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

Libby nods slowly. “We went north. Harmonie got offered a business opportunity,” she says vaguely. She turns towards me and shrugs. “But anyway, long time ago.”

I feel relieved by her explanation. I’d always assumed she’d left because of me, but clearly – and a bit embarrassingly – I’ve overestimated my own importance.

She comes back to the table and picks her jacket off the chair. “I should get going,” she says.

There’s so much I want to ask her, so much I want to know. But, of course, that was never the point of today. It was never going to be a question of reviving a friendship. I’m looking to let go, sever, move on, not rebuild something new out of the ashes of the past. It’s been strange, brief, and somehow both more and less than I had hoped for. But it’s done.

I stand up quickly, grabbing my phone and wallet from the table. “I need to get back, too.”

Libby pulls her bag onto her shoulder.

“So, uh…” she splays her hands out in front of her, the universal sign for how do we end this?

“Yeah. Um… thanks for coming. It really meant a lot, being able to just see you again and say, you know, what I said.”

She shrugs. “It’s fine.”

We look at each other for a moment, and suddenly I have an overwhelming urge to reach out and put my arms around her, just like I would have done so many times in the past without a second thought.

“Are you…?” she asks, gesturing towards the bar.

“Yes, right, let’s go,” I say, and lead her back inside.

“All right, Jay?” I hear someone call as soon as I’m through the door.

Leo, Michael’s drummer, is playing pool in the corner with Stu. Leo’s massive frame is hunched over the table, carefully lining up a shot, his eyes on the ball. His long hair hangs limply around his face.

“You enjoy the gig at the weekend?” he asks without looking up.

“Yeah, great,” I say, head down, focusing on getting out of here.

“You looked like you were having fun with, er… what’s her name? Rachel?” He lets out a long whistle between his teeth, takes his shot, misses and curses quietly. The moment he straightens up and spies Libby walking behind me, he flashes me a guilty look, as if he’s put his foot in it.

“You guys want to play?” asks Stu, stepping forward.

“No, we’re just leaving,” I say, quickly, shooting him a warning look, which he chooses to ignore. Instead, he holds the pool cue out to Libby.

“No, it’s fine, thanks,” she smiles, but those few words are enough encouragement for Stu to start a conversation.

“You from around here?” he asks, smiling broadly.

“Oh, well, not really,” says Libby. “I mean, I used to be. I grew up on the canal, but I’m living in North London now.”

Stu wags his finger between myself and Libby. “And you two know each other…?”

I narrow my eyes and shake my head at him so slightly that only he would notice.

“We used to be… umm…” Libby looks at me uncertainly.

“Friends.”

“Friends,” she affirms, “when we were young. And then we just met up again at… well, at an art exhibition.”

“An art exhibition?” asks Stu, raising an eyebrow at me.

“Well, my exhibition,” Libby clarifies with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I do some painting and Jamie came long…”

“Jamie came along?” repeats Stu gleefully, putting an emphasis on my name. No one round here ever calls me Jamie.

“What kind of painting do you do?” asks Leo, pulling up alongside Stu. He’s a gentle giant of a guy with a soft, rounded belly.

“Oh, nothing much. I just like splashing colours around really,” Libby laughs, self-consciously. But while the last thing I want to do is drag out this conversation, something in me won’t stand by and hear her diminish her talents in that way.

“Libby paints canal scenes,” I clarify. “They’re fantastic.”

A blush rises in her cheeks, and she throws me a smile halfway between thankful and mortified.

“Oh, hey!” exclaims Leo, jabbing Stu in the arm with his pool cue. “You want a canal scene painted on the outside wall, don’t you?”

“I do!” grins Stu, pointing to the wall surrounding the terrace. “I want a canal scene painted right around that wall there. Cheer the outside area up, make it in keeping with the scenery.”

“Or people can just look at the actual scenery,” I say, drily.

“But you can’t see the canal when you’re sitting down, smart-arse,” Stu corrects me, “all you can see is wall.”

“That’s a great idea,” nods Libby, considering the wall like she can already see the painting taking shape. “You could have canal boats, and people walking dogs, and kingfishers, people on bikes… Oh, actually, you could have the seasons changing as the painting goes around. Spring, going into summer, then autumn—”

“Yeah, I like it,” nods Leo, thoughtfully.

Stu claps his hands together loudly. “Yes! Great! When can you start?”

Libby laughs, but her smile falters when Stu doesn’t laugh with her.

“I’m serious!” grins Stu.

“Oh, no, I don’t… I mean… I don’t do murals.”

“But could you?”

Libby looks to me, slightly flustered and confused.

“Libby doesn’t even live around here,” I tell Stu.

“Well, North London’s hardly far! Seriously, how much would you charge for something like that?”

“Stu,” I say, more firmly, “Libby didn’t come here looking for a job. And we were just—”

“Well, actually, I am sort of available for work at the moment…” Libby says, thoughtfully. “I mean, I’ve never done a mural before, but maybe…”

“Fantastic! Well, look, let me give you my number.”

Libby seems unsure, but after a short hesitation she takes her phone out of her bag and taps in the numbers Stu gives her, while I try to get my head around what’s going on. I invited Libby here to get something off my chest – and now she’s being offered a job? So she’s going to be back?! What does that mean? How will that work? This wasn’t what I envisaged at all. I was prepared for seeing her