The Prologue
Initially, he always swore he would. Months later he has been reduced to sitting alone nightly on the 3k premium leather sofa with little better to do than wonder where it all went so badly wrong. He feels this sentiment bitterly tonight as the December wind knocks against him and he feels every last chill through the taupe coat; despite its price tag being worthy of an eyebrow raise from even the Beckhams, his teeth chatter as if it is little more than a bin bag. Bottom line, all the material things in the world cannot bring Ethan Hardy what he really wants this Christmas. Nor can, he fears, the little black box tucked deep within his pocket. Not now.
Less than ten feet away, a woman links arms with another hooded figure, leaning in to whisper something before breaking into fits of giggles. He hears the sound from where he's standing, and he has to stop, because he recognises it so acutely. Throat squeezing, he strides over to the doorway of the pub where the people had gone to congregate. Ethan comes to a stop and scans the faces. Although quite a sizeable crowd, he knows he was mistaken. A laugh is a laugh, at the end of the day. The lady flicks her blonde curls over her shoulder casually and turns to look back at the Christmas lights behind her in awe. They reflect in her deep brown eyes, and then she momentarily glances at him. Of course it's a stranger. He is a fool. Breaking the brief eye contact with a slight nod of the head, he turns and walks back towards the car park. It's beyond late now: time to go home and he knows it. He fumbles for his phone and presses it to his ear as he climbs in the driver's seat.
Alicia watches as the four 0s flash across the screen. Christmas Day. She reaches for the wine glass clumsily, guzzling the last few drops like an infant desperate for milk. Coldplay starts, 'Yellow', a song from her childhood, a time when there were more solutions than there were problems. Her phone buzzes and vibrates against her thigh. Spluttering slightly, she lifts the display up until it's in view. It rings off. 3 missed calls. And, if history repeats itself, he won't give up there. Though, it would be half easier if he would. It would save them both the heartache.
The line cuts out and the automated voice asks him to leave a voicemail. He's heard the monotonous tone more times than he'd like to recount, and probably, ironically, more times than the voice of the one he's trying to reach. There's a stilted silence and Ethan's chest burns with dull regret, a sense of responsibility seeping through him that he cannot shake. What is there to say?
'Alicia,' he begins raggedly. 'Pick up, God knows how many times I have tried with you—fuck, sorry, I didn't mean it to sound like that. My sentences don't even sound real anymore, though I suppose that's what a 12 hour shift does to you. I just want to hear your voice, sweetheart. Just let me know you're alright.'