As I could have predicted, the boat ride to Dar es Salaam was horribly awkward and uncomfortable. Neither of us had anything to say, not even a comment about the stunning sunset. Nick stood at the helm, staring resolutely ahead, lost in thought, while I sat to his left, the wind whipping through my hair as I counted down the minutes to my departure.
I’d done absolutely the right thing in setting him straight on the situation, I assured myself repeatedly as the boat ate up the nautical miles. I had nothing to feel guilty about. It wasn’t my fault he fancied himself in love with me. He’d soon come to realise he was mistaken and then he’d be amazed he’d ever thought it in the first place. The memories of my time here would fade eventually. By the time we next met, it would be as if none of this had happened.
‘One thing before you go,’ he said, once he’d offloaded my suitcase into the car that was waiting at the quayside.
‘Yes?’ I said, bracing myself for more revelations I didn’t want and would never be ready for.
‘I apologise for the way I’ve made you feel all this time. If I’d known... Well.’ He shoved his hands through his hair then stuck them in the pockets of his jeans, swallowing with apparent difficulty. ‘You said I haven’t had to live with regret, guilt or shame but I will, for that. I’m sorry I hurt you, Millie. I’m sorry I made you feel worthless when you are anything but.’
He took a step back and gave a short nod. ‘Have a good flight.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
INCONTRASTTOthe heat and bright colours of the Indian Ocean, London at the beginning of December was cold and grey, although the twinkling lights strung between lampposts and the Christmassy shop windows did give the illusion of festive bonhomie.
On my return I used up the rest of my leave methodically going through the hundreds of emails clogging up my inbox and the messages I’d received via social media, which wasn’t as traumatic as I’d once thought, and engaging the services of a house finder.
It was with some trepidation that I eventually went back to work and I had apologies and explanations prepared, but I needn’t have worried. To my amazement and relief, my colleagues understood. No one had talked to the press. Every single one of them was happy for me and it was such a relief I was even able to laugh at the odd joke about me being able to buy the company and give myself a raise.
I went to a couple of parties with my flatmates, who were equally sanguine about my win, and whether it was because I’d had time to brace myself or because I felt so invincible after resisting Nick’s considerable charms, I found it surprisingly easy to spot the sycophants.
Naturally, I hadn’t heard from him in the fortnight I’d been back and that was fine. I’d left my dress behind, having changed into a more flight-appropriate outfit that was more than a little damp having been through a quick wash, but I wasn’t expecting to see it again. I didn’t need to know how he was doing any more than I needed to feel any guilt for the way I’d handled things. He was the one who’d pushed for something I was incapable of giving. He’d said he got it but he didn’t, not really. He couldn’t possibly understand my dread of letting someone close enough to destroy me. Or the gut-wrenching deep-seated knowledge that there was simply nothing about me that was worth loving, despite what he’d said.
Over and over again I told myself I’d had a lucky escape, and so had he, but of one thing I wasn’t quite so certain. However much I tried to stop myself, I kept revisiting the points he’d made about my mother.
Could I have had it wrong all this time? was the main question that kept ricocheting around my head. Could she truly regret our estrangement? But if she genuinely didn’t blame me for what happened, if her affair and the subsequent breakdown of their marriage really weren’t my fault, she’d have done something about it, surely? Something more than the occasional call and the odd email and text.
But perhaps thatwasmy fault, I was beginning to feel. When I thought about it honestly, her calls were more than occasional, and I never returned them. I told myself that I was simply too busy but that wasn’t true, and I had no excuse for deleting the emails and texts without reading them or shutting down the conversation every time Seb attempted to broach the subject.
Why did I do that? Because I didn’t want to think even worse of my father? But the truth of it was, he’d been as flawed as anyone, as Nick had pointed out, so perhaps I should never have put him on that pedestal in the first place. After all, there was only ever going to be one way off it. And maybe I’d always needed to cling onto the belief that I was guilty as justification for protecting myself and my fragile, vulnerable heart.
The trouble was, if I allowed myself to believe that Nick was right about that then I had to consider the fact that he might have been right about everything else he’d said. About me and who I was. I’d have to accept that I really was gritty and determined, resilient and optimistic. I’d have to believe I was worth as much as anyone else. I’d have to trust him. I’d have to lower my guard and put myself in his hands. In the hands of a man who said he’d loved me for years.
Which could never happen.
Because once he got to know the real me he’d soon realise I was unlovable, wouldn’t he?
And yet...
Hedidknow the real me. He knew me warts and all. He knew how I took my coffee. What my favourite drink was. He’d seen me at my worst—whether stumbling out of a club or on the point of dissolving into a puddle of misery—and hopefully at my best. And, ultimately, he hadn’t been put off by any of it. He’d wanted me regardless of my many flaws.
As the scales began to fall from my eyes, I realised that he’d always been there for me. He’d defended me. At my father’s funeral, even though I’d been too devastated to notice much, I’d noticed he’d stood close by. He’d looked out for me on numerous occasions and still was. Even at the height of our hostilities, he’d wanted to help me.
I’d wondered what it would be like to have someone like him on my side, who believed in me, and I’d had that without even realising it.
And when I’d suspected the truth about my feelings for him, I’d been so terrified about what they might mean, I’d deliberately pushed him away.
But what was so bad about any of it? He was everything I’d dreamed of but never thought I could have. He was generous and tenacious, sexy and thoughtful, and apparently in love with me. Because of him, I’d discovered who I really was. I’d regained my confidence in my abilities. Instead of being petrified of the money, I was now excited about the plans I had for it. With the exception of a couple of understandable blips, I wasn’t rash and reckless. I made good decisions.
But I didn’t always have to take them on my own. And I didn’t have to always be on my own. The truth of it was that I missed him more than I’d ever thought possible. Now I’d had a glimpse of what it was like to have someone to talk to and share things with, my return to solitude meant I was lonelier than ever. Drinks with colleagues and the odd party courtesy of my flatmates did little to alleviate it for more than a couple of hours and I was only so strong.
Despite trying to convince myself otherwise, keeping thoughts of Nick and the memories of our relationship, the good and the bad, out of my head was far harder than I’d anticipated. I’d catch a glimpse of a tall dark-haired man in a suit and my heart would leap and then plummet because of course it wouldn’t be him. He was on Suza in the sunshine and warmth, kite-surfing and sailing, having put me out of his head with a resolve that I’d surely facilitated.
How could I have done that? How could I ever have told him that what he was feeling wasn’t real? My arrogance had been breathtaking, my cruelty staggering. When I recalled the look on his face when I’d basically told him he didn’t know the difference between lust and love my heart twisted in agony and shame.
The regret I’d felt over various things in my past was nothing compared to the regret I felt now, because with all the realisations raining down on me, the hardest, the most painful, was that I loved him too.
That was why he had the ability to hurt me so badly. Because I cared so much. He was the only person I wanted to talk about things with. The only person I wanted to keep close. When he’d ventured out into that storm the dread I’d felt had had nothing to do with me and my money and everything to do with losing him.