Page 32 of The Absence of You
Sitting in my car, I watch as Dahlia climbs into Callie’s Range Rover on the other side of the car park. A pit of unease unfurls in my stomach. I’d been nothing but a bastard to her since she arrived a few weeks ago. I’d already begun to suspect she didn’t deserve how I’d treated her, but this confirms it. I hated my father, and my mum was useless, but at least I’d grown up with both my parents. Dahlia’s dad didn’t hang around long enough to meet her and for her mum to effectively check out too… She was so close to her mum growing up and Dahlia loved her more than anything so I can only imagine how hard it’s been for her watching her mum battle with an addiction.
She didn’t go into all the details, but I wasn’t entirely naïve. In the past, I’d seen photos of where she lived. She never complained as a child, but it wasn’t the nicest area of Liverpool. Living in a crappy high rise with a single alcoholic parent must have been pretty shit. Especially if it’s got bad enough for Rosie to need rehab.
I feel sick with the thought of it, and guilt hits me square in the chest. I’ve been a prick to her, and she did nothing to deserve it. I was so busy thinking about myself, how I felt about her leaving, never once stopping to consider if there had been a genuine reason. Putting myself in her shoes, I imagine how I would have felt, phoning her and having some guy answer the call. I don’t recall Charlotte answering my phone but it fits that it would have been her as we had started spending more time together around then.
As I pull up outside my house, I make my mind up. I’m going to apologise, tell her how sorry I am and finally do what I should have done weeks ago: actually talk to her. I need to hear her out. However difficult it is likely going to be to hear it. It sounded like she had as much control over the last few years as I had. Which, let’s face it, wasn’t much.
I drive home in a daze and sit in my driveway, hoping to see Callie drop Dahlia off. After a few minutes, I accept they must have gone somewhere else, and I go into the house. I make myself a bagel and smoothie for brunch and go up to my room to eat it.
Settled on my bed, I open Instagram on my phone. I looked for her on here before, in the year after she first cut me off. I’d never been able to find an account I was sure was hers. That was years ago, though. It might be easier to find it now. If she has an account, she is probably being followed by Callie, so I start with her page. I’m right. The last post of Callie’s is a photo of her and Dahlia on the night of Charlotte’s party. She’s tagged D_winters05. I click on the link to Dahlia’s page. She doesn’t have her profile set to private so I can see her posts. Most of the images are book quotes.
I scroll down, seeing the few photos she’s posted since moving back to Dee’s. There’s a photo taken outside the bookshop in town, with the caption ‘new job’. Of course. She’s working there. That’s probably where she went after swimming. It’s not stalking if she has no privacy settings, right? I scroll back further. There’s a photo taken at the back of Dee’s house. It’s taken at an angle that shows the house and the sky above. I can tell instantly she must have been lying on her back when she took it. Just like we used to all those years ago when we used to play the cloud game. Fuck if that didn’t take me back to simpler times. When we didn’t have a fucking worry in the world.
There are no comments under it, so I type,
‘guess the cartoon character…’
A couple of minutes later I get a notification that she’s responded,
‘bojack horseman’
I quickly type my response,
‘nah, looks more like homer simpson’
Her response of a laughing emoji pings back almost instantly. I suddenly realise how much I’d missed this easy banter between us. For a long time I’d managed to feel nothing at all. I’d shut down and refused to share any real part of me with anyone else. It feels good to have fun and to laugh and mean it.
For the next few minutes, we make other guesses at the cloud shape, each one more ridiculous than the next. Until my phone eventually pings with a direct message. I open it to see a photo of a cookie next to a pile of books. Underneath, Dahlia has written,
‘winner gets the cookie’
I laugh as I recognise it as being one of Lolly’s. She’s definitely at work then. Lolly’s is only around the corner from the bookshop. I wonder if she’s gone out in her lunch hour to get one. I type out a message to tell her there’s only one winner ,and she can bring round the cookie for me after work, but before I can press send, my phone beeps. She’s sent me another photo of the cookie, but this time it’s got a huge bite out of it. I snort. Oh it’s on, it is fucking on.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
DAHLIA
Ifinish locking up at the bookshop and begin the short walk home. It's started to go dark, but the roads are well lit and the weather’s mild. I cross the quiet street passing a couple of parked cars. There’s a car parked a little further ahead and I hadn’t realised it was occupied until the lights flicker on and it begins to crawl up the street toward me. I shield my eyes from the bright lights and realise it’s Grayson's silver Audi.
He pulls up next to me and climbs out of his car. Leaning his elbows on the roof, I don’t think he’s ever looked more handsome. His hair is swept to the side, but there’s a light breeze, and it keeps blowing a strand across his forehead. I itch to brush it off his face, to see if it feels as soft as it looks.
“Want a lift?” He asks. I nod, and he jogs around to the passenger side, opening the door for me. I thank him, finding it hard to get used to this new lack of animosity between us. His hand grazed my back as I slide into the seat, and I shiver at the contact. There’s a box from Lolly’s on the dashboard. He gets in the car and passes me the box. I open it expecting to see a few cookies with bites out of them like the photo I’d sent him, but it’s empty - barring a few crumbs. I turn to see him smirking and looking very pleased with himself.
“Ha Ha,” I deadpan. “So I’m assuming you bought these for yourself as a reward for winning our cloud guessing competition?” I roll my eyes and clap slowly. Expecting him to have a smug retort, I’m surprised when he groans and rubs his stomach.
“Actually, I bought half a dozen thinking I’d take a bite out of each, but I misjudged what time you finished work, and I’ve been sitting waiting for an hour with nothing to do. I ended up eating the lot. I’m paying for it now, though.” He looks uncomfortable, and I can’t help but chuckle.
“Your eyes always were bigger than your stomach.” Both of us are aware that this is not the first time Grayson has made himself sick after eating too many treats from Lolly’s. He puts the radio on and we sit in a comfortable silence as we make the short journey home. I sneak a sideways glance at him as he concentrates on the road. I can’t believe he sought me out today. I was so sure he would never give me a second chance. The messages we’d exchanged had been like the old days between us, but he’s quiet now. There’s so much I want to say but this truce between us feels delicate, and I don’t want to risk ruining it so I don’t say anything. Before long we reach Dee’s. “Thanks for the lift. I’m dead on my feet.”
He pulls to a stop, just as Florence + the Machine’s Never Let Me Go starts to play on his car stereo. The summer we were fourteen I was going through my Vampire Diaries obsession, and this song was in one of my favourite episodes. I used to listen to it over and over. My hand stills on the door handle. I don’t want to get out of the car, as a sudden wave of nostalgia overwhelms me. I’m clearly not the only one who remembers.
“Huh, you loved this song. Stay and listen to it.” Grayson reaches over me to stop my hand from opening the door. His neck is inches from my face as he leans over me. His aftershave is masculine and spicy, and his weight presses into my thigh. Suddenly, I’m very aware of our proximity. I’m overcome by the urge to touch him, but I hold back, barely daring to breathe.
“I haven’t heard it for ages,” I reply, trying to steady my voice. Something has changed between us after our conversation this morning. For a second, I dare to hope our history will be enough to make him willing to hear me out properly. Maybe he will never entirely forgive me for keeping him in the dark, but now that he knows some of the story, it appears to have gone some way towards lessening his anger towards me.
I study his face, noticing the way his jaw has become more square, stronger over the years. He’s always clean shaven, but this close to him, I can see the faint shadow of his dark blonde stubble. There’s a thin white scar near his eyebrow and another smaller one below his full lips. He got the smaller one learning to skateboard, but the other one must have happened more recently.
I take in all the other changes in his body. The way he fills every outfit he wears perfectly, the shoulders in the hoodie he’s wearing today stretch across his broad frame, and the way he holds himself with confidence. I have to bite down on my bottom lip to stop all these things affecting me. But despite my best efforts, I still need to press my thighs together to relieve the dull pressure that’s building. Fuck, I need to get out of the car before I start panting all over him. I try to open the door again, but his hand grips mine.
