I’ll Take New York. Miranda Dickinson

       CHAPTER FIVE

       Hudson River Books, 8th Avenue, Brooklyn

      ‘Babe, all I want is to make it up to you.’

      They had been battling for almost an hour and Bea could feel her resolve beginning to wane. Through it all Otis had stared directly at her in that startling, confident way of his – a weapon that was devastatingly disarming when used to its full effect. He had reached for her hand and managed to hold it for a few seconds before her anger resurged and she pulled it away. Now he was sitting a small distance from her, wearing an expression that begged her to move closer. She rubbed her eyes and wished she had been able to make it out of the door before he had arrived.

      ‘I’m just so tired of fighting,’ she said, her thoughts becoming words before she could stop them.

      ‘And so am I. We’ve been here before, Bea, and we’ve always made it back.’

      ‘Maybe this time is different.’

      Why was her love life so complicated? Why, when everyone around her seemed capable of finding halfway decent partners, did she struggle? Bea didn’t consider herself a demanding girlfriend; neither did she experience problems meeting men. But somewhere between the initial spark and the middle of a relationship the problems began – growing and tangling and balling up until she found herself with an unsatisfactory, untrustworthy partner in a situation more akin to a battle of wills than a productive partnership.

      ‘I don’t see why. Sure, I screwed up: I admit it! But we can move on from this, Bea. I want to make amends.’

      ‘Amends? How, exactly? Are you going to go and personally apologise to every member of my family who waited for you in the restaurant last night?’

      He couldn’t hide his wince from her. ‘If necessary.’

      ‘My parents set off on their trip this morning. You might catch them somewhere in upstate New York if you’re quick.’

      ‘Baby …’ He ran a frustrated hand through his dark hair and gave her his best ‘pleading puppy’ look. Ordinarily, this would have worked, Bea relenting at the sight of his contrition.

      Not today, Otis, she told herself sternly. Today I need answers for everything.

      ‘And my brother was baying for your blood. Which, considering Stewart is officially the most laid-back person in the city, was no mean feat.’

      Her older brother Stewart – who had never been particularly fond of Bea’s boyfriend – reckoned his sister was attracted to the wrong kind of men. This, of course, was easy for him to surmise, especially given how loved-up he was with his older partner, Celia. Since the pair of them had met at the New York Times where he was a staff writer, writing as Stewart Mitchell (their mother’s maiden name) and Celia was a star columnist, they had been virtually inseparable, settling into the easy rhythm of a deeply contented pairing in which they still remained. Just like every other couple in the James family.

      Staring at her grovelling partner, Bea felt a well of unease rising within her. She loved him, but how much did he really feel for her? He’d said it himself: they had been here many times before. Surely after five years something should have changed? She wanted him to step up, to make good all of his overblown promises that never managed to come to fruition. Was she kidding herself that it was possible? The more she looked at Otis Greene, the louder the white noise in her head grew.

      This is ridiculous. It’s never going to change. I deserve more than this.

      Otis edged closer, his earnest dark eyes searching her face for an invitation. ‘Baby … What can I do to make this good with us?’

      She was tired. Too tired to ride the merry-go-round any more. ‘I don’t know. I think I need some time to think.’

      ‘So take some time. Call me when you want to continue this discussion.’ It was defensive but Bea suspected Otis was relieved to be excused from any further apologising he might have been called upon to do tonight.

      ‘No, that’s not what I meant.’

      ‘Then what, Bea? What are you saying?’

      What am I saying? Bea considered this, her heart thumping. She didn’t want to be in this argument again. Ever. Slowly, it began to dawn on her.

      ‘I’m saying …’ she began, picking her words as if tiptoeing across a minefield ‘… I think we’re done. We keep returning to the same problems and I – I just can’t go over it any more. I need to be me again, Otis. Not some paranoid half of a relationship that isn’t going anywhere. I think this is it for us. I’m sorry.’

      Otis blinked. This wasn’t how it worked: he made apologetic noises; Bea gave in; serenity was restored. Bea’s response seemed to throw a spanner in the works. Dropping his gaze, he stepped back. ‘If that’s what you want.’

      Surprised by the strength of her own conviction, Bea stood tall. ‘It is.’

      The silence in the bookshop was louder than the angry lines of traffic on 8th Avenue outside. Bea retreated behind the counter. Otis stared up at the high ceiling as if expecting to find answers to this new situation written there. Outside, the heavy raindrops battered against the bookstore windows and the world beyond them.

      ‘Then I should go?’ It was more of a question than a statement of intent.

      ‘We both should.’

      Otis began to reply but the crash of the bookstore door snatched his attention. Dripping wet, Russ O’Docherty clutched a fast disintegrating cardboard cup-holder as he struggled to close the door without losing three teetering coffee cups in the process.

      ‘Sorry I took so long. It’s like Armageddon out there …’ He stopped when he saw their expressions. ‘Oh boy, are you guys not done?’

      ‘Actually, I was just leaving,’ Otis replied, the lightness of his tone knocking the wind from Bea’s stomach. He helped himself to a coffee cup and turned back to Bea. ‘Call me when you’re ready. Remember I love you.’

      Russ watched his friend leave and held out his hands in surprise. ‘What happened?’

      Bea slumped in the grandfather armchair beside the counter. ‘I think we broke up.’

      Shocked, Russ hurried over and hovered hesitantly by her side. ‘Really? Only he said, “I love you.” Usually guys don’t choose that line when they’re breaking up with someone.’

      ‘I think I might have broken up with him.’ Tears welled in Bea’s eyes as the frustration of the past week overwhelmed her. ‘The thing is, I don’t think I can do this again, Russ. I’m the laughing stock of my family: the only James to fail at relationships. And I really don’t want this to be all I end up thinking about.’ She looked up at her friend, who took the hint and knelt by her, taking her hand. ‘My business is doing great, the rest of my life is pretty good. I don’t want to be the kind of woman who is ruled by her love life, you know?’

      ‘You’re not,’ Russ assured her.

      ‘I feel like I am.’

      ‘Yeah, well, you’re not and that’s all there is to it. I’ve watched you work so hard to make this place a success, and I know how many people love you, Bea. Most of New York would kill for that kind of résumé. And I don’t think you’re a failure. So here’s one person who isn’t laughing at you.’

      Bea shook her head, a small smile breaking free. ‘Thanks.’

      ‘Otis made a mistake. A big one, I’ll admit. But deep down he does love you: I’m sure of it. I think maybe you should focus on what makes you happy