The Persistence of Memory

Chapter Twenty Four

I hug Esther for a long time before exiting her office, and she offers to see me via Skype if I ever feel the need to talk to her again. She doesn't come right out and tell me that I'm cured, but her parting comments as I'm leaving suggest I'm going to be just fine.

I decide to walk for a bit and then take the subway to Aidan's loft, partly as it's a lovely day, and partly because I'm desperate to prolong our confrontation for as long as possible. I'm desperate to see him but I'm afraid too. Afraid of having him look at me how he looked at me that day.

The outside of his building looks exactly the same. Though it's not as though I seriously expected it to look any different, as though the inner thoughts and emotions of its inhabitants would somehow be reflected on its facade. As I climb the steps of his building there's a UPS delivery man leaving and he holds the door open for me to slip inside. He smiles a friendly smile that I return before I venture tentatively through the lobby of the beautifully restored building.

Since the service lift is on the ground floor, I take it as a sign to stop procrastinating and face the bloody music. I yank up the door, which is heavy and noisy, but which slides down with far more ease. As the lift ascends I try and steady my breathing. My stomach echoes the feeling it had the first time I came here to see him; filled with desperate flapping wings and a ball of pent-up tension.

Was I in love with him even then? Was I in love with him the moment I heard his voice in the gallery that night? Or the instant I turned around and looked into his eyes? I don't believe in love at first sight, and so I don't want it to be true because it seems so bloody stupid, but there's a very good chance that it is. What if he doesn't want me anymore? Now. What the hell will I do then?

I feel ill.

As the lift jerks to a stop on the third floor, I use both hands to slide up the door before stepping out into the large quiet corridor. The sound of the lift returning to ground distracts from the loud thumping of my heart in my ears.

The doorbell to Aidan's loft is one of those old hanging things with a rope and a brass handle on the end like you'd see in an old schoolhouse. It echoes loudly around the space on the other side of the door as I pull it. My heart rate increases the louder the footsteps get behind the door until suddenly the large metal door is pulled open.

My body deflates a little as Aidan's friend looks back at me, surprised. "Eloise." There's a note in his tone that sounds suspicious, a little hard.

I try and smile back but my mouth feels oddly stiff. Patrick must know everything. He must hate me. I straighten my spine. "I really need to speak to him," I say.

A weird expression flickers across his face and then he frowns. "You can't. I mean, he's gone. He left yesterday afternoon."

The beating increases again. "Gone where?"

He runs a hand over the back of his neck looking slightly uncomfortable now. "Home. London."

I feel my legs wobble slightly and my stomach bottom out. Whatever look Patrick sees on my face then has him step forward and put an arm around me.

"You better come in."

Tea is a wonderful beverage, really. An upset tummy.  A hangover. The stirrings of a cold. And though it can't fix this, I'm still grateful to Pat for making it for me. I've rarely had tea since coming to New York. I've missed it.

"He told you everything?" I ask, glancing up at him. "God, you must think terribly of me."

He sticks his bottom lip out and shakes his head, bringing his tea to his mouth. It's the same mug Aidan made me the hot Irish whiskey in. Grey with white polka dots.