Everything is Beautiful by Eleanor Ray (classic literature list .TXT) 📗

laughter, she realised. Whatever next. Amy deleted the message and did a search on Facebook.

There he was.

Simon Oaks.

His profile picture showed him on stage clutching a bass guitar. Amy scanned his other photos and found a few shots of his band. She didn’t recognise any of the members from the old days; presumably more ‘artistic differences’. He and Tim used to have them all the time, though they’d stuck together.

Until they hadn’t.

Amy looked and saw that he had a little green circle next to his name. He was online now.

No time like the present, she told herself, and took the plunge.

Amy endured a long hug. ‘I can’t believe it’s you,’ he said, as if Simon were expecting someone to have hacked her Facebook account, arranged a meeting and then impersonated her. ‘You look the same. As gorgeous as ever.’

Amy knew that wasn’t true, and she couldn’t bring herself to return the lie. Simon had the look of a shoe even Amy would decide was ready to be retired: well-worn and less than fresh. But his smile was still the same, taking over his whole face until his eyes crinkled. She was surprised that he seemed genuinely pleased to see her.

‘It’s good of you to meet me at such short notice,’ said Amy. She had been a little taken aback when he’d turned out to be in town and proposed getting together that very evening. She’d fished around for an excuse, but found none. And here they were, hugging outside a pub on a quiet street near the station.

Amy extracted herself from the embrace with the excuse of buying him a drink. He settled down on a green leather sofa near the door and Amy marched to the bar, trying to compose herself. She ordered a gin and tonic, ignoring the barman’s suggestion to make it a double. She bought a pint of ‘whatever was on tap’ for Simon that came, to her relief, in a rather sturdy and unattractive vessel. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about something more fragile in Simon’s always rather shaky hands.

She delivered the drinks and graciously clinked glasses with him. Simon took a long draught of beer and grinned at her again. ‘It’s good to see you,’ he said. ‘Course it is.’ Amy nodded.

‘The band is going strong,’ Simon volunteered. ‘Did you meet Tony? Best drummer we’ve ever had.’

‘No,’ said Amy.

‘Oh yes,’ continued Simon, warming to his theme. ‘You should hear us now. Completely different sound. More cosmic. Hoping to get a gig soon at the Sheep and Goat. You should come.’

‘Maybe,’ said Amy, who couldn’t think of anything worse. They sat in silence for a moment.

‘So I saw on Facebook that you’re single still,’ said Simon. ‘Never settled down myself either. Had a few goes, but you know how it is. Never found the right woman.’ He looked at her expectantly. Amy nodded non-committally. ‘Phil married off, couple of rug rats. And Idris too. He had twins with Sandy, remember her?’

‘Of course,’ said Amy. She felt in her pocket for the ring. ‘I have to admit,’ she began, ‘I have an ulterior motive for inviting you here.’

‘I thought so,’ said Simon, smiling at her. ‘We always did have a connection. Course we did.’

‘What?’ said Amy.

‘Chemistry,’ continued Simon. ‘Wouldn’t have been right back then, of course, but now . . . ’ He paused. ‘It’s really nice to see you. You look great.’ Amy started to wish she’d not applied that blusher Joanna had given her. She took a sip of her gin and tonic, feeling the ice cube clink against her teeth.

‘Let me stop you there,’ she said. He frowned at her. ‘There’s something I need to show you.’ She took the ring from her pocket and held it out to him.

‘You should wear that on your finger,’ he scolded, leaning back in his chair and taking a swig of beer. ‘It’s just rude, leaving it off. Gives a guy the wrong idea.’

‘I didn’t mean to . . . ’

He leaned forwards again, and enclosed her ring-free hand in his own. His hand was a surprise, warm and rough. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m happy for you. Course I am. I’m glad you’ve found someone. After what happened, we all thought you might . . . ’ He stopped himself.

‘You misunderstand me,’ said Amy. ‘This ring,’ she said, popping it on to her finger. ‘I haven’t met anyone else. It’s from Tim.’

Simon raised an eyebrow. ‘From Tim?’ he repeated.

‘Yes,’ said Amy. She paused.

‘You’ve seen him?’ he asked. He narrowed his eyes at Amy and she could tell he thought she’d lost it.

‘Of course not,’ said Amy. ‘He’s been gone for years.’

‘That’s right,’ affirmed Simon.

‘I found it,’ she continued, ‘in my garden. I don’t know how long it’s been there; it was buried under . . . ’ She paused again. ‘A few bits and pieces. But he knew I liked this ring. He was the only one who knew. So he must have . . . ’ She stopped.

‘I always thought he loved you,’ said Simon. ‘Course I did. I was as shocked as anyone when it happened.’

‘Did he ever mention to you . . . ?’

‘Never,’ said Simon. ‘Not the ring, not Chantel. Nothing. We were having some creative differences at the time, though. You remember.’

‘Yes,’ replied Amy.

‘So I was surprised when he told you he was meeting me that night,’ said Simon. ‘He wasn’t, course he wasn’t. But it was nice, in a way, being the cover story. I always thought it meant he still considered me a friend, even when he was planning to leave.’

‘And he hasn’t been in contact, all these years?’

‘Nope,’ said Simon. ‘If he contacted anyone, I think it would be you.’

‘Not if he left with Chantel,’ said Amy, bitterness creeping into her voice.

‘I don’t believe that,’ said Simon. ‘Never did. Tim needed you. You were his rock. Chantel couldn’t be a rock, she was adrift at sea herself.’ Simon smiled. ‘Sounds like that would be a decent