Meant to Be Me Read online

  She hurried to Bridget’s office with the flowers and hastily gathered her stuff before she could change her mind. Joe surreptitiously looked her way. “Sure it’s not you who’s shagging her?”

  Darcy shrugged on her coat and gave him the two-finger salute, unable to resist a parting jab. “Only in your dreams, little boy. Only in your dreams.”

  Chapter 9

  A thick tomato sauce, spiked with chilli, bubbled on the gas stove. Darcy dipped the wooden spoon in it and raised it to her lips. She blew gently before tasting her handiwork. “Perfect.”

  “Of course it is,” Anja agreed. “When it’s about all you can make, I’d hope you’d have it perfected by now.”

  “Cheeky bugger.” Darcy topped up their glasses with the same red wine she’d used in the sauce and slid one across the breakfast bar to where Anja sat. Her eyes were red rimmed and still a little puffy, but the tears had subsided at least. “How’re you feeling?”

  Anja shrugged and took a gulp of the ruby liquid. “I’m not really sure.”

  “Well, that’s okay,” Darcy reassured her. “It’s a lot to process right now. You’re bound to be all mixed up and uncertain.”

  “I guess.” Anja reached for a fresh tissue and brushed it under her nose. “I think at this point I mostly feel let down. When he walked out that door…” She covered her mouth with her hand and choked on a small sob.

  Darcy moved around beside her and lay an arm across her shoulder, pulling Anja in to her side. “Hey, there. C’mon. You don’t have to explain for my benefit. Talk when you’re ready.”

  Anja blew in to the tissue and looked up at her gratefully. “Thank you. It’s just…it’s too hard right now. I don’t think it’s sunk in, to be honest.”

  She took another gulp of wine, and Darcy pushed against the sensible part of her that wanted to tell Anja to slow down. Instead, she touched her glass lightly to Anja’s and matched her. After the flower delivery that morning, a hazy wine buzz was damn appealing.

  “Of course it hasn’t.” Darcy squeezed her hand before moving back around to the stove. She gave the sauce a stir, then pulled a packet of spaghetti from a cupboard. She dropped a healthy batch into the boiling water before turning her attention to a basil plant. “Here.” She plucked a few sprigs and pushed them Anja’s way on a chopping board. “Chop that.”

  Anja offered a weak smile. She clearly knew what Darcy was trying to do—distract her in any small way possible from thinking about the fucking tragedy her marriage had become.

  “You’re a good friend, Darcy.”

  “Oh, I know. Although it doesn’t feel that long since I was calling you in a blubbering mess, so we work both ways, I reckon.” She laid a peck on Anja’s cheek as she passed, heading for the dining table. She laid out plates and cutlery and opened a fresh bottle of wine. Then Darcy strained the pasta and sprinkled basil into the sauce with a final flourish before combining them both to create a steaming bowl of comfort.

  She carried it to the table, pulled out a chair, and gestured to Anja. “Come sit over here.”

  Anja did as instructed and refilled her glass to the brim. Darcy again said nothing. If blind drunk was what she needed, who was Darcy to argue? She’d never made it past the year mark with previous girlfriends, and still those break-ups had hurt. She couldn’t begin to comprehend the pain Anja was in right now.

  “I can’t make this better, so I’m not going to try.” Darcy heaped spaghetti and sauce on Anja’s plate. “All I’m here for is hugs and to keep you alive.”

  Anja’s head shot up, eyes wide. “Alive? What the hell, Darcy? Do you really think I’m going to hurt myself because of him?”

  “What? No.” Darcy held her hands up in supplication. “I was meaning by making sure you’re fed and watered. It was a joke.”

  Anja continued to hold her gaze, but her expression gradually changed from shock and anger to dismay. She scrubbed at her face before dropping her gaze in to her lap. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to fly off on one then. I… Of course you didn’t mean what I thought you did.”

  Darcy studied the top of her head. She could count on one hand the number of times Anja had ever raised her voice or taken that tone with her, and Darcy normally deserved it.

  “Hey, it’s fine. You’re all over the place, I get it.” She reached a hand across the table as Anja looked back up at her. “Let’s just eat, drink, and then go watch something shite on the telly, eh?”

  Anja seemed to hesitate a moment before reaching across and gripping Darcy’s hand. “Sounds like a plan.”

  “Great.” Darcy picked up her fork and pointed towards Anja’s plate. “Eat.”

  The second bottle of wine was gone, which probably wasn’t a great idea, considering how little spaghetti Anja had managed to eat. But now she lay with her head on Darcy’s lap, her breathing heavy as she dozed.

  A flutter of affection passed through Darcy as she studied Anja’s face, whilst continuing to gently run her fingers through silky blonde hair. She knew Anja enjoyed her hair being played with, and sure enough, it had soothed her to sleep. Her lashes twitched lightly, and Darcy could see her eyes moving behind their lids. She wondered where her dreams had taken her. Was she dreaming of Jason?

  Jason.

  What a bloody idiot he was. How could anyone even contemplate cheating on Anja? She’d never met anyone so loyal and true to the relationships she formed. Whether wife or best friend, you were never in doubt how she felt about you. Even if she didn’t say it, her actions spoke for her.

  She gently removed Anja’s glasses, then reached across her for a cushion before replacing her legs under Anja’s head with it. She unfurled the blanket from the back of the sofa and laid it over her friend, careful not to wake her.

  Darcy tiptoed in the direction of the stairs and the spare room. She settled under the duvet and clicked off the light, and for the first time in a long while, wondered if she and Anja could have been more than friends.

  She remembered back to the early days, when she was sure Anja was flirting: The little looks and the shy words over the coffee machine in the staff kitchen. The times she would stand a little too close in the lift, or how she always made a point to sit next to Darcy in multi-team meetings.

  You’re being ridiculous, Darcy. She mentally shook herself. How many times had she told herself back then that it had merely been her imagination and wishful thinking? Anja was married and simply being friendly. She’d been the new girl in the office trying to make friends, that was all.

  Darcy chastised herself for even allowing the thoughts to cross her mind. Here was her friend, broken and bereft, relying on Darcy for support. It was not the time to be remembering an aimless crush she’d moved past long ago.

  The latch on the door clicked open, and a sleepy Anja appeared in the crack of light from the hallway. “I didn’t want to be alone,” she whispered.

  As Anja climbed under the covers, Darcy reached an arm out and waited for Anja to tuck herself into the crook of it. She resumed her earlier rhythm of fingers through hair. “It’ll be okay, darling. I’m sure of it.” She planted a firm kiss on the crown of Anja’s head. “I love you.”

  “Love you too,” she mumbled into Darcy’s neck.

  It was only a few moments before Anja’s breathing changed as she fell asleep, but Darcy lay awake a long time after. Between her stalker and now Jason, she couldn’t help but wonder if it really would be okay.

  Chapter 10

  The text hadn’t changed in the hundred times Eilidh had read it. Darcy was disappointed but had left the way open if Eilidh changed her mind. She sighed, set the phone aside, and tried to focus on the notes she’d been typing up.

  After a week working back in the hospital physiotherapy department, she’d settled back into the routine well enough. Her previous patient was seventeen, recovering from a broken arm after a nasty fall fro
m her horse. Eilidh hoped to have her back in the saddle in a couple of weeks, and when she had told her that, the girl had beamed as if Eilidh had offered her the world.

  Patients like those made other, more regrettable situations easier to deal with. Her next patient was an example of that. Eighty-seven years old, he was on stroke number three, and the best they could both hope for was to progress from a wheelchair to walking short distances with an aid. Still, it was a goal, and one she would push and support him to achieve.

  She clicked save on Horse Girl’s notes, and her hand automatically reached for her phone again. What was stopping her meeting Darcy? Claire was gone, along with every last trace of her from the house. Eilidh was free to do as she pleased, see who she pleased, so what was holding her back?

  She tucked the phone in a drawer and headed back to the gymnasium where Mr Davies would be waiting.

  “Oi, Grey,” Sam Thompson hollered across the large space. “How’s that shoulder holding up?”

  She smiled and sauntered towards her best friend and personal physio champion, as he coaxed a middle-aged woman across the walking bars.

  “It’s got me through the week, so we must be doing something right.”

  “Glad to hear it. Mrs Superhero Smith and I still have twenty minutes to go, but can I get a word afterwards?”

  “A word” in Sam language meant, “Fancy a pint when we finish up?”

  She laughed. “Sure, let’s get a word. I’ve got Mr Davies first, but catch you out front at five-thirty?”

  He grinned and fist pumped a meaty arm. “Perfect. Catch you later, Grey.”

  And it was perfect. If anyone could give her some straight-up advice on Darcy, it was Sam. The guy who, despite the fact he wasn’t her actual physio, had still bullied her through hours of additional exercises. She’d cursed and slapped and bullied him right back when the pain became unbearable, but it had paid off in the end and she was grateful. He’d been her own personal cheerleader, solid and willing to take any grumbling shite she threw when it all got too much. In fact, during the aftermath of the incident, he’d been her entire support network outside of the medical professionals and the odd visit from her parents. It had cemented an already pretty great friendship.

  The Castle Tavern was a favourite of Eilidh’s in the winter, for the roaring log fire, cosy atmosphere, and epic selection of craft beers. It was Sam’s because whether a live match or a repeat, there was always rugby on the telly.

  They jammed themselves into their favourite corner, picked for its equal distance to the bar and the toilets, with a view of the door and one of the larger flat screens. The last two were on Sam’s insistence because when his eye wasn’t on the game, it wanted to be the first to see when someone attractive walked in.

  “She’s easily a seven.”

  Eilidh rolled her eyes. “You’re a pig. You know I’m not going to play that game with you.”

  He shrugged. “I know. The real fun is winding you up over it.”

  She slapped his arm and threw him a dirty look. “It might be more interesting if you actually went and spoke to one of them.”

  He looked at her as if she’d spontaneously sprouted a beard. “Don’t be ridiculous. You know my biggest fear is rejection. I’m all about the certainty and safety of dating apps. I let them come to me.”

  “But what if she didn’t reject you?” She looked him up and down. “I mean, if I were to put you on that scale, I think you could scrape a six-and-a-half. Seven if I’ve had a few. That’s not so bad.”

  It was his turn to slap her, and he flicked a stingy backhand at her thigh. “Like you can bloody talk. You stayed with Claire five years too long because you were too scared to find out what else might be out there.”

  Eilidh leaned back in surprise. She was used to the straight talk, but it wasn’t normally quite so blunt, however insightful it might be. “I think five years is a bit of an exaggeration.”

  “Whatever.” He waved her impending defensive argument away. “It might as well have been, but at least you’ve finally seen sense.”

  Eilidh took a long gulp of her beer. Five years was an exaggeration; it had only really been the last two when things had soured, but that was still long enough to have wasted. So he was right…to a degree. Not that she was ever going to admit that to him. After nine years with someone, it was scary as hell even contemplating starting all over again. It was also terrifying the thought that it might not even be starting again with only one person—there could be many.

  Oh God, how many first dates might she have to go on before it clicked? How many stilted conversations over dinner and awkward first times in bed? How many mornings after with shy smiles and bad breath? Not to mention the uncertainty of who should call who and when. Fuck, she’d hated dating before Claire, and after nine years of not having to think about it, she hated it even more now.

  She thought of Darcy. The thick, green wool scarf that seemed to be wrapped half a dozen times around a neck she imagined to be as pale as the fair skin of her face. Her cheeks had been pinched pink by winter’s icy fingertips, and her blue eyes had shone in the dawn light. As she remembered the shy smile as Darcy had handed over her business card, Eilidh realised there were two sides to dating. Darcy could be as scared as her.

  “I met someone.”

  Sam’s head jerked instantly from the telly to Eilidh. “Seriously?”

  “Well, we met on a bridge, and we exchanged numbers and have texted a little. But that’s it. We haven’t been out or anything, so when I say met, I mean, I think she’s a ten and I really want to take her out.”

  Sam laughed and nudged her shoulder. “Claire’s out the door five minutes and here’s you picking up women on the street. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

  “I didn’t pick her up. It wasn’t like that. We sort of bumped into each other, and she was being polite because I helped her. But I think there was an inkling of a spark.”

  “So go for it. Ask her out.”

  “Says the man who quivers at the mere thought of talking to a potential date in person.”

  “Aye, but that’s me and this is you. Let’s stick to you for now.”

  Eilidh chuckled. “Fine. Well we made plans for a drink, but I cancelled because Claire was in the process of moving out. Since then I haven’t called or texted, and now I think I’ve maybe left it too long.”

  Sam spun on his stool to fully face her. “Listen, this happened because you were open to it happening. I know it’s all raw and quite soon after Claire, but this doesn’t have to be your next great love. Maybe you have coffee, or a beer, share some food, have sex, and then never see each other again? Maybe it lasts a week, a month, or ten years. Who knows? You never will if you don’t give it a chance.”

  He was right. Eilidh took a few sips and wondered at the scenarios. First step, text Darcy. Maybe she wouldn’t reply, and then at least Eilidh would know. Or she would reply, and all the things Sam had reeled off were possibilities.

  “Okay, Tommo. I’ll make you a deal.” She slipped her phone from her coat pocket. “The second I press send on a text to Darcy, you go and talk to your seven. Deal?”

  His eyes narrowed, flicking between the phone and the woman now chatting with friends at the bar. “You’re sneaky and I hate you.”

  Eilidh began typing. “Nah, you don’t.”

  It was the anniversary tomorrow, and the vile taste of nausea and dread seemed to have settled in permanently. The tears came fast and hard, without preamble, choking every breath.

  The smallest irritation was enough to cause hands to ball into fists as the rage built almost to boiling. Someone would utter the words, “Are you okay?” and it took every ounce of resolve left not to scream, “No. I’m not fucking okay. I will never be okay.” Then let the fists fly.

  But that wouldn’t help anything and would do no one any good
.

  The relief would be temporary and the consequences lasting.

  There was calmness to be found in watching Darcy, being close to her. Despite the turmoil it brought and as difficult as it was to admit, it was becoming more of a challenge to transfer the loathing and hate from father onto daughter. Well, step-daughter; Darcy had never truly been his.

  Darcy was someone folk enjoyed being around, someone they wanted as a friend. That much had become clear quite quickly. The friendly smiles, her tactile nature, the open laugh that drew people in.

  Her single status surprised a few people, but not those who knew her well. Darcy was looking for the dream. She wanted a love that was invincible, that could withstand time as well as trouble.

  Her idealism made many people scoff. The ones who had never dared to risk ending up alone in the quest to find what most people deemed unobtainable. Maybe even ridiculous. But Darcy refused to believe that it didn’t exist out there for everyone.

  Well, reality would crash down on her one day.

  No matter how unbearable it was becoming to witness Darcy’s anguish, whether by fate or design, devastating her dream was inevitable.

  Chapter 11

  Darcy dropped an overnight bag on the bed of the spare room and sighed. She didn’t mind staying with Anja but would have been happier if she’d been able to get her to leave the house. Even to come to Darcy’s for the night, to do a food shop, to go to work. But in the five days since she’d kicked Jason to the curb, the curtains hadn’t been open.

  That was going to change today.

  She scanned the room and noticed small things missing. Bike-maintenance books that normally sat on a shelf, a baseball cap that hung on the back of the door, and a picture of Anja and Jason’s feet in the surf with “Barbados” scrawled nearby in the sand. They were no doubt bundled into the half-dozen black bags that cluttered the hallway. From his toothbrush and shower gel, to the contents of his wardrobe, Anja had been quick to rid the house of every trace of him.