Don’t You Forget About Me (42 page)

‘Don’t worry, another pint should do it,’ he quips, and proceeds to drain the rest of the current one in one go.

‘It’s a deal,’ I laugh as he waggles his empty glass. I’m buzzing with happiness, not to mention with wine. I’ve only had one glass but it’s already gone to my head and I feel a bit tipsy. And I intend to get even tipsier, I decide, turning towards the bar before letting out a groan.

‘Oh no, look how busy it’s got,’ I tut, suddenly noticing how the pub has filled up with the after-work crowd. The whole place is heaving and there’s a crowd of people queuing at the bar waving tenners. ‘I’ll never get served.’

‘Don’t worry, I know the barmaid,’ smiles Fergus. ‘I’ll get them.’

‘What? In exchange for an autograph?’ I tease, and he laughs.

‘I can’t help it if I’ve got fans,’ he protests mockingly. ‘Now what are you drinking? Same again?’

‘No, let me get this round,’ I protest. ‘I can’t have you doing everything.’

‘Well if you insist, but I’ll come with you, help you carry them.’

‘I can manage, I’ve got two hands.’

‘What if I want a bag of salted peanuts as well?’

I start laughing. ‘OK, I give in,’ I acquiesce, and together we start excusing our way through the crowd towards the bar. Gosh the place is packed.

‘By the way, it’s all over with Sara . . .’

‘Who?’ Spotting a space by the bar, I quickly squeeze in. ‘Oh, your Missed Connection, of course.’ With the visa crisis I’d totally forgotten about all that, but now I snap back.

‘She said her plans had changed at the last minute and she was leaving for Thailand immediately.’ Squeezing in next to me, Fergus turns to face me. ‘And she said she wouldn’t be able to send any more emails as there’s no internet at the elephant sanctuary, or phones, or even regular mail. She’s totally uncontactable.’

That was my last email and, as much as I’d worried about it hurting Fergus, I’d had to write that. I had no choice.

‘That’s a bummer,’ I console, ‘but don’t take it personally. It’s not you, it’s just bad timing.’

He nods, his expression thoughtful. ‘I guess you’re right,’ he agrees quietly.

‘Didn’t you know? Women are always right,’ I quip, trying to lighten his mood.

It works. His expression breaks and he lets out a throaty laugh. Hearing it I feel a sense of huge relief. Despite all my fears, everything has worked out great in the end. Sir Richard gets to go to India and save the company and I got to save Fergus from a broken heart. All’s well that ends well.

‘To tell the truth I owe her a big favour,’ he confesses.

‘A favour?’ I repeat, taken aback. ‘Why?’

He chews his lip thoughtfully. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I was made up when Sara first emailed me. I couldn’t believe my luck that she’d replied to my ad, I thought it was fate, and then when she said she was going to Thailand – well, I admit I got a bit carried away . . .’ He breaks off sheepishly and heaves a sigh. ‘But so much has happened since I posted that Missed Connection ad, and in a way it’s thanks to her that I’ve realised I wasn’t being honest with her, or myself.’

Hang on a minute. I stare at him feeling wrong-footed. I thought I knew what Fergus was thinking all along, but now, sitting here, it dawns on me I might have been mistaken.

‘You weren’t?’ I say uncertainly.

‘No,’ he admits with a shake of his head, ‘and she doesn’t deserve that. Sara was always honest with me and I wanted to be truthful to her, to explain. Which is why I wrote back.’

I stiffen.
He wrote back?

‘When?’ I try to ask casually, but my mind is scrambling. I never received another email. When did he send it?
What did it say?

He shrugs. ‘Oh, it was just before I saw you in the office . . .’

So that’s why I didn’t get it. I was too busy having a nervous breakdown about Sir Richard’s visa. It must be still in my inbox.
Unread
. For a split second I wish I’d listened to Seb all those times he told me to get an iPhone. Now I could rush into the loos and read my emails, instead of standing here wondering what on earth he needed to thank me for and explain.

‘But anyway, it’s over, I’m never going to see her again,’ he says, batting it away with his hand. ‘So, come on, what’s it to be? More wine?’

‘Um . . . yes, please . . .’ I smile, brushing the vague doubts inside of me under some cerebral carpet. He’s right, it’s over. What’s there to worry about?

‘Coming right up,’ he smiles cheerfully, turning towards the barmaid, before letting out a cry. ‘I can’t believe it!’

I glance at Fergus, whose smile has frozen, and follow his eyes.

And it’s as if someone has just dropped a heavy weight on my chest.

Oh my god, it just can’t be . . .

But it is.

Standing across from us at the bar, it’s her.

The girl from the café.

For a moment everything stops. As if I’ve just pressed pause on the DVD recorder of life and everything freeze-frames. Time stands still and I have this weird sensation of being removed from the situation, of looking down from above, and seeing the inevitable sequence of events that are about to happen whilst being powerless to prevent them. Of holding my breath deep inside of me. Of being suspended in that split second that divides life into before and after.

Then all at once someone presses play again.

And, like a car crash, it happens.

‘Sara!’

‘Fergus, wait . . .’ But before I can stop him he’s already made his way across to her. I rush after him.

‘I thought I’d missed you. I thought you’d left already!’

Fergus is jabbering away in joyous disbelief while the girl is staring at him in bewilderment.

‘Excuse me, do I know you?’ She glances unsurely at her friend, who looks back blankly.

‘It’s me, Fergus,’ he blushes beetroot. ‘Sorry, I got a bit carried away, I should’ve introduced myself properly.’

She’s looking at him uncertainly, as if trying to place him, while at the same time coming to the conclusion that there’s no way she’d forget an attractive Irishman and he must be either drunk or trying out some crazy chat-up line, neither of which is appealing.

But Fergus is too busy grinning from ear to ear to notice. He looks so happy to see her. So excited. My heart plummets into the depth of my boots. Oh god, what I have done?
What have I done?

‘I’m sorry, but I really don’t know you . . . Fergus,’ she’s saying now.

‘The guy from the café . . . Missed Connections . . .’ he adds, lowering his voice with embarrassment.

‘Sorry, but I don’t know anything about any Missed Connection,’ she replies, firmer this time. ‘And my name isn’t Sara.’

Doubt flickers, like the flame of a candle. ‘But the emails . . .’ he begins.

I can’t bear it any longer. I’ve been standing here for the last minute, not saying anything, not doing anything, but now I’ve got no choice. I was the one that got him into this mess, I have to get him out.

‘It was me,’ I blurt.

Three little words, but their significance is huge.

For the first time he seems to notice I’m standing behind him and, turning away from the girl, he looks at me in confusion. ‘Tess, what are you talking about?’

I swallow hard, my heart hammering in my chest. ‘I wrote the emails,’ I say, hardly bearing to meet his eyes.

He stares at me in bewilderment. ‘
You’re Sara?
’

I nod wordlessly.

For a moment neither of us speaks and I watch the flurry of emotions scudding across his face as he struggles to absorb what I’m saying, what this means. I wait for the impact of my words to hit. It seems like an eternity—

‘Oh, I get it.’ His voice is unrecognisable. Hard and steely; it makes me flinch. ‘So this was all some kind of joke at my expense, was it? Thought you’d have a good laugh with everyone in the office—’

‘
What?
No!’ I cry with horror. Oh god, this isn’t what was supposed to happen at all, how could he even think that? But even as I’m asking myself these questions, I’m suddenly seeing how this could be viewed from another perspective and it’s making me go cold. ‘You’ve got it all wrong.’

Our voices are raised and everyone in the bar is turning around to see what the commotion is.

‘You’ve got a nerve,’ he fires back. ‘
I
got it wrong?’

I feel frantic. Instead of explaining, I’m just making it worse. ‘Please, Fergus, it wasn’t like that . . .’ I try again, but he shoots me a look that stings.

‘Oh really? What was it like?’

‘I was trying to stop you getting hurt, to save you from being rejected . . .’

The moment the words come out of my mouth, I hear how they sound and know immediately I should never have said them. But it’s too late.

He recoils like a boxer who’s been struck, then recovering he looks at me, his jaw set hard. ‘Fuck you Tess, I don’t need your pity.’

And turning away he pushes blindly through the crowds of people who have stopped to listen, and storms out of the pub.

Chapter 34

For a moment I’m frozen, too shocked to move. I can’t believe what’s happened. It’s all gone so wrong, so horribly
horribly
wrong. I cast a wild look around me; everyone is staring, but I don’t care, I don’t care about anyone but Fergus.

‘Are you OK?’

I hear a voice and notice the girl he thought was Sara, her face creased with concern. ‘Um no . . . I’m . . . I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to drag you into this,’ and stammering my apologies I rush after Fergus.

Outside it’s started to rain and I can see his figure up ahead, across the street.

‘Fergus, wait!’ Running down the steps I race across the road, dodging traffic. A car horn honks loudly, its driver yelling obscenities at me, but I barely notice. ‘Please, wait, I know you’re angry but let me explain!’

He doesn’t turn around. He keeps striding up the street, determined to ignore me. I try to catch him up but the rain’s coming down heavier and the pavement’s slippery. ‘It was never out of pity, you’ve got to believe me,’ I’m shouting at his retreating figure, desperately trying to make myself heard above the traffic. ‘I would never do that, you’re my friend—’

Abruptly he stops dead and twirls around. ‘Friend?’ he cries scornfully. ‘You call yourself a friend? What kind of friend does that?’ His chest heaving, he breaks off and glares at me through the sheet of rain.

I’ve never seen him look at me that way before and I can feel my eyes smarting with tears, but I can’t let them fall. I have to explain, to make him see.

‘A friend who didn’t want you to get hurt,’ I reply, swallowing hard and trying to calm the storm of emotions that is threatening to overwhelm me. ‘When you posted the Missed Connection ad and didn’t get a reply, I couldn’t bear seeing you so down about it. And then you had your audition, and you were so good, and you kept talking about getting rejected . . .’ My voice wavers but I force myself to steady it and carry on: ‘. . . and I wanted to give you some confidence, I wanted to give you a boost, to make you realise what a great guy you are.’

I raise my eyes to Fergus’s but he’s not looking at me, he’s staring down at the pavement, his jaw set hard. ‘So I thought I’d write back and pretend to be her . . .’ I trail off. At the time it had seemed like such a good idea, but saying it out loud now, it seems like such a stupid, thoughtless one. ‘I thought it would give you a boost, make you feel good about yourself.’

‘Don’t patronise me.’ He looks up at me, hurt pride flashing across his face.

‘I’m not,’ I protest. ‘You’re getting all this out of perspective, you’re overreacting.’

‘
I’m overreacting?
’ He spits the words back at me and I flinch.

‘Fergus, I didn’t mean . . .’

Oh god, what’s the point? I throw my hands up to my face, pressing my forehead against my palms. Instead of making things better, I’m just making them worse. It’s like a car careering out of control and I don’t know how to stop it.

But I have to try.

‘I didn’t want you to get hurt,’ I say again quietly, taking my hands away and daring to meet his gaze. ‘I know what it’s like to feel rejected.’

‘Yeh right,’ he snaps. ‘How would you know how it feels to be rejected?’

I pause. I can’t tell him. I can’t tell him about Seb, he’d never believe me.

‘I . . . I can’t explain . . .’

‘Funny that . . .’

‘But it’s true, I do, you have to believe me,’ I plead, fighting back tears.

‘Believe you?’ he cries scornfully. ‘Why should I believe you? You don’t even believe in yourself.’

His accusation catches me by surprise.

‘You work some office job you’re no good at because you don’t have the guts to believe you’re talented, to follow your dream, to even try what you
are
good at . . .’

I stare at him speechlessly.