“If Mum thought I’d opened one of her books, I wouldn’t be standing here,” she giggles. “Okay, maybe she’s cool with women like…your age.”
“My age?” I lift an eyebrow, and she smiles. A pure youthful smile. The one I still love to see. “Katie is a bit older than me.”
“Is that why you broke up?” she asks, swinging the subject back to my love life. Silence falls again, explaining the why is something I’ve barely been able to do for myself. Honestly, looking back, it’s like my overreaction to finding out who she was gave her the excuse to cut ties.
The end of our relationship was a chain of events neither of us wanted. Well, I know I didn’t, at least. That ache I’ve buried for months throbs in my chest, the one that makes me sick. The one that makes me question if there can ever be anyone else after her.
Katie hasn’t been on my mind as much since returning from Iraq. There’s been so much to cope with between Dog’s death and my rehabilitation. My broken heart was put to one side. But with Hannah’s questioning and her newfound fame, she’s stepped back to the forefront of my mind.
***
It’s 10 p.m.—the most relaxing part of the day. Hannah is in her room, no doubt scrolling aimlessly through makeup tutorials on Instagram. David is asleep in his crib. Today has been a good day. We spent the whole day with the three of us as a family. Summer has finally arrived in Aviemore, and we wandered in the countryside, enjoying the sunshine for hours, every so often, stopping to rest or take in the view.
Even though I’m much steadier on my prosthetic leg as the months pass, I have to be very careful as I walk. A stray stone can cause chaos with my balance, but having the pram to push has been a blessing in disguise; a new stability in my life, both physically and mentally.
“Oh, Dad, look.” Hannah’s excited voice punctures my concentration. She’s pointing toward the big old house I haven’t been to in over a year. One with too many memories to both remember and forget.
Eden House stands as it has done for centuries, but there’s a hive of activity surrounding it. Tradesmen rush back and forth carrying supplies. I heard work was commencing on the old building to turn it into luxury apartments, but I never knew ifit had gone ahead. The house was sold after the owners were convicted of theft.
I wonder what happened to Katie. We had many happy times in the little cottage tucked around the back of the old mansion in front of us. The flash of memory quips my lips, my cheeks warming as I remember her. And all the naughty things we did.
As if reading my mind, Hannah asks, “Do you ever speak to Katie?”
“Katie?” I try to act dumb.
“Yes, Dad, Katie. Your girlfriend,” she says pointedly. Not believing I didn’t realize who she was talking about for a second.
“First of all, Katie wasn’t my girlfriend. Not really. Secondly, no, I haven’t spoken to her since before she left. It was over a year ago.”
“You should look her up,” she suggests. “You said you were good friends. You probably could do with a friend just now. I mean, she won’t even know about Dog, will she?”
My daughter takes my breath away regularly, so grown up and so young all at the same time. She’s right, I do need a friend, and Katie was much more than a friend. But Hannah already knows that.
“She’s coming to Edinburgh in a few weeks. A book signing in the city. She’s been in America, Dad. People love her.”
“How do you know that?”
“I told you she was on TV. I follow her on social media. Mum reads her books, too. But she still won’t let me read them. She says I’m too young.”
“Yes, you’re definitely too young to be reading her books.” I laugh, sliding my arm around her, kissing her on the forehead.
“Will you go and see her? You were happy when you and she were friends.”
“Maybe.” I sigh. “A lot has changed since Katie stayed here. She’s probably busy with her writing.” Not wanting to admit thatI’ve been following her covertly too. I was aware of the signing, and the idea to visit had crossed my mind, but I’d brushed it aside as ridiculous.
“Think about it,” she pleads and gives me a look with big doe eyes.
“Okay, I’ll think about it,” I concede. “Right, let’s get home for pizza before it gets too late. I’m starving.”
***
Firing up my laptop, I typeKatie Clark Authorin the search engine. Images of the woman I’ve lusted after for months pop up on my screen at book signings and red-carpet events. None of them should be a shock; I’ve read them all before. But she still takes my breath away, not just to look at, but that she’s moved on and achieved what she set out to. I’m so fucking proud of her.
The first result tells me thatKatie Clark takes the erotica romance world by stormwith her new novel. There are already discussions of media rights on the horizon. I click onto her website, then to her events page, and there it is: 2nd August—Reads Bookstore, Edinburgh—she’s signing copies of her novel, then there will be a Q&A session with fans.
I slam the laptop shut, cursing myself for even considering reaching out to her. My life is completely different from when we were last together. She’s hit the big time, so she won’t be interested in seeing me. But then I think of the note she left me and the hurt in her eyes as we fought when her ex-husband turned up. When I discovered she was using a false name.
That morning, I reacted; I blew up what we had. Not stopping to consider why she never told me about her situation until we were unfixable. I hate myself every day for it. For losing what we had by not taking a breath.