Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty-Seven

I t wasn’t until later that week that Kiera returned to the Jam Pot. She didn’t feel the shame she had before. Seymour looked up and gave her a dazzling smile.

“You look tired but happy,” she said to Kiera. “Did that date go well?”

“Nope. It didn’t happen,” replied Kiera.

Seymour’s face fell slightly. “Oh, I’m sorry. Are you ok?”

“I’m good. She did me a favour. Why am I running around after all these women? I don’t need them to make me happy. Like Miley Cyrus says, I can buy myself flowers.” Kiera plonked herself down at the coffee bar and watched Seymour make her favourite coffee. She had long since stopped having to ask for it. “And it’s been quite the week at work. We had to close most of the operating theatres.”

“Oh my, I heard about that in the paper. I guess you’ve been a busy bee.”

“Yeah,” said Kiera. “And it made me see that I’ve been using up so much energy on seeking something new, when there’s plenty already going on in my life, and many more import ant things to worry about. Honestly, some of the patients we had to turn away were devastated. It was awful.”

“I can only imagine,” said Seymour, frowning. “So, you’re going to plough your own furrow? Well, good for you – does that make me Thelma, or Louise?” Seymour laughed kindly.

“Neither. I’m not going off a cliff for anyone,” said Kiera. “I’m just going to do my own thing.”

“Sounds ideal,” replied Seymour, making herself a black coffee and walking round to sit beside Kiera at the bar. There weren’t any other customers around.

“How was your evening the other night?”

Seymour sighed. “Yeah, fine. Always a bit fraught with that one. But such is life. I guess we all have complicated pasts.”

“That I can attest to,” said Kiera. “I’m still trying to work out how I can sort out my house. My ex-wife isn’t responding to any messages about it, so I can’t sell it or do anything with it. I’m renting it out privately at present, but really I just want to get shot of it so I can get my money and buy myself something of my own.”

“That’s so selfish of her. She really should respond to you, after you shared your lives for so long,” said Seymour, her frown returning.

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But no. Nothing. I don’t even know where she is any more. She responded to the divorce stuff by email, but only did the absolute minimum. I’m beginning to think I should have consulted a solicitor. I thought it would be simple because really it was only a couple of savings accounts and the house. Just cut everything in half and away we go.” Kiera kicked at the chair leg. “I was na?ve. I can see that now.”

“How could you know? Hindsight is a wonderful thing. You tr usted her and however misguided that might have been, you didn’t know it at the time.”

“I guess. I’m not sure that trusting people is a good tactic, though. Look at the other night.” Kiera sighed. Seymour opened her mouth to say something, but Kiera spoke first. “In the meantime, I intend to stop getting in my own way. Maybe I’ll meet someone and have a relationship one day, but right now, I cannot be bothered with all the swiping and game-playing. It isn’t worth it.”

“Here’s to that,” said Seymour, clinking her mug with Kiera’s. “No more swiping.” They both laughed.

“What about you?” asked Kiera, desperately wanting the gossip on this complicated woman she was with.

“Oh, my swiping days are over,” said Seymour. There was a slightly uncomfortable pause while they both fell silent.

Kiera looked up to see a picture of a north African souk on the wall of the café. “I think I need to go on an adventure,” she said.

“Oh, yes. That sounds like a great idea. Maybe somewhere abroad?”

“Yes,” said Kiera, warming to the idea.

“Where are you thinking? New York, Paris, Barcelona, Morocco, Greece?”

“Well, all of those places sound amazing. I’ve not been to any of them,” said Kiera.

“Oh, that’s brilliant!” In her excitement Seymour sat up straighter. She clasped her mug in both hands. “I’d love to go to Barcelona for the first time again. It’s such an incredible city, and you have the advantage of the beach, too.”

“Really?” asked Kiera. Seymour nodded and descended into a monologue about all the things she loved about the Catalan capital. Her face lit up as she described the Arc de Triomp he – which Kiera had no idea was a place in Barcelona. She was only aware of its Parisian equivalent. Seymour described the old town, with its winding alleyways and pavement cafés. She described the coastal Barceloneta and its beach-front café bars and within twenty minutes, Kiera knew where she was headed on her adventure.

“Did you go there alone?” asked Kiera.

“No.” Seymour drained her cup. “But I’ve been to lots of places alone. There’s something brilliant about travelling without anyone else. You can do whatever you want, whenever you want, and you don’t have to explain yourself.”

“Perhaps you can even be whoever you want,” mused Kiera, beginning to like the idea of a solo adventure.

“Well, I suppose so,” said Seymour. “Have you got a few minutes? Cool, ok. I’ll be right back. I’ve got a guidebook for Barcelona upstairs in the flat and I’ve marked all the places in it that I enjoyed.”

Kiera gazed out of the window, itching to get home to her laptop so she could book her trip. “It’s a bit out of date now,” said Seymour, sitting back down beside her a few minutes later with the well-used guide book. “But the best bits of Barcelona don’t change.”

The bell at the entrance to the café rang, and Seymour smiled at Kiera before taking her place back behind the bar to serve her customers. Kiera idly wondered what it might be like to go to Barcelona with Seymour as her guide. She seemed so knowledgeable. She shook her head. No, this was about independence.

She opened the book at a well-read page that described the old town and its attractions. There was a paragraph about bicycle hire circled in green biro. She imagined Seymour sailing through the rickety alleyways in the pictur es, a linen shirt sailing behind her, her hair flowing. No. Stop. Independence.

Over a glass of wine that evening, Kiera booked her long weekend away. There was something wonderfully freeing about being able to just go somewhere without discussing it with Chrissie or anyone else. She recalled the amount of time they used to spend negotiating the details of where they would go, the kind of accommodation they wanted, the dates they would choose. The talks would be endless and incredibly draining.