Page 118 of Pull Me Under

Coward.

The word echoes in my skull.

You’re a fucking coward.

I pull out my phone. Stare at Brynn’s contact. Type and delete a dozen messages.

In the end, I send: Can’t make tonight. Family stuff. Dad wants to do the pub. Tomorrow instead?

Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.

Brynn: Everything ok?

Fine. Just Reuben being Reuben. I’ll make it up to you.

A long pause. Then:

Ok.

One word. I can feel the distance in it. The disappointment she’s trying to hide.

Prove it, she said. That’s all I’m asking.

And here I am, already failing.

I pocket the phone. Head downstairs. Help Dad with the accounts.

Play the good son.

The Ship is packed.

Friday night in Salt Bay means everyone’s here. The noise washes over me, familiar and suffocating.

Reuben’s in his element. Holding court at the bar, trading stories with Bill, laughing at Frankie’s terrible jokes. Playing the patriarch, the pillar of the community.

I nurse my pint and try to look like I’m having a good time.

It’s not working.

Every time the door opens, my head turns. Not hoping – dreading. She wouldn’t come, would she? I told her I’d be here with Dad. She knows what that means.

But some part of me wants her to walk through that door anyway. Wants her to force my hand. Make the choice I can’t seem to make myself.

Coward.

There’s that word again.

‘You’re quiet tonight.’ Reuben’s watching me over his pint. ‘Got things on your mind?’

‘Just tired.’

‘Tired?’ He doesn’t believe me. I can tell. ‘You’ve been tired a lot lately.’

‘Long week.’

‘Hmm.’

The door opens.