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[josh pov]

The last thing I remember was the bright yellow lights heading in my direction, coming towards me and a sense of peace that this would be my last moment here on earth. The lights were almost calming, something to focus on in the seemingly eternal darkness. I could have swerved, could have tried to save myself, but I was paralysed into position, looking into the brightness and foolishly imagining a way out of the blindness that accompanied the black depths of night.

I can’t say that I was suicidal, I certainly wasn’t trying to go out of my way to attempt to get killed, more that I knew that even if I changed course, slammed on the brakes, there would still be little hope of getting out of the situation unscathed. It happened so suddenly that there was nothing that I could do, and so I was accepting my destiny.

My destiny, it seems, was not my death. Not yet, at least.

I’m not entirely sure if I’m happy about that. This does not mean that I’m going to take the next opportunity to jump off a bridge, run across a busy highway with my eyes closed, or grab the nearest gun and ask someone if they’d kindly put a bullet into my brain. Most definitely not the last one: been there, done that, got the scars and have absolutely no intention of replaying the moment.

But for a second time in my life I began to question what the hell I was actually doing with my life. Where was I going, what were my ultimate aims?

The ideals of my youth were unattainable - there was little chance that I was going to be an astronaut, a racing car driver, or even the president. Even my assured arrogance that I was going to fall in love, get married and have children that came with my later life was fading into the distance, an unobtainable fantasy that might have become true a few years back but looked unlikely now. Ultimately I was looking forward to several more years of living for my career and remaining alone.

That scared me more than my fragile mortality.

The days after I woke up were spent in a haze of falling in and out of consciousness, rarely knowing which I was currently in.

There were times when I was entirely certain that I was awake, my mother, CJ and Sam surrounding my bed, and then my dad would walk into the room exactly as I last remembered seeing him, and my mother would start to cry and he would comfort her. When Joanie would come to visit me and we’d talk for hours about everything, and she’d make me laugh so much my sides would ache and I couldn’t breathe.
There were other times when I knew I had to be unconscious but thought I was awake. When Donna sat and held my hand and read to me and I just lay there, my eyes closed, and listened to the sound of her voice. Or when she told me that she loved me and the last few months had been unbearable and could I please stop being so goddamn selfish and start thinking about everyone else and come back to them. Come back to her.

But I couldn’t have been awake because Joanie and Dad were gone forever, and Donna had left me and wasn’t going to return.

And I just wanted to stay safely wrapped in my unconscious cocoon with my memories, where people who shouldn’t be there visited you and everything was optimistic. There was no pain in the land of the comatose, no desperation or despair, no loneliness; no one would reject you, or judge you for your mistakes. It was an ideal world, and I wanted to remain there as long as I could.

There was nothing for me to go back to, my mother perhaps, but only because it would be unfair for her to bury two children in one lifetime.

Donna was gone, and she had been my lifeline the last time I was in a similar position, and there had been no question about whether I was going to cling to the final remnants of life, it was inevitable.

Then I had my friends there to support me, to help me. They were still there for me, but not as they once had been.

If I were to return indefinitely, I’d have to want to do it for myself. My life would have to change drastically - I’d have to try to make it worth living. If this near death thing were to occur again, there’d have to be no question what I’d do. And I’d make sure that I had someone in my life, that I wouldn’t be lonely anymore. Donna had left and in some ways it was a blessing that she had; she could avoid all the heartache that would be accompanied by being associated with me, and God, yes, I’d miss her, but there were other people out there. I just had to make an effort to find someone that I wanted to spend my life with.

Did I want to do this for myself? Did I want it enough?

I swayed once more between conscious and sleep, asking myself if I had achieved all that I possibly could.
The answer was I hadn’t, there was more to be done in my life, and I was going to spend every goddamn minute that I had trying to ensure that I spent it in the best possible way.

First thing being exerting enough of an effort to stay.

The pain that I experienced the first few days after deciding was only comparable to the pain that I felt after the shooting. I ached all over, in places that I never realised could hurt so much, and as a result I was unaware of my surroundings. My only escape from the pain was through the medication that sent me straight back to sleep or made me out of it enough to cope. However at least in these moments I knew the reason for my unconscious state, the analgesia as opposed to the possibility of never returning. There was nothing that I could do in the conscious state that would avoid the pain. If the doctors decided that they wanted to take x rays that involved movement I would comply only when they moved my limbs for me, or when they would transfer me to a trolley so they could take me down to the medical imaging department.

Soon enough I became aware of what was going on around me, and I wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it.

The excerpts that I remember from those first days when I started to piece my life back together were enough to make me think twice about my previous judgements and be thankful that I had deemed the earth worthy enough for my return.

I remember my mother sitting constant vigil, her eyes always on me, nothing to distract her but the *beep beep* of the monitors surrounding me. CJ paced back and forwards, unable to do anything but glance at me occasionally. Sam sitting, then standing, sitting, then standing; talking to me about nonsense things that often I couldn’t interpret. Toby, just standing at the bedside, making me feel uneasy, looking entirely uncomfortable. Leo, there always for my mother, somewhat fatherly at times in the things that he told me, not necessarily believing that I would be able to retain information. The President, Abbey, Zoey, Charlie making occasional visits, making small talk about everything and nothing, but I was always glad that they had thought to come.

And finally, Donna. It was more than a shock to me to realise that she was actually here, that I wasn’t hallucinating from the drugs, she was here. She was almost always here, as in my dream, reading to me, telling me about her life, about the President, the campaign, about anything that she thought I would be interested in.

And it was worse to realise that I couldn’t reach out to her, I was too exhausted to converse with her, and I was in too much pain.

But she stayed there, constantly by my side, anticipating my every need, just as she always had been.
I didn’t know why she was here, what had possessed her to return, to even see me again after the hateful things that I had said to her, but I was more than glad. She never told me that she loved me like she did in the dream, though.

Then, finally, I was conscious and pain-free enough to put a voice to the inner conversations that I had with people, and it was Donna who was present to hear. I called out her name and she startled, unaware that I was awake. She came close and held my hand, a tear falling from the corner of her eye, slowly trickling down the side of her face, dropping and coming to fall on my sheets. I wanted to ask her why she was upset, why for God’s sake did she care about me enough to have any emotion, why, why, why? I didn’t deserve it, I knew that, but I couldn’t tell her as I fell into slumber yet again, not having the energy to speak.

When I woke again, Donna had disappeared, and I was starting to believe that it was just an illusion, my mind playing tricks on me, and my chest felt hollow, incomplete, and there was nothing I could do. My mother was here, however, and I throatily told her ‘hello’. She told me how much she loved me, and she cried openly, which I hadn’t seen her do since dad died. I told her that I loved her too, and I began to wonder why I was so ready to give this up. People cared about me, and yet it was a mystery to me. I had done nothing recently for them to have any emotion other than hate towards me, and so when I spotted CJ in the corner of the room, her eyes looking suspiciously red and watery, I couldn’t respond.

I wanted to remind her that she disliked me, despised me, I was cruel to Donna, to her friend, but the words got stuck in the back of my throat and I choked them down. I decided that rule number one of the improved me was to cut back on the self-pity. It was not an admirable trait and it had lead to nothing but heartache for those previous few months. Life could have been so different for me then if only I had been able to prevent myself from feeling sorry for myself, if I could have allowed myself to continue living despite my feelings that it might not be worthwhile. Pity in any form was a weakness, be it from myself or others, and I wouldn’t feel refreshed from these ideas.

So instead I repeated my earlier ‘hello’, this time to CJ, and she said nothing, but the tears began to flow. What was it with these women, surely they’d heard me speak before now? I told CJ to quit with the tears, but they didn’t stop, but she did smile, and I would have laughed if I knew it wouldn’t half kill me, so I made a token effort. This only made her smile wider.

Soon she’d be telling me to be quiet, I was sure of it.

She told me that she was going to go and get someone, and returned with Sam, who was seemingly so astonished that I was coherent and conscious that he came over and hugged me gently. I tried and shrug him off, but it was useless since it required too much effort and pain shot through my body so I remained still.

He told me that he managed to find Donna for me and I wanted to thank him but I suddenly was overcome with tiredness, and I knew that this would be an almost permanent state for me for a while to come. I fell asleep quickly, but feeling increasingly assured that I had made the right decision.

The days were spent much as before, fading in and out, a few words here and there, conversations becoming longer but still cut short by my constant lethargy.

Donna was there a lot of the time and I forgot often that she wasn’t supposed to be here. She was supposed to be…somewhere else, wherever her life was, far, far away from me. But I wouldn’t tell her that, I would only revel in her presence, knowing that although undeserving of it, I was lucky that she would even consider to spend her time in this repetitive and often boring way.

However as my strength increased and the time neared to when I would be discharged and the nurses discussed arrangements for care at home I began to wonder what would happen. Would my friends still care for me once I was well? Would Donna go back to where she belonged?

It was decided that I should return to Connecticut and stay with my mother for a while, as the only way that I could have stayed at home is if I were to have someone there almost constantly, some stranger in my apartment, and I didn’t want that. I didn’t ask my friends or Donna if they would be there for me, it would have been unfair on them; they had separate lives to me, and my mother offered anyway.

So just over a month after entering, I was cleared to leave the hospital and that phase of my life. And it was more daunting than I ever would have imagined.

I spent the last day in my room; my mother packed my clothes and all the other items that I had brought with me. Then she left to go to my apartment to collect everything that I would need for the next month or so, until I was able to conduct everyday life without assistance.

Everyone else was at work, and I understood that, although they had said that they would all come visit later to wish me goodbye and good luck. I was going to be leaving earlier than I had told them. I wanted to slink into the background unnoticed. I had changed - I had changed before any of this happened - but I didn’t want to say goodbye to my friends. I couldn’t for some inexplicable reason. I knew I would return soon enough – I’d tell Leo when I was going to return to work. I knew they’d cope without me.

I looked one last time around my room and thought of the last few weeks that I had spent there once I had left the ICU. My mother waited outside the room, collecting all the pain medication and appointment cards that I would need, as she knew I wouldn’t listen to the instructions that I was given.

Then I heard the door open and I turned around from my seat on the bed.

It was Donna and I had no idea what I was supposed to say to her. She had been here almost constantly for the last month, more so than any of my work colleagues, what should I say?

She stood there and I sat and we looked at each other and said nothing for a while.

“When are you going to Connecticut?” she asked finally, sitting down beside me on the bed.

“This afternoon,” I replied. “In fact, any minute now.”

Her hand slowly made its way to mine, or mine made its way to hers, and our fingers found themselves intertwined. I could get used to this, but I knew I shouldn’t.

“Thank you for being here,” I said eventually. It was all I could say.

She smiled slightly, but made no comment about it.

“I wish…” I started. “I wish things were different.”

“Don’t we all,” she replied.

“I’m sorry for how things turned out.” I couldn’t look at her, see her face.

“Josh, don’t,” she told me, putting a finger on my lips. “It’s in the past. You can’t do anything to change it now, you just have to live with it.”

I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I thought. I need you here with me; I can’t live without you - I wanted to tell her.
She rested her head on my shoulder, like she used to do. Don’t leave me, I wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t form in my mouth, wouldn’t come out. My mother would probably be coming back soon, I thought.

“If things were different…” I started again, but never got to finish the thought.

She got up and placed herself so she was standing directly in front of me. She stooped down, and came closer and I had to believe that it was just coincidental, not what I hoped it to be. I had to believe it. However I ignored all beliefs when her lips connected with mine for a moment that was far too short and she gave me a kiss that I don’t think I’ll ever forget.

“Maybe I’ll see you again,” she said, before waltzing out of my life again.

I closed my eyes and tried not to think of the deep hurt in my heart. I wanted to run after her, tell her that I loved her, but I couldn’t and I wouldn’t.

As much as it distressed me, we were no longer what we had once been. I couldn’t demand that she stay for me, I knew that she probably wouldn’t, and that would have been worse than not asking at all.

I was just going to have to live with it, remember that month that she spent by my side, the years that we had together as friends, and I realised I had to move on. I had to; there was no question about it.

As much as it tore me apart, I had to accept that she was gone forever, and find someone new. If only it were that easy.

And I sat there until my mother returned, just thinking, what am I going to do next?

The next month and a half I spent in Connecticut in my mother’s large house. I hadn’t lived in this house in years, not since I had moved away to go to college, and my room was now a guestroom. I slept on the couch for the first few weeks though, as I had difficulty climbing up and down the stairs, and besides, there was no TV in my old bedroom.

We talked little for the first couple of weeks, I didn’t want to say much to anyone and my mother respected my wishes enough to comply. Not that she would have had much of an answer out of me had she attempted to talk to me. Then one day I was sat out in the backyard on the bench, the fall leaves surrounding me in a mixture of colours, and my mother came outside with two cups of coffee and handed one to me. She looked around, not standing still, regarding the yard with an expert critical eye.

“The leaves need raking up,” she said finally as I looked on in puzzlement. I didn’t offer any comment. She eventually sat down beside me, pulling the blanket that was covering me around her. “What happened?” she asked. “Where did it all go wrong?” She sipped her coffee and glanced at me. “Why can’t we talk anymore?” She pulled the rug closer to her. “I have all these questions, and no answers. I can’t ask you anything, and I have no idea what is going on inside that head of yours.”

Neither did I, it was all a complete mess, for all these promises that I had made myself to improve my life, nothing had been accomplished.

“Sam told me that Donna didn’t even work in the White House anymore. I knew it, but you never told me,” she continued to try to get me to say something, anything. “So why was she there at the hospital?” She took another sip of the coffee. I looked at the leaves, I had forgotten, living in DC, how bright the colours could be. “I can’t make you talk to me, I know that, but I just want you to know that I am here if you want to talk,” she said finally, and got up off the bench and started to slowly walk back to the house.

I watched her retreating figure, and I thought about the promise I made, and I thought about Donna, who had plagued my mind for the last couple of weeks. I decided that it was about time I make an effort.

“I messed up,” I called out. She turned to look at me. “I messed up,” I repeated, quieter.

She walked back to me, sat down beside me and gave me a comforting hug that only my mother could give. I felt better for just having human contact. And then, inexplicably, tears began to fall down my face, faster and faster, my face cold where the water had been. And my mother said nothing but held me closer to her, her arms wrapped firmly around me as the sobs continued, unable to cease.

It was the first time that I had expressed any sort of emotion over the whole mess of my life in the past few months, but it was a relief.

We remained like that for what seemed like eternity, and I felt like a little boy again, crying over the death of my older sister who meant the world to me. But these tears were for myself, and for the little boy whose dreams would never come true.

Afterwards, my mother helped me back into the house, and we sat in the kitchen with more coffee, the warmth and lighting a comfort after the cold dark of the outdoors. My mother made the dinner whilst I sat at the table and we began to talk as the aroma of the cooking permeated every part of the kitchen.

“It started over a year ago now,” I began, and my mother just let me talk, her focus divided between the food and me. “I received a phone call asking me to meet up with some people in a bar after work. I was curious and they wouldn’t tell me what they wanted over the phone but insisted that I go. So I went to the bar, it was nearly empty, and I sat in the corner and waited. Finally this guy came up to me, bought me a few drinks, and then told me about a plan that he had. He would give me money, I can’t remember how much he said, but it was a lot, and in return all I had to do was lose some papers which supported our case against the tobacco firms. Things that no one would miss but that would weaken our case a fair amount.”

I paused and took a drink from the coffee mug that I held in my hands and it warmed me as it went down my throat. My mother said nothing, but was now sat down at the table with me, her eye half on the stove but mostly on me.

“He told me that if I was to decline the offer or inform anyone about it, then I would pay in kind. Then he got out some photos, pictures of Donna and I together - he obviously assumed that we were involved as he implied certain things - and told me that if I didn’t accept the offer, well, I don’t want to repeat what he said, but basically Donna would suffer. I think I told him to go to hell, and I stormed out of the bar. I couldn’t tell anyone, I mean who would believe me, for one, and besides there was nothing anyone could do about it.”

I drank some more coffee, and remembered the inner conflict that I had been through back then, and the covering up that I needed to do to ensure everyone that I was fine. “I remembered what he said, though, what he implied. And then there was the Illinois Primary in February.” I paused a minute, remembering the evening, the laughter, the dancing, the alcohol. It seemed like a fairytale, a fantasy that I had concocted, it didn’t seem as though it was only that year.

“We won, and it such a relief, and there was a huge party. I forgot all about problems that I had and decided to have a good time, and there was lots of alcohol involved. Donna and I…” I took in a deep breath, preparing myself for what I was about to tell my mother. “Donna and I went back to my hotel room and … things happened. I’m not sure if she remembers, or if she knows that I remember, we were so drunk, but it changed things. I knew that we were too close and if anything happened to her I would be devastated. So I pushed her away, told her some unforgivable things and eventually she left.” I laughed bitterly at the memory.

“And after the whole press incident you would have thought that I’d have been glad. They obviously couldn’t get to Donna, so they decided to come after me instead. And I had managed to push everyone away in my attempt to help Donna. Everyone hated me, and so when the press started on about how I’d actually gone ahead with what I’d tried so hard to prevent from happening, they were glad to have an excuse to not talk to me. It blew over, but they still couldn’t forgive me, although things were getting slightly better. And then came the crash, and you know everything from there.”

I finished, glad that I had finally managed to tell someone everything, that there was one less person who would judge me for what they thought I’d done.

My mother said nothing, and I could see the information going round and round in her head, trying to process it all. Instead for the second time that day she moved round the table and gathered me in a consoling embrace and I wished that I could stay in her arms forever, shielded from reality.

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” she asked me.

“I couldn’t. Besides you have other things to worry about without my problems,” I replied.

“I never have too much to worry about that you can’t come and talk to me,” she told me.

She held me closer, and again I dissolved into tears and could say nothing. Finally someone knew, someone who mattered. And it made me relieved enough that I wanted to tell more.

It was another few weeks before I could go back to Washington, but in those few weeks I changed again. I came to be more self-assured, more like I once had been, and my mother and I had talked a lot since that evening. None of my friends in Washington knew the truth and despite my mother insisting that I tell someone and my own urge to divulge my secret, I had no plans of telling them. I didn’t want their pity, and it wasn’t going to bring Donna back. That was the one thing that I couldn’t tell even my mother, what I felt for Donna, or what I thought I was feeling. It was far too private.

We said our goodbyes one Friday in the fall, I hugged my mother and thanked her for looking after me, and then left for the plane. It was hardly any time before I landed in Washington and took the cab back to my apartment.

I stayed there a couple of weeks more, just getting myself around, doing mundane things like grocery shopping, or surfing the internet. In some ways I wanted to go back to work, but I wasn’t sure what would greet me once I was there and so I held off a while.

The day I went back was a Monday, and while no one was overjoyed at my return and they were all far too busy to hold any sort of welcome back party, they all were kind and polite and more welcoming than they had been when I had left. My assistant gave me my schedule for the day and then I went into my office and closed the door. It was good to be back, to occupy my mind, to start to work again.

Sam came by at the end of the week and asked if I wanted to go for a couple of drinks with him in honour of my return, and I agreed. It wouldn’t be like old times, but I wasn’t too much bothered about that.

We went to a bar that we used to frequent back in the days before Donna had left, and we sat there and drank some before we talked.

“So, are you glad to be back?” Sam asked after a long pause.

“It beats sitting at home I guess,” I told him and there was another long pause.

We drank some more, several bottles of beer between us before we could be open with each other, uninhibited and not caring so much about the consequences of what we said.

“Donna’s in Boston,” Sam told me out of the blue. I wondered what the relevance was, surely I couldn’t have been that obvious about my feelings for her. “I found her when I went to a birthday thing. She’s working for my friend in a law firm.”

I was interested, naturally, but chose not to show it or be too eager.

“How was she, did she ask after me?” I asked him. Screw not being overly eager, I thought.

“She was fine, but she told me something. About you.” He had a weird look on his face, and I wouldn’t have asked him if he weren’t discussing Donna or I wasn’t on the way to getting drunk.

“What? What did she say?” I demanded as uninterested as I could possibly seem. Really.

He seemed to deliberate over something for a while before elaborating. “She told me… something about you sleeping together.”

Well, that was interesting. She remembered.

Pause, and too late for denial. “Did she?” I asked as intrigued as possible, but it fell flat.

“You would tell me, wouldn’t you, if it was true?”

I had been so lonely the past couple of months, longing for friendship and he seemed to think that our friendship was back to being almost the same as it once had. A friendship where we told each other almost everything and I decided that if he could trust me that much, maybe I could trust him. Or get him drunk enough to forget anything I told him.

I thought a little while about what I could say, and I decided to tell him as much of the truth as I could. I wanted us to be friends, and this seemed to be the only way. “We did,” I said slowly, and his mouth dropped open like a cartoon character at my admission. “What, like you weren’t expecting it?” I asked him jokingly.

“I… of course I… I…” For a speech writer he was not very good with words and I laughed at him.

“We were so drunk. It was the Illinois Primary, and I bet even you don’t remember what the hell you did that night.” I told him whilst still laughing. But then I remembered and I sobered slightly. “I woke up with her in my arms and I thought that life couldn’t get any better, and when I woke again, well, she was gone.” I laughed shortly. “She obviously didn’t share the feeling.”

Sam was still speechless. I don’t think Donna told him quite so much.

“I think she did,” he said when he had finally recovered the ability to talk. I shake my head refusing to be optimistic about the whole situation.

“If she did then she wouldn’t have left,” I said, and unsure which time I was even talking about. Our drunken rendezvous or her leaving me forever. I couldn’t blame her for the second incident, especially since I spent so much of my time persuading her to go in my own way. I wondered briefly why I did it, and then remember that she was better off without me. “She wouldn’t have left,” I repeated.
We spent the next couple of hours bonding, and he told me about his possible relationship with Ainsley, and I laughed at him for succumbing to the Republican’s charms, but was supportive about it. Then he asked me about the press incident and I skirted around the issue, not wanting to burden him with my problems, not wanting him to know. He tried to ask me again, but this woman started to wander over to our table, looking me in the eye and I recognised her from having seen her earlier, and she was a welcoming interruption.

“I know this is really corny, coming up to you in a bar, but I was wondering if you wanted a drink,” she offered, and I couldn’t care less about it being corny, she was an attractive woman and she wasn’t Donna.

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one offering to buy the drinks?” I asked with a grin, then held out my hand. “Josh Lyman,” I introduced myself.

“Maggie Ford.” She took my hand and shook it.

“Well, Maggie Ford, what would you like to drink?” I asked, taking out my wallet. Sam just looked at us.

“Screwdriver if you wouldn’t mind,” she replied, and she followed as I walked over to the bar. She was probably in her late thirties with short dark hair, tall and thin, and very attractive. I couldn’t believe my luck. I ordered our drinks from the bar and whilst we waited asked her what she was doing in DC.

“I’m here visiting a friend, actually,” she told me. “I work as a doctor in Boston and decided to take the week off to visit my friend.” Wasn’t Donna in Boston? I thought briefly, before removing her from my thoughts. She was past and this was present.

Maggie and I got to talking for a while and it turned out that she would be staying in DC until the following Wednesday and so I asked her to dinner the next night. She accepted and gave me her cell number and her friend’s home number. I told her I’d call her the next day, and had every intention of doing so.

After she left for the night, I went back to Sam, who had managed to find someone to talk to so hadn’t spent the evening alone.

“Found a friend?” Sam asked me after the Congressman with whom he’d been speaking left for another table.

“We’re going to dinner tomorrow,” I told him, glad to have someone to boast to about my proud accomplishment. He said nothing, but smiled almost knowingly. I wasn’t sure what he meant, but didn’t ask him about it. I was fairly drunk for starters. “She was nice. I don’t meet nice, attractive women anymore.” I thought about what I’d said and realised that I had never just met nice, attractive women but Sam said nothing so I didn’t comment.

“What about Donna?” he asked.

“What about Donna? She’s gone and I’m glad.” Sam eyed me speculatively.

“You’re not glad,” he informed me.

“She got away from me, she escaped being accused of masterminding a major conspiracy, I’m glad and I’d bet she’s glad as well,” I told him, but he didn’t seem to understand. I didn’t really want to elaborate further but he pushed.

“What do you mean? Do you mean that you made her leave because you knew something?” he accused.

“I knew nothing,” I said unconvincingly.

“Josh?” he asked.

“I just didn’t want her to get hurt and they were going to hurt her,” I said cryptically, hoping that he wouldn’t ask anymore. It didn’t occur to me to just tell him to mind his own business, but that would have destroyed the friendship that we had tentatively re-established, anyway, and I wanted friends.

“The tobacco people?” he asked, and he was no longer accusatory, but bewildered, almost upset that I hadn’t told him. It figured, since he knew nothing of what had happened. I guessed that I was about to tell him.

“Yes, the tobacco people,” I confirmed quietly. “I knew about it. They told me about their plans, they wanted to offer me money to lose memos and I refused. They threatened to get to Donna and so I made sure she went away. She’s better off in Boston.” Sam looked shocked.

“You knew?” he said, eyes wide. “You knew and you didn’t tell anyone?”

“I couldn’t, not until Donna had gone away, and by then it was too late.” I had completely sobered by this point, just wanting to tell Sam so we didn’t have any huge secrets. Secrets were often the cause of destruction of any relationships, I had come to realise, and it was fine to keep them whilst I thought I had no friends, but if I wanted Sam’s friendship back I had to tell him.

“I can’t believe…” was all he could say. “I can’t… All that time you’d done nothing and we’d hated you. Why… I….”

I hoped he wouldn’t feel pity for me after this. That was the last thing I wanted. I just wanted him to know the truth, full stop. Finally he met my eye. “Josh, I am so sorry,” he told me. I held up a hand to make him be quiet, but it wouldn’t happen. “All that time? God, you must hate me, hate us all.”

“Sam, I didn’t tell you so you could feel bad about it. I just wanted you to know. That’s all.”

Sam said nothing more, and so I stood up, placed a tip on the table and put on my jacket before moving towards the door.

“Josh,” I heard Sam call and so I turned around. “If we’d known…” he trailed off.

“Then you couldn’t have done anything, and Donna would have known,” I replied, turning back around and leaving the bar.

There was no way to gauge what work would be like the next day, but I had to go in. All I had to look forward to was my date with Maggie and the question again of what the hell came next.

And it took a trip out of DC before I could figure that out.

END OF PART FOUR

[part five]

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