The End is Where We Begin by Maria Goodin (open ebook .txt) 📕

Just then, the gate that leads from the car park opens and Irena walks into the alley.

“Why you two hiding down here for?” she asks brusquely, shutting the gate behind her.

“I was just getting back to work,” Libby says quickly, as if she’s been caught skiving.

Irena stops. She looks from me, to Libby and back again.

“Is fine. Take rest of the night off,” she orders with a wave of her hand.

“There’s too much to do,” Libby protests.

Irena checks her watch. “Is all fine. Plus, is already nine o’clock. I tell you only work till nine and then enjoy yourself. Why else I get in extra staff?”

“I don’t mind—”

“Don’t make me fire you,” says Irena, sharply, squeezing past us with her round belly. “No more work tonight.”

As she passes me, she jabs me hard in the back of my ribs, making me jolt. I assume this counts as encouragement in Irena’s world.

We watch her waddle down the alley to re-join the party. The music has temporarily stopped – a changeover of bands – and despite the hordes of people talking and laughing just around the corner, the air suddenly seems strangely quiet without the thudding of drums and the clanging of guitars.

“So…?” Libby asks, as if she’s still needed somewhere else.

“Look,” I say, taking a deep breath, my heart starting to race, “I wanted to tell you why I said what I said before… about not wanting you around, I mean. Because when I tried to explain before—”

“It’s fine. I understand.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do. I know me being here must bring stuff up for you—”

“Yes, but not the stuff you think. I mean, maybe, a bit, but that’s not—”

“It’s brought stuff up for me, too. Memories and… well, I haven’t found it easy either. But I’m just here until the baby comes, and then I’m out of Timpton. I’m sure that for a few weeks, for Irena and Stu’s sake, we can—”

“No, I know all that, but that’s not—”

“I’m pleased we met up again despite everything, and maybe you don’t feel that way, but I really am pleased, even if it has been… unsettling. I always thought about you and wondered if you were okay and I didn’t just stop caring—”

“Neither did I.”

“—but you and me, trying to be friends… it was probably a bit ambitious. I mean, it took me a long time to get over you and perhaps some things are better left alone. And obviously it’s brought stuff up for you—”

“No, but that’s what I want to tell you—”

“—I think bringing the past up again, it can get complicated and confusing, and I totally understand—”

“Libby, will you just stop talking for a minute!” I interrupt, a little more harshly than I intend, nerves making me agitated.

She stares at me, wide-eyed, clutching her glass of water in front of her.

“Look,” I say, deciding to take a different route in. “I… Do you… do you have feelings for me?”

The second it’s out I feel foolish; vulnerable and exposed. She stares at me, the whites of her eyes shining like a rabbit caught in the headlights.

She shakes her head slightly, and with a sinking heart I’m immediately convinced that Irena was wrong, that I was wrong…

“What do you mean?” she asks.

“I just… A few times I’ve had a feeling that maybe… between us, there was… something. And Irena told me…”

Even in the dim light I can see the flush rise up Libby’s neck, colouring her cheeks. She quickly tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I don’t know what Irena said, but she shouldn’t… she really… I mean, of course I have feelings for you… or about you… It’s confusing, seeing you again, that’s what I just said, I think maybe coming back here—”

“So then you do have feelings for me?” I ask, desperate for some clarity.

“What… I mean, why? Why does it even matter?” she asks, looking flustered. “I know it’s not like you and I… I mean, you have this thing with Rachel and—”

“There’s nothing between me and Rachel.”

“Really?” she scoffs, clearly thinking she knows better. “That’s not what it looked like when you were kissing her earlier—”

“She kissed me! It was a kiss goodbye. She’s leaving.”

“Or when you walked out of here wrapped round each other a few weeks ago—”

“When? The night Will was here? No, that… Nothing happened. It wasn’t—”

“Whatever, anyway, I don’t care,” she insists, shaking her head dismissively.

“Well, it kind of… seems like you do care.”

“No, I absolutely don’t,” she says firmly, “that’s your business—”

“So why are you even bringing Rachel into it?”

She looks stumped.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t. I mean, I’m not.”

I stare at her, confused. I don’t know how I thought this was going to go, but it definitely wasn’t like this.

“Look,” I say, running my hand over my head, realising I am making a terrible job of this. “I just wanted to know if you felt anything. For me. Because it seemed like maybe—”

“Okay, I’m not going to lie,” she interrupts, “I’ve had a lot of complicated feelings going on, and seeing you again—” Her voice cracks and she stops abruptly. She stares at the ground silently, recovering her composure.

And in that moment I know.

I know that I’m not wrong.

“What does it even matter to you how I feel?” she asks, her voice having lost its strength.

“Because it does,” I tell her, suddenly desperate for her to understand. “Because I have feelings. For you. And if you feel anything like the same…”

I watch her carefully, waiting for confirmation of what I’m suddenly sure I know, but she seems to have frozen, her wide eyes staring at me. It’s hard to tell in the poor light, but if I had to guess at her expression, I’d say shocked confusion mixed with a hint of fear.

“Okay, listen,” I say, wishing I could start this afresh, “the thing is—”

“Why are you doing this?” she asks abruptly, her voice quivering with emotion.

“Why? Because you and I—”

“There is no you and I!” she