The Nature of Cruelty (39 page)

A while later Sasha announces, “I handed in my notice today.”

I gape at her, stunned. “You did? Why?”

“The work wasn’t making me happy. You know that. But more importantly, I got offered another job.”

“Really! That’s great, Sash. Where is it?”

“A culture magazine here in London. I’ll be writing a column on local art exhibitions and such,” she answers, turning to me with a huge grin. “It’s only a small publication and doesn’t pay half as much as
The Mail
, but I think I could be content working there.”

“I’m so pleased for you,” I tell her genuinely.

She eyes me, curious. “You know, you never did explain to me why you ended it with Robert.”

I wince, not liking where she’s trying to direct the conversation. “It’s one of those things that are hard to talk about. Too fresh.”

“Well, I can understand that,” she says, getting to her feet. “If you ever want to talk, I’m all ears. I’ve certainly never seen my brother so torn up over a girl before.” She pauses, blowing air out through her mouth. “Anyway, I’m going to order in dinner. What are you in the mood for?”

Taking her place under the sun, I try my best to smile and push Robert out of my head. “Surprise me.”

Robert doesn’t come home that evening. I can’t tell if it’s because he’s hurting and can’t bear to face me or if he’s being passive-aggressive. I call my mum and tell her I’m coming back early. She doesn’t do much to cover up her glee at the news. She’d never been a fan of the idea of me going to London in the first place. She’s so overjoyed that she doesn’t even think to question
why
I’m coming home. I book a flight for the next evening and start packing. I also call Alistair and let him know I won’t be coming back to the restaurant, but he’s not too put out since I only had a couple weeks left anyway.

Sasha takes a few hours off work to drive me to the airport the following day. When it’s time to leave, I mournfully say goodbye to the house, selfishly grateful that Robert still hasn’t shown up. A clean break will be easiest for the both of us.

Unfortunately, just as Sasha’s helping me put my bags in the boot of her car, Robert pulls into the driveway. Emerging from his Mercedes, he comes to stand before us, scratching the back of his neck with his keys.

His beautiful eyes land on me, tilting down in sadness. “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah, I thought it’d be for the best,” I tell him in a soft voice.

“It’s not for the best,” he replies, matter-of-fact. There’s no anger in his words, though, just pained resignation.

“Um, sorry to interrupt, but if we don’t leave now you might miss your flight, kid,” says Sasha, lighting up a cigarette and taking a long drag.

I look at her but don’t say anything. Glancing between Robert and me, she gives an awkward nod and slides into the driver’s seat to wait for me.

“I suppose there’s nothing I can do to change your mind,” says Robert.

I shake my head, unable to find any words.

He lets out a long breath, and then he’s standing before me, pulling me into him for a farewell hug. His arms tighten around me like he doesn’t want to let go.

“I’m going to miss you, little red,” he whispers into my hair, smelling me.

“I’m going to miss you, too, Robert.”

He pulls back, his warm hands braced on my shoulders as he peers down at me, forcing a smile. “Until next time, eh?”

Unable to help myself, I give him a small smile in return. “Goodbye, Robert.”

His forced smile falls from his face. “Goodbye, Lana.”

After I climb into the car with Sasha, I stare out the window at him still standing in the drive, watching us as we pull away.

Twenty

A
rriving at Dublin airport, I find my mum, Gran, Liz, and my sister waiting for me, an enthusiastic welcome-home party. I didn’t realise how much I missed them all until this moment, seeing their familiar faces in front of me, comforting like an old winter blanket.

Alison pesters me with questions about London, like
did you go to any good gigs?
and
did you see any famous people?
I tell her about the Olympics closing ceremony, and her mouth practically falls to the floor. Then I tell her about Alan’s birthday party, where there had been plenty of famous faces, but since most of them had their heyday in the ’80s she hasn’t got a clue who half of them are.

“You’re looking a little pale, love,” says Mum, eyeing me from her overhead mirror. “I hope you’ve been taking good care of yourself.”

“I have,” I answer her quickly. “The flight just drained me.”

Liz, who’s sitting beside me in the back, throws her arm around my shoulders and squeezes tight. “It’s great to have you back, Lana. I suppose you’ve got lots of organising to do before you return to college.”

I nod, and we make chitchat for the rest of the drive.

The next several weeks are a lesson in contrasts. It feels good to be home, but at the same time there’s an emptiness in my belly that marks Robert’s absence. I can’t stop thinking about him, missing him and wondering if he’s already got another girl by now. I thought that time would ease the pain, but it’s only making things worse. I picture his face in my head, worried I’ll somehow forget his features. The fact that it was my decision to end things only makes missing him that much harder a pill to swallow.

One evening I make the mistake of paying a rare visit to Facebook. When I do, I see that Robert uploaded and linked me a picture the same day I left London. It shows the two of us lying on the grass in the back garden, his arm around me, both of our eyes lit up from the shine of the sun. Underneath it has a comment that reads, “Miss you already.”

I think of all the pictures he has of me from our weeks together. I’d been in such a hurry to leave that I never gave much thought to asking him to delete them. Does he look at them often? I’m strangely jealous that he has those pictures to remember us by and I have nothing.

Unable to bring myself to delve further, I deactivate my account and shut down my laptop.

A couple of hours later I get a phone call from Sasha that sounds suspiciously like Robert put her up to it (which makes me both on edge and overjoyed). She asks me about Facebook, and I tell her that I’ve simply outgrown it. No need to explain the fact that it hurts too much to be reminded of her brother every day.

Before I know it, it’s the end of September, and I’m waking up early on a Monday morning to get the train into Dublin for college. I have a meeting with my thesis supervisor, and I’m going to pitch my idea for a new topic to him. I also plan on getting some studying done in the library. It’s Freshers’ Week, so suffice it to say the library will be empty and the campus bar jam-packed.

I haven’t been making much of an effort with my appearance lately, my melancholy over missing Robert causing me to spend most days in my pyjamas. If Mum didn’t work such long hours, she would have noticed and questioned me endlessly about why I’m acting so miserable.

Deciding to put my best foot forward, I French-plait my hair to the side, leaving the ends loose. I put on a grey pencil skirt, comfortable boots, and a cream woollen jumper. It might not sound so fancy, but compared to my recent attire it’s practically Oscars-worthy.

Arriving at Pearse Station, I make the short walk over the road, going through the back entrance to Trinity College. There are first-year students everywhere, all hyper and excited to be there. I get a pang of loneliness as I think how all of my friends have either graduated and started jobs or emigrated.

I go first to my supervisor’s office and tell him how I want to draw a comparison between cruelty in the classics and cruelty in the modern age for my thesis. He seems interested by the idea and tells me to go ahead with my research. Leaving the office with a swing in my step, I go to take care of my registration. Then I decide to treat myself and have lunch at my favourite place to eat in the city, the rooftop restaurant over Marks & Spencer.

After I’ve eaten, I make my way to the library, standing outside and rummaging through my bag for my student ID card, which I need to get inside. As I’m doing this, I get the distinct feeling I’m being watched. Looking in the direction I’d felt it from, I see a group of students walking away with their backs to me. My heart gives a quick jolt as I take in the recognisable stature of one of the guys. He’s exactly Robert’s height and build, with the same haircut and everything.

I shake my head, telling myself that my imagination is running away with me, and venture inside. I spend longer than planned researching, getting lost in my study as I usually do. When I get home, Gran heats me up some chicken casserole for dinner, and we talk about my first day back. She doesn’t ever ask any questions about that phone call we’d had weeks ago, when I’d told her all about my romantic woes, and I’m grateful for that.

The next morning I’m sitting by the window, eating breakfast, and Mum’s getting ready for work, buttoning up her shirt as she stands by the fireplace. Across the way I notice a car in Liz’s driveway – a very familiar one. The front door opens and Liz walks outside, followed by the unmistakable figure of her son.

I let my spoon fall into my bowl, clanging loudly, as I gasp in surprise.

“Lana, what’s wrong?” Mum asks, her brow furrowing.

“Is that Robert out there?” I say in a shaky voice, pointing to the window. He’s giving Liz a hug now and getting into his car.

“Oh, yes, Liz did mention something about the prodigal son returning.” Mum gives a cynical laugh. “Apparently he’s taking a career break so he can go back to school and get a degree. He’s been distant with her the past few years, but they had a heart-to-heart and decided to put past differences aside.”

Mum raises an eyebrow, communicating her feelings on the matter. She’s never liked Robert, nor does she trust him to be a good son to his mother. I have the sudden urge to defend him, but I resist.

So it
was
Robert I saw yesterday in that group of students. I’d felt someone watching me. Does that mean it had been him?

“Can’t he get a degree in London?” I mutter, thinking out loud.

“He could, but it’s less expensive to study here,” Mum answers.

Ha, that’s a load of crap. It may be less expensive, but I know for a fact that Robert’s hardly strapped for cash. My chest constricts with suspicion while my belly simultaneously fills with butterflies. Robert’s here. My Robert. The man I’ve missed like crazy.

In too much turmoil over the prospect of bumping into him, I decide to spend the day doing research at home. I don’t have all the books I need, though, and the Internet only goes so far, so the following day I have to go in.

I practically bite half my nails off on the train journey into the city, wondering about Robert. What is he studying? Is he staying at his mum’s house or somewhere else? Has he made friends yet? Well, given the fact I saw him on campus with other people, I presume he has.

I squirrel myself away in the library under a pile of books, scribbling copious amounts of notes and trying to focus on my thesis subject instead of how my heart flutters knowing Robert is somewhere close by.

At around two o’clock I decide it’s time for some food. Sitting down in The Buttery with my soup and sandwich, I stare about at the boisterous students surrounding me. A bunch of guys are eating their lunch while wearing brightly coloured ’70s attire, obviously something to do with Freshers’ Week.

Just as I’m bringing my attention back to my food, I hear a stream of laughter erupting from the group who’ve approached the table directly across from me. I’ve got my sandwich halfway to my mouth when I glance up and see Robert standing there, his dark eyes levelled on me as he puts down his tray and takes a seat. I’m struck by how weird it is to see him in student mode. I’ve gotten so used to seeing him as a businessman, most days wearing smart designer suits.

Now he’s got on black jeans, boots, and a stone-grey T-shirt.

He looks beautiful. Exquisite. Or maybe it’s just because I haven’t laid eyes on him in so long that I’m drinking him in like I’m dying of thirst.

Feeling awkward and not wanting to just ignore him and look away like we’re strangers (because, let’s face it, that would be ridiculous), I give him a stupid wave and then continue eating my sandwich. He says something to his friends before weaving past the tables to approach me.

I frown at him, feeling like he’s cheating just by being here. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. Living in a different country is the only way I can manage to maintain my distance from him.

“Hi,” he says, shoving his hands inside the pockets of his jeans and rocking back and forth on the heels of his feet.

“Hey,” I answer quietly, chewing on a bite of sandwich.

“Big surprise, huh?”

“What?”

“I mean, me being here. I bet you didn’t expect it.”

I straighten my shoulders. “Actually, I knew. My mum told me. Plus, I saw you outside Liz’s yesterday morning.”

“Ah.” He grins, the sides of his mouth curling attractively. “So that’s why you’ve been so difficult to pin down.”

Deciding not to tell him I stayed home yesterday in the hopes of avoiding him, I answer, “I’m a research student. I don’t go to lectures — most of my time is spent in the library.”

I momentarily cringe at having revealed that. Now he knows exactly where to find me.

“Right,” he says with a grin, rubbing a hand along his stubble.

“So, what are you studying?” I ask to break the tension.

“Film studies. It’s the closest thing they had to photography.” He smiles sheepishly. “I’m a mature student undergrad.”

“Couldn’t you have studied that in London? I bet they have way better courses there, too.”

“I could have,” he agrees. “Only one problem with that, though.”

“Which is…”

“You’re not in London, Lana.”

“Oh.”

His smile widens as he whispers back huskily. “Yeah, ‘oh.’”

“Well,” I say, dusting my hands, “I’d better be getting back to the library.”