see he’s getting annoyed as well.
‘Look, he’s just a man, Rebecca.’
‘Christ. What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘That he’s no better or worse than anyone else. Makes choices and then lives with them instead of doing the one thing that would fix them.’
She has to end this conversation, has to end it now. She looks over at her laptop and stalls, clicks a few times at her keyboard, as if there’s something that has urgently drawn her attention. Because how dare he? How dare he give her hope?
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she says. ‘There’s nothing to fix.’
That evening she opens a bottle of wine and takes her phone out. After a couple of glasses she becomes brave enough to look at the message thread with Ted. There are a number of gifs from him, dating back to the time before—before he told her he was leaving. The messages peter out after that, like he already knew they weren’t going to be anything to each other, or have anything left to say, and he’d decided to end it early rather than draw it out.
Rebecca feels so furious at this thought, at this whole situation, that she types out an angry little message to him.
I’m not upset with you. Don’t assume that when you won’t deign to talk to me.
And she sends it, even though it is one of her more pathetic lies. Feels regret immediately after she does, and hurriedly tries to find ways to delete it. She has her browser window open with various desperate searches to find out if this might be possible, when Ted replies.
I’m sorry.
And that just sets her off all over again, because how dare he be sorry? It has Rebecca pressing the call button, and before she has a chance to regret this too, he’s answering. There’s silence for a moment. Just his breathing, as if he’s shocked to be on the other end of the line with her.
‘Well, hey.’
His voice gets her right in the guts, like someone has knocked her over. And she can’t find the words either, the ones that were right there on the tip of her tongue, along with her rage.
‘Hi.’
They stay there on the line for a moment, both breathing in and out, and Rebecca feels so emotional just getting this that she can barely stand herself.
‘Christ,’ she says. ‘I shouldn’t have called you. Forget this ever happened.’
But he’s too quick for her.
‘Well then I’d just call you right back, so we’re in a pickle here.’
She hates how much she’s already swooning from his melodic fucking Kansan accent, the rumble of his voice.
‘How’s Henry doing?’ she asks. Because this is the thing Rebecca needs to keep in her mind right now, that little boy. How dearly he must have missed his dad during all the years that Ted stayed in Richmond with her. Little boys need their fathers much more than football team owners need the managers they hired when they were out of their fucking minds. Just a night she spent spiralling over Rupert while downing an entire bottle of red. Rebecca feels like Ted’s done that to her all over again. Marvels at how unhinged she feels just at the thought of him, how even the good ones do that to you.
Ted seems flummoxed by the turn of conversation, like he’d forgotten somehow that he has a son.
‘Oh, well,’ he says. ‘He’s playing football now—I mean soccer.’
This makes Rebecca smile.
‘Is that right?’
‘Doin’ his daddy proud, though he doesn’t know the offside rule too well yet.’
‘To be fair, neither did you.’
He chuckles, some childish glee entering his voice.
‘And I coached a Premiere League team! Man, oh man. That’s just embarrassing.’
‘I don’t know. You did reasonably well, all things considered.’
He pauses now.
‘Really? Because I think I’ve gone and messed things up something terrible.’
‘Ted.’
‘Rebecca,’ he says. ‘There’s things, things I should have said—’
‘Don’t.’
She can’t do this, not when she won’t get to have him. Why did she even think talking to him was a good idea? She closes her eyes and feels the sting of tears, stays quiet so her voice doesn’t wobble, so Ted doesn’t know.
‘What do you want, Rebecca?’ he asks, and for a second she’s tempted to say everything, every thought, every wish she’s ever had.
She clears her throat. Lets out a long breath.
‘Tell me about Henry’s football team, Ted.’
And so they talk about his boy’s junior football team, about the awful tackle last week that had Henry bleeding from his leg. Ted tells her that Henry got right up again afterwards, determined to get back in and play some more. She thinks they both have something to learn from this child. A sort of resilience she knows she’s failing at. There’s a thought, that maybe if she can hold it together long enough, she will be able to make it through this too.
Ted begins to message her again in the coming days. It isn’t a complete return to how it was before. Rebecca doesn’t wake up to ten messages that are all gifs, or a detailed rundown of whatever funny things he’s been thinking of. But there’s a photo of him in some kind of breakfast establishment, eating what look like scones lathered in lumpy white sauce until she realises that no, that’s not what this is.
His message reads:
Now these biscuits are pretty dang excellent. But I kind of miss saying biscuits and meaning cookies.
Rebecca can’t wipe the smile off her face all day, even Roy stops and stares when he sees her, his eyes going soft for a moment. Which really makes her wonder what kind of wretched corpse-walking she’s been doing in the last few months.
A few nights later her phone is ringing, and Rebecca answers it with only a very short moment of hesitation, which she counts as progress.
‘Hi Ted.’
‘Hope you don’t mind,’ he says, and his voice is a little muffled.
‘No, of course, I—’
‘I was just thinking, wonderin’ how you were doing and—’
‘It’s ok.’
There’s a pang, something that hurts when she lets it settle, but she pauses and waits for it to pass.
‘Tell me about your day, Ted,’ she says. ‘What’s been going on?’
And he chuckles.
‘Well, there’s been some developments with the sewage system here, which are sure a hoot and a half.’
‘Excuse me, sewerage?’ she frowns. ‘Am I going to like this conversation? Whose house is this?’
He pauses, and she doesn’t know why.
‘My mom’s, y’see,’ he says, clearing his throat. ‘Just staying here until I can figure out where to put myself.’
‘Oh.’
Rebecca met his mother briefly when she was over in London and she seemed nice enough. But it’s been a few months since Ted’s gone back home, and she’d imagined him settled by now. Thinks of the house she’s pictured him living in more times than she could count. Her wildest, most unrealistic fantasies consist of sharing a room with him there, a simple kitchen, a cosy living room not much bigger than his flat. Somewhere with a large backyard and a long stretch of open sky. When she thinks of Kansas, when she thinks of Ted, she thinks of the sun. Can feel it warming her from the inside out.
She shakes that thought away.
‘So, the sewerage?’
‘Well, the whole septic system’s backed up,’ Ted says. ‘But I found out where it’s all gotten turned around, and let me tell you. Wet-wipes ain’t no joke.’
‘Oh God.’
‘It’s like a… ‘ Ted lets out a long grunt here, and it’s such an unexpectedly guttural sound that Rebecca feels like she might have blacked out for a second. ‘…whole new creature got birthed down here.’
She finds herself blinking a lot.
‘Ted, where are you right now?’
She does not know how her voice came out so husky, or if she is indeed finding a way to be flirtatious during a conversation about shit.
‘Somewhere between two pipes,’ Ted says.
‘You…’ she clears her throat. ‘You don’t need to call me if you’re busy.’
‘Naw I…’ he sounds sheepish. ‘I like the company.’
She sits with the feeling that revelation brings, tries not to let it light her up from the inside.
‘Shouldn’t you get a plumber or something?’
‘Oh, well,’ he says, and something in his tone makes her laugh. ‘You can’t be suggesting that kind of thing to Dottie Lasso. She can’t abide by waste.’
‘But regular sewerage waste is fine, I suppose?’
And he laughs, maybe a bit too long given how unfunny her little pun was, but she’ll take it.
‘Aw, I appreciate ya.’
‘Still,’ she says. ‘I think you should tell your mother to call a professional.’
‘Yeah, naw. I’m here, I’m not really doing anything. And I swear, It’s intuitive.’
‘I’ve no doubt,’ she says, but her tone is clearly placating. ‘I have no stories about shit, I’m afraid. But there has been a recent occasion where one rather unpleasant minority owner got so drunk, he dropped his toupee into his wife’s consommé.’
‘Ooh, tell me! I’m all ears.’
They seem to be settling into the friendship that they had before, when everything was light and simple. Before Rebecca went and fell in love with the poor man and muddied the waters. During their many phone conversations, Ted tells her about some frustrating parents at Henry’s football club, she talks about a sponsor who sent everyone personalised underwear unprompted. And it’s a relief to have this back, even as she longs a little for what could have been. And she feels the distance all the more, with everything being kept so nice. With the clear lines they have both mutually decided they must not cross.
Life continues to move on, and Rebecca enjoys it, of course she does. She may have imagined leaving this all at a moment’s notice, but she loves her job, loves the boys on her team and the community that’s grown around them. The year passes and things Rebecca would usually do with Ted appear in her calendar. And it feels utterly remorseless, the way time just keeps on happening, irrespective of circumstance. The gala is almost upon her again and she thinks for a moment about how she’ll even manage to bear it. Last year, he’d been her date. Of course it was not in any romantic capacity, they were just two single people who were very fond of one another, making things simpler for everyone. For Rebecca would often wonder where Ted was during events like this, would want him on hand to introduce to someone, or just for the comfort of having him close by. That solid form of his, next to her. She can almost feel his body heat if she imagines it hard enough. The way his hand would sometimes brush her own.
‘So you just, what? Ring each other up every day and talk about the fucking weather?’
Keeley is helping her with some of the organising this year, her firm taking care of the PR. Unfortunately, she’s also become rather fixated on Rebecca’s ongoing phone calls with Ted.
‘I’m sorry, when did I give you the green light to offer up any opinion on this situation?’
Keeley isn’t put off by her steely tone. Unbothered, she chews on her thumbnail.
‘It’s best friend shit. That light is always green.’
‘Ugh,’ Rebecca leans her head against the couch cushions.
‘So, things are going well with Ted, then?’
‘Oh it’s fine, splendid…just great.’
Keeley shakes her head.
‘Yeah, I’m really getting that.’
‘It’s just a catch-up, Keeley. We talk about our day, little things and such. And then he goes off to retrieve Henry from school.’
There’s a pause here where neither of them says anything, but things feel weighty at the mention of Ted’s son. Keeley broaches the next question gently.
‘He’s happy over there though, yeah?’
‘I suppose.’
‘But you don’t actually know?’
‘Of course I don’t bloody know!’ Rebecca snaps. ‘I haven’t asked him, have I?’
‘I mean, it seems like a lot of talking happening, without anyone actually saying anything.’
‘Well, I’m sorry my communication with Ted lacks direction.’
‘It’s not a criticism, babe,’ Keeley says. ‘It’s just making me worry that you’re putting yourself out there all over again with him.’
‘Well, stop. I’m a big girl.’
‘Yeah, you’re a glorious fucking tower, Rebecca. But you can still get hurt.’
Rebecca sighs.
‘I know what I’m doing, alright? Believe me, I am harbouring no illusions here about where this is going. Ted made his choice, and I’m fine.’
Keeley just looks at her, and it’s simply infuriating how dewy-eyed with concern she appears.
Rebecca puts on her most no-nonsense tone, brooking no argument.
‘Right,’ she says. ‘You did actually come here so we could work on the bloody gala. So let’s press on, shall we?’
She’s doing absolutely fine, by the way. This isn’t something she spends time stressing about during the moments before she falls asleep. She hasn’t, for example, snapped at poor Leslie over nothing several days in a row, or made him jump and drop all of his papers after slamming her laptop shut too abruptly.
No, this is fine. She is not grinding her teeth again. Because what could she possibly be worried about? She has gotten what she wanted. Ted is in contact with her, they have pleasant conversations most evenings. She knows he’s knee-deep in a Gilmore Girls rewatch, that the flowerbeds in his mother’s garden are a dreadful mess. And he is helping her to figure out how to get her mother’s shepherd’s pie with a cheesy top right, coaching her through it with warm, thoughtful, positive reinforcement. Even when she completely forgets to put salt in.
‘Naw, there’s nothing to stress about there. You can fix that right now. No harm done.’
They’re sitting together in the kitchen, well she’s in her kitchen, Ted is outside. There’s a bird singing somewhere, the garden hose going. Rebecca prods the sodden, sunken-looking thing she has just pulled out of the oven. She’s starving, but she’s not sure she’s quite so desperate.
‘Ted, it looks like wet hot arse. Worse than I looked after my recent calamitous girl’s night out with Keeley and Barbara.’
‘Hmmm, ok. We’re definitely circling back to that, but let me think.’
Then he does something she had no idea was an option, just out of the blue throws them both under the bus.
‘How about you turn on that camera of yours, give me a good peek at it?’
No, she’s not ready for this.
‘Boss? Hey, are you still there?’
There isn’t any time to prepare herself because the notification comes through to switch to facetime, and suddenly there he is on her screen. She blinks and fumbles for her phone, almost dropping it. Finds she can’t breathe. She can see his beautiful face staring back at her illuminated by the afternoon sun. Sees his five o’clock shadow, his hair with the cowlick, falling over his forehead.
‘Oh.’
‘Sorry, I just…’
‘No, it’s good,’ she says, swallowing. ‘To see you.’
She sees his face light up, his dimples becoming more prominent.
‘Well, would you look at that.’
She runs a hand through her hair, feeling ridiculous at how much she is shaking.
They both seem stunned all of a sudden, as if seeing the proof of one another has broken the spell holding all of this together. She swallows, and he lets out a breath. And it’s not a wonderful thing after all. It’s fucking terrifying. An awkward reminder that all is not well. That their little phone chats, their casual back-and-forths in text form have not solved anything. Ted is still over there, and she is over here, and she wants to smack herself for letting it get this far. For letting it hurt her again.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I have to go.’
‘Rebecca—’
She’s supposed to be going to the gala this week, she has a dress, she has all the seating arrangements sorted, the press packs sent out. She finds herself sitting on the couch in her office, flipping through the notecards of her speech, and yet she’s not taking any of it in.
‘Penny for your thoughts?’
She looks up at Leslie, relieved to have a reprieve for a moment.
‘Just thinking that perhaps I’d rather not go at all.’
He nods, but he looks thoughtful.
‘It’s been a difficult year.’
‘Has it though?’ she asks. ‘Everyone else seems to be sailing through it.’
‘Well, yes,’ he says. ‘That’s the thing with heartbreak though, isn’t it?’
She huffs a laugh to cover the sob threatening to rise in her throat.
‘Fuck. I’m so bloody transparent.’
‘You’re allowed to feel sad, Rebecca,’ he says.
‘Yes, but it would be nice if the sad part would hurry up and be done with,’ she wipes under her eyes, blinking away a tear. ‘It’s getting a trifle inconvenient.’
Leslie just hums, and she watches him, the stillness of him. Marvels at how it must feel to have found the love of his life so easily.
‘I know you’re still talking to him,’ he says.
‘Beard has a big mouth for a man who barely fucking talks.’
‘But you do speak to Ted every day, is that right?’
She shrugs.
‘Sometimes,’ she says. ‘Most days.’
She feels ridiculous when she says this out loud. At how pathetic it makes her sound. Unable to move on, unable to fully let him go.
‘Well, forgive me for asking this, but…’ he starts. ‘Is it actually over?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I’m just trying to think about this from Ted’s perspective. You seem to be a big part of his days. He’s not really moved onto anything new professionally, not as far as I know. It’s been months. What is he waiting for?’
‘Stop this,’ she says. ‘Please, Leslie. I asked him to stay on. I’m embarrassed to say what else I offered. He’s not interested in me romantically.’
Leslie is looking at her like he wants to point out something particularly stupid she’s doing, but is far too polite to say so.
‘Maybe you’re actually the brave one, Rebecca.’
‘Oh Christ, I’m hardly that.’
She used to think Ted was the bravest person she’d ever met, but it’s possible that neither of them are made of anything much. They’re just two clueless people unable to step away from a situation that will hurt them. Leslie is watching her closely, and she doesn’t particularly care for the look on his face.
‘Do you love him, Rebecca?’
She swallows the lump in her throat. Own your shit, she thinks.
‘Yes.’
The question is ludicrous, though. The sheer notion that it’s simply that easy. That love is even remotely close to being enough. She can’t do this. She looks down at her hands, clearing her throat.
‘Anyway, there’s still the question of the catering,’ she says, managing to sound more together than she feels.
‘The catering?’
She barrels ahead.
‘Yes, and if you recall the last vendor messed us about dreadfully, and I’d rather make sure the new one isn’t going to do the same.’
If Leslie is surprised by the turn of the conversation he doesn’t say anything. When she looks him in the eye she finds only kindness.
‘Of course, Rebecca,’ he says. ‘I can do that for you.’
Before Rebecca knows it, the gala is here. It’s hard to make herself get ready on the day. She’s wearing a nice enough dress, she supposes. It shows off her shoulders, her arms. Hints a little seductively at her cleavage, without being too scandalous. It’s a dress she would never have been brave enough to wear before any of this. Before Ted, before Keeley. She sees the lines on her face in the mirror, more prominent as each year passes, and reminds herself they are laugh lines. That this is all worth something.
She takes a fortifying breath, and makes her way down the steps, to meet her car outside.
‘Oh.’
She has to take a moment to steady herself, the world seeming to tilt a little beneath her. Because there he is, Ted. He’s standing on her front step like something she might have dreamed up. The streetlights blur as she feels her eyes well up.
‘Hey,’ he says, and then seems to second guess himself when she doesn’t say anything right away. ‘Gosh, I’m sorry. This is probably too much.’
‘Ted…’
He’s wearing a suit with a green tie, his hair ruffled a little from what she expects was a hurried walk from wherever he came from. She can’t seem to get her brain to connect to her mouth and she realises her hands are shaking. His eyes are as warm as she remembers, though they contain a bit of worry.
‘It was meant to be a surprise.’ He swallows like he’s nervous. ‘And then I got all up in my head about it, and then Keeley said—’
‘You’re here to come to the gala?’
With me is unspoken, but they both seem to feel it.
‘Well, yes ma’am. If you’ll have me.’
He holds out his hand then and she takes it, feeling the dip in her stomach.
‘Of course,’ she says, unable to get the waver out of her voice. Of course she’ll have him. She wants nothing more.
There’s so much noise when they arrive together at the venue. The photos being taken, Ted sheepishly smiling beside her. She doesn’t want to let him go, finds she’s gripping him by the hand like a child afraid it’s about to lose something. But he’s right there with her as she talks to the donors, the media figures. People who usually make her feel like a bout of indigestion is imminent come up to her and she can laugh with them easily, saying thank you for your support. Don’t forget to bid in the auction. A man she absolutely loathes makes an awful sexist comment in between his lavish compliments about how well Richmond is doing this season. And she burns a little from it, but Ted is by her side, turning the conversation somewhere else. She feels his hand on her back and she can’t help but beam.
‘You’re fucking glowing, you know that?’
She just smiles and takes the glass of champagne offered by Kelsey.
‘Am I to assume some of this is your doing?’
Keeley shrugs and they both turn to watch Ted talking animatedly with Jamie, Jamie giving him a hug out of nowhere.
‘He wants to be here. I didn’t have to say much.’
Ted looks up and his eyes find hers across the room. Rebecca can’t help but think it, the butterflies accompanying it filling her with a giddy anticipation. Something is happening. Something is beginning. He walks over, saunters really, and she feels charmed without him having to do much of anything.
‘What do you say, Rebecca? Feel like a dance around this ballroom? A little soft shoe?’
She takes his proffered hand.
‘Well, it would be a shame to waste music this good.’
His hand is steady on her shoulder, and she allows herself to be led, no longer surprised by how decent he is at a bit of ballroom dancing, for she has done this before at the same event in a different year. But it feels different this time. It feels poised to become something, like a collective breath is being held.
‘You outdid yourself this year,’ he says, his breath near her ear.
‘That’s good to hear,’ she says. ‘Because between you and me, I really fucking phoned it in.’
He pulls her closer after she says this, and she wishes they would communicate in more than bits and pieces, but she can’t get herself to feel anything but relief at finding herself in his arms again. So, like a coward she leaves it, and she lets him talk about how well Jamie seems to be doing. And did you know Higgie Smalls’ third eldest got into Oxford? And how is Deborah going with that new canning obsession? Rebecca thinks of what Keeley said before, about them talking about the weather.
But she’s soon called away to do all manner of annoying last-minute organisational things. People to charm, the auction to run. And this is the way the night gets away from her. She manages to spot the people she cares about, in bits and pieces. Keeley laughing at something Leslie has said, Beard standing enigmatically to the side, drinking his beer. Eventually she spots Ted, and of course he’s with the boys. Those players who have missed him such a great deal. Colin is chattering away to him, and Isaac McAdoo is bringing him another beer. Even when she has a moment, when she longs to be a part of things she can’t find a place to push in through the crowd. It’s silly. She feels like he’s become everyone else’s again. Perhaps that has never stopped. Perhaps that moment with him on the dance floor was really just a moment.
She misses him again, when things are winding down, can’t find him. can’t nab him and drag him somewhere before he leaves. There’s a panic building in her that she can’t quash, even as she thanks the attendees as they leave. Her smile tight. It’s a feeling that makes her want to go back to the bar and fish out a few bottles of champagne, and drink alone in this feeling back at her flat. But her phone goes off again, and it’s Ted.
It was good to see you.
And for some reason she finds herself inexplicably angry, like she’s feeling all of her losses at once.
It’s late, and she’s knocking repeatedly on Beard’s door. She doesn’t care if she’s out here all night. The air coming in and out of her lungs as she catches her breath.
‘Oh,’ Ted looks pleased when he answers, but he smiles a little uncertainly. ‘Hey, were you—’
‘You’re an arse.’
His eyes widen.
‘Uh, ok, well that’s…’
‘You come all this way, you fly out here like some fucking romantic comedy, and then, what? I’m supposed to simply be ok with that? With you just being gone again?’
‘Rebecca.’
She closes her eyes and breathes, rubs the bridge of her nose, embarrassed.
‘I didn’t just come over here to yell at you.’
She feels his hands on her hands, pulling them away from her face, the gentle squeeze of his grasp. She opens her eyes and sees his beautiful face, forgiving like he always is. Kind.
‘I wanted to talk to you too,’ he says, and he looks down for a second, away from her. ‘I always mean to, never rightly know how. It’s like the words get caught, somewhere in the back of my throat. Heck, I want to yell at my own damn self. Say something, Ted!’
She finds herself smiling.
‘What would you have told me?’
And his expression gets more sober, serious in a way that makes her concerned, until he says:
‘Well, I might start with saying something I should have said a long time ago,’ he says. ‘Thing is, I love you, Rebecca.’
And her heart all but stops, the pain that follows is something not altogether sweet, like a forgotten memory of something she is already mourning. She shoves him in the chest, once.
‘You bastard.’
But her eyes are tearing up, and she can’t figure out if she wants to laugh or cry.
‘Rebecca.’
‘How the bloody hell am I supposed to let you go now?’
‘I’m sorry,’ he says, like he gets it, like he knows the gravity of it all. ‘Gosh, you have no idea how sorry.’
‘No, please, don’t be,’ she shakes her head, and she finds she is laughing now, because this is all so much, so much to contain it hurts to even try. ‘Because I’m not sorry, Ted. Not for loving you, not for any of it.’
She doesn’t know she’s going to kiss him until she does. It’s a barely-there brushing of their lips, but her heart is hammering in her chest and she might be shaking, has to pull back for a second to stop herself from getting overwhelmed. Ted’s eyes are closed, his smile wonderous.
‘Well, gosh.’
She’s smiling too, but there’s a bike rushing past, a drunk man laughing. Things bringing them back to where they are.
‘How long are you here?’ she asks, because someone has to.
‘A week,’ he says, swallowing. ‘Just a week.’
She nods, leaning into him, pressing their foreheads together. She can feel him breathing. The solid, real Ted in her arms, and she can’t fathom the idea of saying goodbye to this.
‘So, I said this to you once before, and I meant it then, too.’
His voice is rough when he speaks.
‘What did you say?’
She takes a breath, allows herself a moment to second-guess it, and leaps.
‘You go, I go, Ted.’
He pulls back to look at her, his eye widening as he shakes his head.
‘Rebecca.’
‘But give me a real answer. Can you do that this time?’
He’s looking at her like she’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen.
‘You can’t leave Richmond, Rebecca,’ he says, sounding incredulous.
‘Who says I can’t?’
He pulls her closer to him again, the brush of his moustache against her skin as he kisses her jaw, her neck. She can feel him inhale, like he wants to fill his lungs with her. Drink her up entirely. She lets out a groan.
‘Ted.’
He stops, and she keens in protest, but he starts to speak again, his voice muffled.
‘I don’t know how I feel about you goin’ and doing that.’
‘What, running off to America on a whim?’
And her tone can’t help but be a little sharp here. She feels his breath against her skin as he sighs.
‘I deserve that.’
‘No,’ she says, closing her eyes. ‘You don’t. You want to be there for your son. It was a perfectly understandable decision.’
‘Rebecca.’
‘But I am not living a half-life anymore. I can’t. So I need you to tell me you don’t want this, alright? Just tell me that you’re not on the same page, because otherwise…’
She hates the way her voice wobbles. Ted looks adorably mussed when he pulls back, like he’s still drunk from the gala, or just drunk on whatever this is.
‘Rebecca, there isn’t a world where I wouldn’t want you. I just never thought I had the right to ask. Can we do this? Are we doing this?’
She smiles, cradles his head in her hands, and kisses him, and God, the sheer giddy thrill of it, warming her down to her toes.
‘Someone wise once said to me,’ she says. ‘That if you care about someone, and you have a little love in your heart, there’s nothing you can’t get through together.’
His answering smile is everything. He nods once.
‘Sounds like a smart cookie, whoever that was.’
And something about how wholesome he sounds—how unbelievably good—makes her smile.
‘Of course, we probably need to talk some more about this,’ she says. But she can see how tired Ted looks, even as he is nodding enthusiastically. She grabs a hold of his hand, loves the way it feels to be able to touch him so freely like this. Just to confirm her instincts, he lets out a yawn, trying to blink it away.
‘Gosh, I’m sorry.’
She gives his hand a squeeze.
‘Come on, you. I need a cup of tea or something after all of that.’
He leads her inside Beard’s cosy little flat, a chess board to one side, and a wall of books on football in a shelf by the television, and Ted tells her he doesn’t expect Beard back before some terribly late hour.
He pulls a face when he starts to make her tea, and she loves the familiarity in it.
‘Yeesh,’ he says. ‘I still don’t understand how this pigeon sweat even took off over here.’
‘Do you seriously want me to go into the British Empire’s historical dealings with China tonight, Ted? Because I can.’
He laughs, a joyful, carefree thing that has her leaning against the doorway, her eyes tracing the lines of his smile.
‘You know, I’m kinda curious about how that conversation will play out, but full disclosure, that big ol’ plane trip is gonna hit me with some consequences real soon. So no pop quizzes later.’
She loves him so much that she can barely contain it.
‘I’ll certainly keep that in mind.’
She follows him to the couch, sits close enough that she’s practically in his lap. He chuckles, and she catches the giggles too, feeling giddy with the full effect of Ted, just Ted being here with her in this tiny little flat with nowhere else to be. She eventually rests her head against him, his arm solid around her. The hour turns late, and later still, and yet, neither of them can bear to be parted. She can feel the future stretching in front of them. It doesn’t matter what they talk about.