The End is Where We Begin

she had done several times a week in the year we’d been together, and it was as if nothing had changed, as if it could all be fixed and we could find our way back to where we were before.
Only I knew that everything was different.
I already regretted going to Manchester. Now I would have done anything, absolutely anything, to take it back.
I should have told her straight away, but it was hard. Libby talked a lot when she had a point to make, and when she was on edge, both of which were applicable at that point. And so I’d just let her carry on pouring her heart out, talking as if our weeks apart had been nothing but a bump in our road, while I stood there in stupefied silence, unable to believe she was there. That she had – it seemed – never stopped being there. I felt like I’d stepped off a high bridge, only to realise that there was something to live for after all. And so when she put her arms around me and tentatively kissed me on the lips, I let her, thinking that maybe I could keep what happened in Manchester a secret, make a pact with Hellie to keep it buried forever; beg her, bribe her, blackmail her, whatever it took so that it never got out. Libby was the best thing that had ever happened to me and we had to go back to how we were, whatever it took.
Guilt hammered at the door of my mind until the early hours of the next morning when, sleep-deprived and drowning in regret, I finally gave into the realisation that I could never keep this from Libby. I knew telling her would ruin everything, that my second chance with her would be gone, but I couldn’t live with the deception. It wasn’t right. Plus, what would happen when we came to take that next step in our relationship? It was meant to be the first time – for both of us. We’d talked about it, edged towards it, but agreed to wait a little longer. What was I meant to do when the moment came? Make out it was my first time too? I couldn’t do it.
I knew Libby wouldn’t scream or cry or storm off when I told her. Her mother had raised her to believe that women should be strong and independent, and never emotionally enslaved to a man. She did Harmonie proud: pursing her lips, retaining her dignity, maintaining an agonising silence as we stood on the bridge that Sunday morning and I told her everything. But I knew how much it was hurting her and I hated myself for it, hated myself for ruining any chance we had of getting back together.
“We could pretend it didn’t happen,” said Libby, suddenly, gazing out at the dark, still water.
I turned to her, shocked and confused, but she just stared straight ahead. I studied her profile; her freckled nose just rising above the folds of her knitted scarf, her eyes steely and resolute, her cheeks tinged pink with cold, the scar she would always bear because of me. Hope shot up in me like a fountain, but then dropped again. I shook my head slowly.
“But it did happen,” I said, regretfully, “we can’t just pretend it didn’t.”
Libby turned to me. “But we can move on from it. We can still make this work. It was just a…”
“A mistake,” I finished, unable to believe what was happening.
She nodded. “I don’t want to lose you,” she said, tears glazing her eyes, “I can’t imagine not being with you and I don’t care about what happened with that girl. I just want us to go back to how we were.”
I stared at her, speechless.
“I promise I would never have done it—” I gushed.
“I know,” she interrupted.
“And I’ll change, I promise. I’ll go back to the old me. I’m gonna put what happened that night of the fairground behind me. I think I just need to try and forget about it. Things will be like they were before, I promise.”
“Okay,” she nodded resolutely, tucking a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear, swallowing down her tears, “okay.”
My heart felt like it was about to burst out of my chest. I could have cried with the relief of having her back. I wrapped my arms around her, buried my face in the thick wool of her scarf, breathed in the familiar scent of her hair, felt the soft, chill skin of her cheek against my lips once again.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled in her ear, not because I believed I had betrayed her, but because I should have had more faith in us.
I remember my mum sighing.
“I’m sorry, Jamie, I really am.”
I shook my head and smiled bitterly. “Sure you are,” I mumbled.
“I didn’t want things to turn out like this. Nobody wants their marriage to come to an end.”
Try not sleeping with another man maybe. That might help.
“I’ve been trying to make this work for so long,” she muttered, her elbows slumped on the kitchen table, her fingers wrapped in her hair. “I wanted to make it work, wanted us to stay a family… but I can’t carry on like this. I know you must be upset with me.”
Upset? Upset! I was more than upset. I was hurt. And angry. And disbelieving. But most of all I was terrified.
“You said you’d be here to help. When the baby comes. You said—”
“I will be here. I’m not going to be leaving Timpton. I’ll be available as much as you need me.”
I’ll need you all the time! I wanted to scream at her. How am I meant to do this without you?
“But you won’t be here,” I said.
“I won’t be in this house, but I’ll be around. Nothing’s changed. Me and your dad meant every word we said, we’re going to help you as much as we can. And there’s no animosity between us, we’ll still