Our Last Summer by Jennifer Joyce

Chapter 22

I’m kept incredibly busy over the next few days as I begin work on the Christmas Food and Drink Festival. Mel, the event manager at the hotel, is impressed not only by my enthusiasm but also by my ‘natural ability’ to organise and to prioritise, and he nearly loses his mind when I secure a booking for a TV chef for cooking demos. Now, we’re not talking celebrity chef royalty like Gordon Ramsay or Nigella Lawson here, but she’s been on Saturday Kitchen a few times. I feel a bit of a fraud accepting Mel’s praise; this isn’t natural ability – in fact, it’s using the skills I learned from Mel himself. But I can’t tell him that without sounding utterly insane, so I simply smile and thank him for his feedback.

I’d forgotten how much I’d enjoyed organising events as it isn’t something I’ve done since the move to California and I’m keen to take on more responsibility within the team. By the end of the week, I’m no longer dividing my time between the events office and the reception desk. I am now a fully-fledged events assistant, with my own desk, with its own drawer and stapler. I haven’t stapled anything yet, but I’m itching to use that bad boy.

‘I’m so proud of you.’ Otis leans in to kiss me. We’re in the pub, celebrating my promotion with Yvonne, Ed and Heather. Tomasz is here too and it takes every ounce of restraint not to push Otis away, but I do turn my head so his lips land on my cheek. Even Mum and Dad have joined us with Gran and Laura, and it could only improve slightly if Gillian was here, but she’s been swept up by meetings lately. She did congratulate me earlier as she passed on my new name badge, which I wore with pride, before she had to dash off.

‘Does this mean you get a pay rise?’

Ed tuts and glares at Yvonne for asking the question. But then he turns to me, resting his forearms on the table as he leans in closer. ‘Does it?’

It does. Not mega bucks, but enough so that I can add to my paltry America fund.

‘You’ll be able to pay for more proper driving lessons now and leave me out of it.’ Dad tries to make it sound jokey but he fails. He still hasn’t recovered from the motorbike incident.

Yvonne gasps. ‘You’ll be able to buy yourself a car instead of borrowing your dad’s or Ed’s.’

Ed snorts. ‘Believe me, Elodie won’t be getting in my car. I quite like it dent-free.’

‘Shut up.’ I nudge Ed with my foot under the table. ‘I haven’t dented a car.’

‘Yet.’ Dad mutters the word but everyone hears and the table erupts in laughter. Even I join in, but I know I’ll pass my test, miraculously first time.

Otis leans in close once the laughter has died down and the conversation has moved on, lowering his voice to little more than a murmur. ‘Maybe you could move in with me once you’ve passed your test. It’d make the commute easier having your own car.’

I should have seen this coming. Should have prepared. But it’s happening earlier than it did the first time round, probably because the promotion has popped up weeks – months, even – earlier than before due to my ‘natural ability’ at event planning. It would be easy to go along with Otis’s plan, to keep things as they are until my hand is forced once I pass my test and Otis revisits his suggestion that we live together. Because I didn’t move in with Otis. As good a guy as Otis is, as much as I’d enjoyed spending time with him, Otis simply isn’t the one for me. Not back then. Not now. So as easy as it would be to smile and nod in a vague acceptance, I have to be brave and face up to this now, because I can’t play along with our relationship when all I really want is Tomasz. And Otis will be fine. He’ll find someone who deserves him. Someone who will love him with all their heart. I know it.

So it happens that evening. We go for a walk after Dad has migrated over to the Farmer’s and Mum and Laura have taken Gran home because she doesn’t want to miss EastEnders. We leave Ed and the others in the pub to have a wander through the village because I can’t do this in front of them. Yvonne’s too pissed to walk in a straight line anyway and would probably end up taking a dip in the canal if she came with us. It’s still light out but it’s cooled down and I find myself shivering in my vest top. Otis offers his jacket but I shake my head. Returning it later will make things feel even more awkward.

‘Otis.’ We’ve reached the footbridge over the canal but I stop, my hand tugging Otis back as he starts to climb the steps. ‘I need to talk to you. About us.’

I try to remember what I said the last time. How I can make this better. Easier, for Otis, because this will come out of the blue for him, just like it did the last time. Because nothing bad happened. There was no real catalyst – no big row, no cheating – just a slow realisation that I was falling in love with someone else and that I didn’t feel that way about Otis. He didn’t give me butterflies when I saw him. My stomach didn’t perform a happy little flip when he smiled at me. My pulse didn’t speed up when I knew he’d be there. Tomasz had been there for years but I had no idea that he was the one I was destined to be with. It was a trickle, a long-drawn move from friendship to love and it took a long time for me to appreciate him, to really see him, but once I did, once I understood, there was no going back.

It turns out there’s no easy way to break up with someone who doesn’t want to break up with you. It’s brutal, no matter how hard you try to soften the blow with platitudes and assurances that they will be better off in the long run. Otis is devastated and it hurts me, because although I know this is absolutely the right thing, that I’m not in love with Otis and I can’t force myself to feel the butterflies and the racing pulse, he’s still a good man and I’m hurting him. I have to assure myself that he’ll be loved in the way he deserves, that soon he will discover the person he’s destined to be with. And she isn’t far away. She’s right there, waiting for him to fall head over heels. Otis will be happy, even if it doesn’t look as though he can be fixed right now as he climbs into his car, his face drawn with hurt and confusion. His life has tilted, but only fleetingly.

I head back to the pub, where my friends have moved through to the pool room. Sacha has joined them, and he glowers at me as he leans down to take his shot. He swears when he misses. Swears again when Tomasz pats him on the back with a grin and a snarky comment before he takes his shot. Sacha continues to watch me as he sips his pint, his eyes narrowed, nostrils flared. He thumps his pint down on the table and swipes the back of his hand across his mouth.

‘Hey, Elodie.’ Yvonne beckons me over to the table where she’s sitting with Ed and Heather. She’s grinning like a loon and swaying slightly and I feel bad about the hangover she’s going to have in the morning. ‘Did you know Ed was still in contact with Christine’s grandson?’

‘Are you?’ I sit down on a stool, ensuring my back is to Sacha. I can’t deal with him right now.

‘It turns out they’ve been emailing all this time and he never said a thing.’ Yvonne pushes her arm into Ed’s. ‘Selfish prick. Dominic was our friend too, but you’ve kept him all to yourself.’

This is news to me. As far as I’m aware, Dominic spent that one summer in Little Heaton and we hung out, had a laugh, everyone got the tattoos apart from me, and then Dominic left. Went home to Canada and became nothing more than part of fond anecdotes (‘Do you remember that summer when we cycled a million miles?’ ‘Do you remember that summer Yvonne chased Ed with that tiny fish we caught in the river?’).

‘I haven’t kept him all to myself.’ Ed rolls his eyes. ‘We just message each other now and then.’

‘Without. Us.’ Yvonne jabs Ed in the arm with her finger with each word and though he opens his mouth to respond, his words are swallowed by the roar of triumph behind us. I twist in my seat to see Tomasz, cue held in the air, jiggling a victory dance in front of his brother. While my lips flick upwards at the display of victory, Sacha’s scowling at the defeat, emitting even more broodiness than usual as Tomasz celebrates.

I turn away from the scene as my stomach performs a happy little somersault. I love him so much it aches, but I have to be patient. I’m changing enough by saving Ed and I really do need to be careful with the butterfly effect. But by saving Ed, I’ll be saving us too. We will be together, but forever this time.

‘God, he’s fit.’ I don’t even have to follow Yvonne’s gaze to know she’s looking directly at Sacha. The happy somersault turns into a churning as I’m filled with a sense of foreboding. Yvonne’s crush on Sacha isn’t going away and that can never be a good thing.