2016
I still have nine days left of my current temping contract, covering for a receptionist in a law firm, so we agree that I won't move up to the Highlands and start work until I've finished that.
Most of our arrangements are made via WhatsApp and that suits me just fine. Virtual contact is easier. I'm still not quite sure what I'm going to be letting myself in for by being around Ryan for extended periods of time; am I just being the world's biggest masochist? Especially since I know my body is still betraying me and reacting to his very presence, even after years of him not being in my life.
Not for the first time, I find myself wondering why it's been so difficult for me to get over him. I've been in relationships where I thought I was in love over the years, but the breakups have somehow hurt less than the act of Ryan simply not reciprocating my feelings. Maybe it just feels like it hurts more because I was so young at the time. Much like Ryan seems to be, I'm harder now. My shell is tougher.
Maybe I'm more used to the rejection now.
I'm not particularly enjoying my current temp job but that's probably actually a good thing. I've discovered in the past few months of temp work that it's not great to get too attached to a temporary gig because it's very rare that it will ever actually become permanent. You end up really liking a company and the people but you can only be there a week or two.
Sometimes I wonder though if maybe that's why it seems like a better place to work. Because you're only there long enough to see the good side. You don't get to deep-dive into the minefield that can be office politics, merely skimming the top of the waves. You don't get to see the sharks.
But there's jobs like this current one that I know immediately that I could never work permanently in. The office culture isn't a fit for me at all, just too stiff and formal. It makes me uncomfortable; I want to jump right out of my skin and fly away.
And that makes me really glad for this unexpected opportunity to escape. Despite how weird it might be. Because hospitality is something I've always been good at. It's not for everyone, granted, and I've had my fair share of crying-in-the-loo moments, but I love the challenge of not knowing what problem I might need to try and fix each day.
Sometimes I think I'd actually be quite good on "The Apprentice". But I'd prefer not to be universally hated by TV fans. And not be forced to laugh at Alan Sugar's terrible dad jokes.
I mostly spend my evenings trying to decide what to pack to take up north with me. I don't want to take too much as I'm not sure how much storage space I'll have, but I'm also not sure when I'll next be down.
It's still winter at the moment so the one thing I know I will need for sure is warm clothes. Glasgow can be chilly in the winter but the Highlands are a whole different micro-climate.
I decide to treat myself to a new fluffy dressing gown and slippers, as well as cosy pyjamas, and a couple of new jumpers. Nothing fancier than Primark, but I've barely bought myself anything in months so I feel like Cher in "Clueless" going on a shopping spree as I leave the store with multiple bags. There's a spring in my step for the first time in what feels like months as I walk along Argyle Street.
Of course it starts to rain, which it always does when I shop in Primark due to the carrier bags being made of paper. It's a special sub-branch of sod's law, apparently. Even that doesn't dampen my feeling of hope though - pun not intended.
My friends have organised a good luck dinner for me on the Friday night I finish at the law firm and, being a social hermit as of late, I'm way too excited about it. My little black dress is getting another outing, and this time I'll eat what I want without judgement. I even insisted we returned to the same restaurant that was the venue for my disastrous date last week as I really want that mozzarella starter again.
"I don't understand why you and John didn't get on," Lily says now as we wait for our wine.
"He was really weird about me eating anything with any fat content in it. In an Italian restaurant." I roll my eyes. "And he's clearly obsessed with you."
She blushes, confirmation that she knew that all along. "I hoped I'd be able to get him to move on," she confesses.
"Unless you have a secret twin hiding in the background somewhere, I think you're screwed, mate," I reply, sipping my water.
"Not as screwed as you though," Claire chimes in, turning to me. "I honestly don't understand your thought process behind this move. Working for Ryan? Do you think you can cope?"
At some point down the line, back in the throes of my second attempt at a crush on Ryan, I finally admitted it to my friends. I really wished now that I hadn't but it couldn't really be avoided - at that point, I was spending so much time with him that they were already querying it. Of course they're going to worry for me.
But I wave off their concerns. "It's all water under the bridge. It was so long ago now."
"Iona, you ran away for the entire summer after prom night so you wouldn't have to see him again," Lily points out. "You've basically never mentioned his name again like he's some sort of curse . . . Until you told us about this job."
"You make it sound so dramatic," I scoff. "I didn't run away; I just went to my gran's and didn't come back until uni was starting."
"You deliberately avoided him because you felt like he broke your heart," Claire corrects me gently. "You changed your whole plans that summer on the back of what happened at prom."
A silence falls over the table as I have to acknowledge the truth of her words.
"I don't think I ever told you this," Lily says suddenly, breaking the tension. "But I ran into him that summer. He was asking about you. He just seemed so . . . Lost."
"I saw him too," Claire adds. "I didn't speak to him, but he didn't seem right either." She nods towards Lily. "Lost is a good way to describe it to be honest."
Weird.
But . . .
I force myself to shrug. I can't change the past and now I don't even know if I'd want to. I have to focus on my future.
"It'll be fine," I say. Hoping to convince myself as much as my friends.
Later I find myself pulling out the memory box I keep under my bed and pulling out the contents, scattering them over the bed as I sip at a mug of hot chocolate.
All my diaries are there, from the ages of 12 until 18. I was meticulous in detailing pretty much every detail of my life. I started a new one each school year without fail. I actually have three volumes for 1995/96. I'm the JRR Tolkien of teenage diaries. I doubt Peter Jackson would want to adapt my musings about my first crush into a film franchise, but there's probably enough content there if he's ever tempted.
I flip through some of the pages, annoyed to feel my eyes stinging at some of the memories. There was a particularly sweet moment, just before Christmas in 1995, when Ryan slipped a new pen in front of me. "You gave me a pen once so I thought I should return the favour," he had said bashfully.
It was a bright purple gel pen. And purple was my favourite colour. I had just stared down at it for ages, blinking in surprise. "Do you like it?" he'd asked eventually. Looking up at his face, it appeared he was possibly regretting giving it to me.
But there was a little bud of something warm inside me unfurling at the thought of this boy making the choice to go to the shop and pick this out for me. Of spending money on me. Of knowing that to give me a gift like this, even one that only cost a couple of quid, showed that he cared.
I'd met his eyes. "I love it," I'd replied softly. And that irresistible smile had appeared on his face before he turned back to his computer.
My phone beeps with an incoming message, pulling me back to the present. A message from Ryan 3.0.
I'll get someone to pick you up at the station tomorrow.
It's quickly followed by a second message.
So this is your last chance to pull out.
I tut, tossing the phone on the bed in mild frustration. I have no intention of going back on my word. Especially since he seems me to want to. I'm determined to prove him wrong. I stare back at the diary entry I was reading where I've ended the pen anecdote with "I just like him sooooo much. He's so kind and sweet!" before I slam the book closed and pick up my phone again.
I'll be there.
I don't get a response and I don't really expect one. I start stuffing my old memories back into the box but I can't help but leave the last diary - the 1998/1999 book - out. I find myself squeezing it into the top of the large holdall I'm taking along with my suitcase.
I feel I might need those last memories of Ryan 2.0 to keep myself strong over these next few months.
Ryan really doesn't trust Iona at the moment, does he? Can she turn this around?
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