The Same Deep Water (20 page)

Chapter Thirty-Four

#3 Visit London

#6 See the Van Gogh Painting, Sunflowers.

I sit on the low wooden bench as Guy stands a few feet away in front of the painting. Other tourists spread around the room, talking in low voices as they move slowly from painting to painting. Guy remains in one place for several minutes, behind the red cordon, as if held in place. I smile to myself as a couple of teenage girls switch their attention from the masterpieces to the tall, muscular man, with his hands in jeans pockets, oblivious to their interest. I have a great view of his rear, while they can appreciate his face is as big an attraction as his body. I blink back to viewing Guy as the man who held me, whose mouth touched every inch of my skin and whose eyes held as much love as pain. The man I loved.

Everybody knows the sunflower paintings, judging by the number of people they’re a big draw card for the gallery. I’m not a fan of art, so today’s visit to the National Gallery in London didn’t appeal. However, my desire to reconnect with Guy for a couple of days before heading off on my planned trip to other parts of the UK pushed me to come here too. Things are easy-going between us again, the hours seated together in an airplane reforging the old ‘us’, but can I take this a step further and allow myself close? Our long flight involved even longer conversations, but many topics were skirted around.

I told Guy he still has secrets to give up, that he needs to now answer every question that I should’ve asked before. He’s well now; this Guy is the man who strolled toward me at the café the second time we met – as vibrant as the art we’ve studied today. The other man who told me he wanted to die in the same breath as he told me he loved me isn’t here. But what if this man with me now is him – Noah – and only Guy loved me?

Last night, after we arrived at the London hotel, Guy told me the story about his step-sister, Sally. The words were hard for him and the emotion raw in his voice as he recounted the day he found her in bed, crying because she had a bad headache. He was eight. Sally was four. Nobody else was around and he wanted to look after her. Guy managed to open the bottle of medicine his nanny usually gave him when he was sick and gave Sally a few spoonfuls. Then he tucked Sally into bed, to get better, not wanting to disturb anybody else. She never did; Sally died.

For much of Guy’s life he believed he’d killed his sister, that the decision to medicate her had poisoned Sally. Guy’s dad blamed his young son too, mixed up in his mind with his wife’s death, but years later Guy discovered she’d died of meningitis. The sick Guy refused to believe this, instead convincing himself they’d lied to stop his guilt. In his mind, the decision not to find an adult to help, but instead try to nurse her caused Sally’s death.

I listened in horror and reached out to him. Guy refused to look at me through most of the story, clearly, he still struggles to come to terms with this part of his past. But he now believes he wasn’t responsible, and that’s what matters.

I look over. The man blending in like any other tourist needs to give up the rest of his secrets so I can move on – with or without him.

Guy approaches. “Aren’t you having a closer look at the paintings?”

“I will. The room’s claustrophobic with people crowded around.”

“How about I buy you a tea towel with the sunflowers on, then you can look at the picture whenever you want?” He holds out a hand.

“I think I’d prefer a mug.” I grasp his fingers and he pulls me to my feet. “So, how does it feel to see the painting that inspired you to paint?”

“Amazing. This place is incredible. I could stay here all day.” His smile widens at my poor attempt to disguise boredom. “Don’t panic, I won’t make you. Come on, I’ll buy you a tea towel.”

“Mug. And don’t forget, you’re going on the London Eye with me later.”

“You’ll have to hold my hand.”

I lace my fingers through his. “Of course.”

Guy stops at the entrance to the gift shop, and I shake my head. “I was joking about the mug, I’m not carrying that around England for several weeks.”

“Okay, I want to buy a souvenir though. I doubt I’ll be visiting here again in a hurry.”

I peer through the doorway at the racks of cards and huge prints of artwork on the walls. People edge around each other in the busy shop, selecting their spoils.

“I’ll meet you at the cafe, I think.”

Guy laughs at me. “No worries.” He kisses my forehead.

I watch him for a moment as he heads into the store, confused by how naturally our lives have fitted back together. His easy-going nature was often at the fore, and with his dark side gone I can almost believe he’s my Guy again. Almost.

I find my way downstairs away from the quiet calm of the gallery and into one of the nearby cafes, where I order two coffees from the counter beneath the bright orange walls. The cafe is as busy as the rest of the gallery but I scout out a corner decorated with large black leather seats beneath small paintings. I sip my mocha as I wait for Guy.

He reappears, holding a plastic bag printed with the Gallery logo. When Guy sits, he rummages inside and pulls out a tea towel. “There you go.”

I groan and fold it onto my knee, looking back at Guy’s dimpled grin. “Thank you. I bought you a coffee.”

Guy sits and shuffles across the leather seat. As he sips his drink, he lapses into silence. I know why. I squeeze his hand in an unspoken gesture that everything is okay.

“I guess there’re a few things I need to explain to you,” he says softly.

Do I want to know this? Be pulled back? Half of me doesn’t want him to, but that’s the half who didn’t ask the questions once before. “Here?”

“I can’t hold onto this any longer.”

“Is what you need to tell me so bad you need us to be in public, and I can’t freak out?” I say and poke him in the side.

He doesn’t laugh. “About things I’ve said in the past, we both skirted around discussing everything on the plane. Didn’t we?”

“Like we usually do.”

“And we have to talk or this won’t work. We won’t fix this until there’re no secrets left.”

“Okay.”

He places his cup on the low table. “I lied by omission, but I also lied, period. Some things are true: my father did die and leave me money, my mother did die in childbirth, and I am both Noah and Guy. Some of what I said wasn’t true. When I got sick again I believed what I told you, such as the crazy idea my dad invented the internet.” His voice is hushed, below the quiet voices of others in the room.

“I didn’t think that was true about your dad.”

He takes my hand. “My father left me with my grandparents after my sister died. He moved away to the States with my step-mother for a couple of years. He came back, but he never allowed me close to him. I was looked after by a string of nannies. I invented a reason for his lack of love and disappearance, to explain why he had to leave and was busy all the time. My father did work in the ‘dotcom’ field early on and made a crap load of money. Money I now have.”

A couple of fellow tourists sit at a table next to us, chattering in Japanese as they stir sugar into coffee.

“And I am well again now. Stable. I’ve decided to plan a future outside of myself. Find a job.” Guy glances at the couple and lowers his voice. “The last thing. I’ve struggled against telling you this for months. You’ll either walk away, or understand, which is why I’m telling you now, before we get closer. I don’t want to lose you.”

“What?” I ask and squeeze his fingers.

“How we met. I believe that was fate, as I’ve told you before, but I never told you why I was really there.”

My stomach lurches, hair standing up on my arms the way the breeze caused the night on the rocks. “Were you planning to jump too?” I whisper.

“No.” Guy drags a hand down his face and doesn’t speak, mouth forming words he won’t say. “I was bringing flowers to the spot you chose. I never expected anybody else to be there.”

The one obvious reason for this springs into my mind and I look back at him, eyes widening. “Who died there, Guy? Your dad?”

“No. He died of a heart attack last year, although I think his heart never mended after Mum died.”

The familiar fear that Guy will tell me something I don’t want to hear returns. Can I keep doing this? “Who died?” For a moment Guy stares ahead in an all too familiar way. The battle against speaking the words is evident on his strained face. I place a hand over his. “Tell me.”

“My girlfriend. Ex. She wasn’t really my girlfriend. I never loved her not like I love –” He stops himself. “Emma loved me, but I was sick, pushed her away. I didn’t have the capacity to feel what she wanted me to.”

“And she… There?” I close my eyes, focusing on pushing down the rising emotion, controlling the effect of his words.

“Yes. Three years ago to that day we met.”

My eyes remain closed, fighting the image of a girl falling to her death. I pull my hand from his, perspiration breaking out across my skin. “You didn’t save her, so you wanted to save me instead,” I say in a low voice. “You pushed away your guilt by making me into her, is that what happened?”

“No. Never. You were never her in my mind. Not once.” His expression is hard, as emphatic as his voice.

“Why then?”

“Do you think I’d walk away and leave somebody who was about to kill themselves?” he asks hoarsely. “I’d already caused three deaths. Didn’t matter who you were – man or woman, old or young – I wasn’t leaving without you.”

“But then afterwards. You drew me into your life, taught me to move on and live. You did all that because you wanted to fix what you thought you’d caused!” I bite back my rising tone, and raise my head to look at Guy.

“No, Phe. That’s not right. We clicked. The closer we became and the happier we both were, the further I was from being Noah. Noah caused all the problems. That’s why I was Guy. Am Guy.”

I take a ragged breath. Was I somebody else to Guy all along? He says I wasn’t, but how can I believe that? I set down my cup and stare at my hands in my lap. Jet lag adds to the surreality of the words, there’s an increased distance between me and the real world.

“Phe, listen to me.” Cautiously he reaches out and I cross my arms against my chest, blinking away tears. “I’m sorry what I’m saying is upsetting you, but I had to tell you. You don’t understand how important you are or how you’ve changed me. Why does how we met matter? The only thing I take from that is we were
meant
to meet.”

“Every time I think I understand, you confuse me further, Guy.”

“I didn’t have to tell you the truth, but I did. I never want to keep secrets again. They eat away at my reality.” Guy shifts closer. “I want you to be my reality.”

“I fell in love with you, and I didn’t want to. You hurt me.” I hold my hand to my chest. “You don’t understand how much. I’m taking a big risk here by letting you back in.”

“I know and I’m sorry, but I boarded the plane yesterday to fight for what I believed in. You. Me. Us.”

I blink back at him, heart aching. Not from his words but because I’m scared of falling under again. “Could this work? We’re both a mess.”

“
Were
a mess. Can we start again? Something brought us together and never allowed us to completely let go.”

“I want to but I’m so confused. I missed you, I wanted you to be there yesterday. This feels right but –”

“We started our journey again.” Guy takes my arms and pulls so I have to uncross them. “Look at me.” The man with the eyes that threatened to drown me looks back, the intensity drawing me close. “I love you.”

I choke on my words, tears welling. “I’m frightened of loving you again.”

Guy drops his hands from my arms.

“I know I hurt you, you let me in, told me your story and I never told you mine. I came back because I hoped you’d want me to fight for you. For us. I’ve told you my secrets, even the ones I hid from the world. You have all of me now. I don’t think I could ever give myself to somebody else.”  He cups my cheek. “Phe, once, I thought I was a whole person and I hated that person. Then I met you and realised I had a second part and she completed me. The problem is, I lost you. That’s why I’m fighting for you now.”

I close my eyes and breathe deeply, fitting the jigsaw pieces together in my head. His girlfriend. His mum. His sister. I know everything now and if I judge him for this I’m as bad as the words he once told himself. There’s a huge reason why I need to draw a line under that night, forever.

“I don’t understand why I felt complete with you, even when I knew you hid parts of yourself. Now I’m scared that this Guy is too different to the one I fell in love with, that we can’t be two halves the way we were.”

“We’re two parts who make a whole, otherwise why would we be here again, now.”

His words are spoken as a fact and not a question, followed immediately by his lips on mine. Guy tips my face toward his, long fingers under my chin. Everything is stripped away now, back to a rawness of souls who share an understanding in each other’s touch. Guy places his mouth on mine; lips soft at first until I kiss him back, holding his head. Guy’s kiss reaches into the place inside me where my love for him still lives, and fills the emptiness with his.