The End is Where We Begin Maria Goodin (best classic romance novels .TXT) 📖

“But I mean you didn’t, you know, you didn’t meet anyone?”

“What, a woman?”

“Well, last thing I knew that was your gender of preference.”

I laugh and so does she.

“Yeah, well, it still is. But, no, I’m not with anyone, if that’s what you’re asking. I haven’t had much time for all that and… I don’t know. That’s probably a lousy excuse. I mean, there have been people, here and there, you know…”

“Yes, so I gathered,” she says with a smirk, raising an eyebrow at me.

“Uh, no, Rachel, she’s just a friend.”

Libby smiles sceptically.

“A friend I might have given the wrong impression to,” I add with a guilty smile, and Libby laughs.

I’d forgotten how much she laughed, how much she smiled, and how that always made me want to smile, too. I was thrown by our first couple of meetings; her cold reserve and sharpness. But I can see now that her warmth is still there. She’s not so different, after all. Plus, I suspect the drink has loosened her up a bit. If I wasn’t worrying about my conjoined son and my mentally unstable best friend, I might even start to relax around her.

“So, what about you?” I dare to ask. “How did you meet…?”

“Will. Erm… we met at work – not the job I just left, another one. An insurance company. He’s the head of finance, so…”

She stops there as if this is everything I need to know about Will. I have an image of a corporate guy in a smart suit ordering people around. He’d be pretty rich, wouldn’t he, if he’s head of finance? I never imagined Libby ending up with someone like that. Wasn’t that everything she stood against? But then I guess that was a long time ago. And even back then she was confused and contradictory about her values.

I want to ask more about Will, but at the same time I don’t want to know. I’m happy for her. She deserves love, stability, security. But it’s strangely hard, thinking of her with someone else, even after all this time.

“So, you said you were working for an advertising agency?” I ask, slightly confused by what she does exactly. “On the creative side?”

“Umm… well, yes,” she says, sheepishly, “but not being particularly creative, unless you call arranging biscuits into nice patterns on a plate creative. I was just doing secretarial stuff. It was just a temporary job. As was the job at the insurance company. Except there I got to stand behind reception all day and wear a weird uniform that made me look creepily like an overgrown school girl.”

“Hopefully that’s not what attracted Will.”

She laughs. “Hopefully not. But I… umm… I’m still, actually, working out what I want to do.”

I nod, thinking this makes sense in so many ways. Behind the confident, determined exterior, she was always conflicted, muddled, lost. And it sounds like in some ways she still is.

“Well, it can be hard, finding your path in life. I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” I say, cringing at my own words. I meant to sound reassuring, but instead I think I just sound patronising.

“I kind of thought by this age I’d have already figured it out. I did have a plan, once. I started an archaeology degree, but, I don’t know, I struggled a bit at uni. I found it hard, trying to integrate. When you haven’t been to school, haven’t been used to groups of people your own age… I don’t know. Maybe I’ll go back one day.”

“Well, you’ve still got your whole life ahead of you, really. There’s lots of time to make changes and choices. I don’t see myself hanging round here forever, doing what I’m doing. I’d like to move to the Peak District before too long, renovate my great-great-grandad’s cottage, work less, enjoy the outdoor life a bit more.”

“So, don’t you want… I don’t know, don’t you want to meet someone maybe, settle down, have more kids…?”

“Christ no,” I laugh. “I mean, meet someone, maybe, but kids? No. No way.”

“Has it been that bad?” Libby laughs.

“No. No, it’s just been…”

I look out at the water, the evening sun bouncing off the surface in shimmering, golden sparkles. In my mind’s eye, I see that hospital, the strobe lights, the plastic seats. I need to prepare you, Mr Lewis. We’re doing everything we can, but he’s in a critical condition…

“…it’s been challenging, like I said.”

“So, you’re done,” Libby states.

“Yeah, I’m done. Definitely. I mean, this one has literally glued himself to his mate, so…”

Libby laughs. “Yes, I see your point.”

“Don’t let me put you off, though. They’re not all as crazy as mine.”

“Oh, you won’t put me off. I can’t wait to have kids.”

“You want to start a family soon?” It feels way too personal a question for this stage in our… whatever this is. But she was the one who put it out there.

“Absolutely. Wedding vows out the way and then…”

“And then down to business, eh?”

“You could put it that way,” she laughs.

“You still want to have four of the little buggers?”

She shakes her head at the memory, cringing. “Er… no, maybe not four. A couple will do fine. God, I must have terrified you, with all my talk about marriage and kids the minute we were old enough!”

“Well, a little maybe,” I concede, and we both laugh.

“I’ve always thought it was kind of ironic,” she says, “that I was so keen to have kids, but you were the one who ended up having one.”

“Yeah,” I nod, “I’ve thought that too. But it wasn’t really a choice.”

“No, but clearly you’ve made a good job of it.”

“Again, he’s glued himself to his mate.”

“Understood. But who was the first person he called? You. And I could tell from the way you spoke to him that you two have a good relationship.”

“Did you get that from the fact I called him a moron and then hung up on him?”

“Absolutely.”

We come to a halt, both of us staring towards the bridge where we