.jpg)
‘Okay,’ Mum says easily, making me pause with the mug under the tap until it overflows and the hot water scalds my skin.
‘Shit!’
‘Come here.’ Mum sighs, pushing me out of the way and turning off the tap. She retrieves the mug and sets it on the drainer. ‘Let me see.’ Claiming my hand carefully, she has a good inspection. ‘You’re fine.’ She gives me high eyebrows. ‘At least, your hand is fine. I’m not so sure about this.’ She taps my forehead before wandering out of the kitchen. ‘You can tell me why you’re really home when you’re ready,’ she calls.
My chin drops to my chest, and I only just manage to stop myself from telling her that I’ll never be ready.
I take myself upstairs to my old room and fall on the bed, dialling Lucy. I doubt my vagueness will be as willingly accepted by my friend, which is why I don’t plan on mentioning anything to do with Becker. I can’t face it.
‘Morning,’ she chirps, all happy. If I could see her, I know she’d have a skip to her step. It feels like eons since I last saw her, when in actual fact it was only last night that I left her with Mark. It’s been the longest night ever.
‘How was last night?’ I ask, getting comfy on my pillow, gazing around at the familiar surroundings of my old bedroom. Everything is exactly as I left it.
‘Perfect,’ she pants, and I smile. I’m happy for her. ‘He’s perfect, I’m perfect, we’re perfect.’ More panting comes down the line and I wait for her to gather air and spit out an explanation for her heavy breathing. ‘The stupid lifts are out of order at Covent Garden station. I’ve just passed step seventy-five.’
‘Ouch.’
‘Yeah,’ she huffs. ‘Shoes are coming off now. Still on for lunch? Or shall we do dinner?’
‘Ah.’ I snap my mouth shut and rummage through my cluttered mind for an excuse. ‘You see . . . um . . . I’m out of town.’
‘What do you mean, you’re out of town?’
‘I’m at my mum’s.’
‘What? In Helston?’
‘Yeah, family emergency.’ I cheer to myself for my quick thinking. Also because, technically speaking, it isn’t a lie.
‘What’s happened?’
‘Mum’s got herself a new boyfriend.’
There’s a slight pause. ‘Huh?’
‘My mum, she—’
‘Yes, yes. I heard you, Eleanor. How is that an emergency?’ Now I’m stumped, because, technically speaking, it isn’t really an emergency at all. A shock, maybe, but it doesn’t warrant me fleeing London late at night. ‘And what about your job?’ she asks.
‘What job?’ My voice is like a robot now, automatic and emotionless. It’s the only way to be.
Lucy gasps down the line. ‘He fired you?’
‘I quit,’ I correct her. I realise there is only so much I can share, or so much I want to share.
‘Tell,’ she demands, her laboured breaths now under control. This means, unfortunately, she has enough steam to grill me. ‘You sat in my apartment last night talking with a bucketload of optimism, and the next morning you’re hundreds of miles away sounding like someone’s died. What’s happened?’
My throat dries up with dread at the thought of talking about it. I breathe in, swallow and repeat, breathe in, swallow and repeat, searching for a scrap of strength to spit out the words and share my woes. ‘I can’t,’ I croak, brushing at my cheeks roughly when I feel a tiny bead of wet trickle down my skin. Goddamn it, why am I crying?
‘What did he do?’ She sounds mad.
‘He . . .’ I hiccup, covering my eyes like it might stop the mental images of him in my apartment. I can’t tell Lucy what he did. I can’t tell her he broke into my apartment and scared the ever-loving shit out of me. I can’t tell anyone, leaving me to shoulder the truth alone. ‘I can’t talk about it.’
‘The arsehole,’ she spits, growling down the line for a few moments before a lingering silence falls, and I wait and hope that my friend can leave it there. ‘Okay,’ she finally says softly, though obviously forced for my benefit. ‘That’s fine, just know I’m here when you’re ready to talk.’
I gaze blankly at nothing across my room. ‘Thank you.’
‘Oh, Eleanor,’ she sighs. ‘Why didn’t you stop me from harping on about Mark? I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t. He’s not an arsehole.’
‘Come home,’ she says softly. ‘We’ll buy a voodoo doll and stick needles in it.’
I smile a little, thankful that I have Lucy, and I honestly don’t know what I’d do without her. ‘I just need a timeout for a few days while I think about what to do next. And I may as well take care of my father’s store while I’m here.’ I never imagined I would actually look forward to clearing out his shop. It’s going to distract me for a good few days.
‘Okay. Call me if you need me.’
‘I will.’
‘Hey, has your mum really got a new boyfriend, or was that a bare-faced lie?’
‘She really has.’ I fight off flashbacks of Paul in his underpants as Lucy whistles down the line.
‘And how do you feel about that?’
‘I don’t know,’ I admit. ‘She’s happy, and that’s the most important thing.’ I could never deny her that. ‘I’ll let you know when I’ll be back.’
We say our goodbyes and I hang up, snuggling down in my bed, intending on shutting my mind down and finding sleep.
But an hour later, I’ve tossed my body over for the hundredth time and that needed sleep is nowhere close. My restlessness would be easy to put down to being uncomfortable. Except I’m not. I’m just struggling to clear my mind and zone out. And I’m getting distressed as a result, because it isn’t Mum’s bombshell that’s got my mind racing. Neither is it the fact that I’m home and I might have the imminent pleasure of seeing a few old ghosts. It’s the phantom that is Becker Hunt keeping me from finding peace in my darkness.
I close my eyes and see him. I breathe in and smell him. I feel the sheets skimming my skin and imagine it’s his touch. I shut my brain down for a split second and hear his sexy shush. I swallow and taste his tongue in my mouth.
He’s imprinted on every part of me.
Chapter 4
After spending my entire Sunday moping and avoiding my mother so she couldn’t squeeze me for information, I wake on Monday determined not to waste another day. I need to get back to London. I need to be getting myself a new job. The alternative is remaining in Helston at the mercy of my regrets and my past. No. Not today.
I jump up and rummage through the chest of drawers in my room, searching for anything I can wear. I settle on some old leggings and a big jumper. After showering and dressing, I make my way downstairs, finding Mum in the kitchen making tea.
‘Sleep well?’ she asks, handing me a cup.
I hum my answer and take a sip. ‘I’m going to Dad’s store.’ I tell her, and she looks up at me. I can see the fear in her eyes – fear that I’m going to ask her to come. I smile and reach for her hand. ‘I’ve got it,’ I assure her. I know she’s avoided the shop, and I understand why. It’s the same reason I’ve avoided it myself. Yet, in order for me to move forward, I need to clear up the remnants of my past. And Mum seriously needs relieving of the financial strain. It’s time to pull my finger out.
‘Thank you,’ she seizes my hand and squeezes it. ‘Now, are you ready to talk or am I to continue pretending you’ve really missed me?’
I roll my eyes. ‘I did miss you,’ I say, setting my tea down and pulling on my jacket.
‘So you’re on leave, are you? From your job?’
‘Something like that.’ I swing my bag onto my shoulder and kiss her cheek. ‘Just know I’m fine, okay?’ I do not need my mum worrying about me. Because, Eleanor, there is nothing to worry about.
She sighs. ‘Not really, but I can hardly beat it out of you
, can I?’
‘No.’ I head for the door. ‘What are you doing today?’
‘Paul and I . . .’ She fades off as I turn back to look at her. Her smile is awkward. ‘He’s taking me shopping.’
I smile, seeing that bright sparkle in her eyes. It suits her. ‘Have a lovely time.’
She nods, and I’m pretty sure I see tears cloud her eyes. It tugs at my heartstrings. And it makes me realise that the best gift I could give my mum is my blessing.
I leave the house and take a moment on the step to drink in air. Then I start the short walk into town. I can practically feel the whispers following me the whole way. ‘Eleanor, you’re home,’ Mr Keller, the local carpenter, calls from across the road as he loads a ladder onto his van. ‘Good to see you.’
‘Just temporarily,’ I say as I wave.
By the time I make it to Dad’s store, I think I must have seen just about every resident of Helston. All except my ex-boyfriend and ex-best friend, which suits me fine. Hopefully I can do what I need to do and leave without any chance encounters.
I let myself in and glance around, wondering where I might start. ‘God, could you have crammed any more junk in here, Dad?’ I set my bag down and pick up a watercolour that’s propped up against a wall. I smile, remembering when Dad acquired it in a house clearance from the next village. That day, years ago now, he came back with a van load of new ‘treasures’. He was thrilled, while I was wondering where on earth he planned on storing it all. The shop had always been set to burst at the seams, yet Dad always found more space. And now I have to clear it.
I get my phone out and pull up Google, searching for local clearance firms. I find one a few towns away and call them to arrange a collection. ‘Later today is perfect, thank you.’
It’s time to roll my sleeves up. Over the next few hours, I think I must burn a million calories moving everything I can manage into the courtyard out back. It’s only when the larger pieces of furniture remain that I realise I haven’t quite thought this through. There’s no way I’ll shift it all on my own. I take a seat on a nearby reproduction cabinet to catch my breath and blow away some cobwebs from the sleeve of my jumper.
‘Hi, Elle.’
I look up. ‘David,’ I breathe, finding my ex standing on the threshold of Dad’s store.
‘I heard you were back.’
I laugh under my breath. This place. You can’t fart without the whole town knowing. ‘Only temporarily.’ Let’s make that clear. ‘What are you doing here?’ I get up, needing something to do, and start shifting a table towards the back entrance of the store.
‘You never answered my calls. My messages.’
I stop pushing the table and turn to face him. It’s only now I notice he’s lost a bit of weight. His tall frame is slighter than usual. ‘Why would I?’ I ask. ‘Why rehash things? You did what you did, with my best friend, and I left Helston. What did you want? For me to shout and scream? Cry? We’ve both moved on.’
‘Have we?’ he asks, and it throws me.
‘Mum told me she’s seen you with Amy. So yes, I assume you have, and I know I have.’ It’s a slight stretch of the truth, but David doesn’t need to know the ins and outs of the crazy happenings in my life since I left Helston.
‘I’ve seen Amy, of course. It’s hard to avoid anyone in this town, Eleanor. You know that.’ He moves into the store, looking around. ‘You might not believe it, but we both regret what happened. We’re both sorry.’
‘Well, thank you for your apology.’
He blinks in surprise. ‘Welcome,’ he replies, unsure.
I start pushing the table again, grunting a bit with the effort. It’s odd. I thought I’d disintegrate in the presence of my ex, get angry and upset. It’s quite the opposite, in fact. I feel . . . closure. Weird. I stop trying to wrestle the table through the doorway and brace my hands on the edge, puffing and panting like a loser.
‘Want some help?’
I turn back to David and find him flexing his non-existent muscles and giving me a small smile.
‘Call it a peace offering.’
Laughter rises, and it feels good. I chuckle and move aside in invitation, and he comes over, taking one side as I take the other. ‘This means nothing except I’m fed up hating you,’ I say, needing that to be clear. But I’m not fed up. I simply haven’t got the energy to hate him.
He smiles. ‘Have you really moved on, Eleanor?’
I nod, forcing sureness into my expression. ‘Yes.’
‘Then I’m happy for you.’
Don’t be, because my life is upside down right now. ‘Thanks,’ I smile meekly. ‘Ready?’
‘Yep.’ He bends and we lift, negotiating the table out of the store and setting it down on the ground in the courtyard. We wander back inside. ‘God, I forgot how much junk your Dad hoarded,’ David says, looking around, a little bewildered.
I laugh a little, completely unoffended. It’s like I can’t be angry with anyone right now, except Becker. Even my ex, who royally turned me over, and, technically, sent me to London and into the clutches of Becker Hunt. Yet as I’m standing here, in my father’s store, doing something I should have done weeks ago, I feel almost at peace. Anger’s eluding me, and in its place is acceptance.
‘What are you doing with it all?’ he asks as he casts his eyes over the clutter.
‘I have a clearance company collecting it later.’ I point to a cabinet and David moves in, taking one side and lifting as I take the other.
‘And what will they do with it?’
‘Skip it, I suppose.’
‘That’s such a waste.’ We both go red in the face as we lift and start shuffling along. ‘My company is doing a community drive incentive,’ he puffs. ‘Would you mind if I take some of it for the homeless shelter?’
I grin through my straining. ‘Since when did you become a saint?’
David hits the doorframe with his elbow, the thwack loud. ‘Fuck!’
I laugh, having to quickly lower the cabinet before I drop it on my toes. ‘That’s karma, that is.’
He grimaces and releases his end of the cabinet, rubbing at his elbow while I continue to titter to myself, the laughter rolling from me in waves. It’s not even that funny, but this laughter? It feels good. And this moment, this distraction? It’s masking everything I need masking.
I fall through the door later that afternoon looking like I’ve been rolling in cobwebs and dusted in flour. I brush myself down as I wander into the kitchen.
‘I was just going to call you,’ Mum says as she stirs a pot on the stove. ‘Thought you might have got lost in a worthless vase.’
I dip my finger in the stew and suck off the gravy. I’m famished. ‘David helped me.’
Mum’s stirring stops and she looks at me gone out. ‘He did?’
I dump my bag on a chair and get a glass of water. ‘It’s not like that. He apologised, I accepted. End of story.’ I take a quick swig of my water, parched. ‘We’ve left a few pieces in the store that David wants to donate to a homeless shelter through his company. I’ve given him the keys so he can let himself in to collect it all. The rest is in the yard ready to be collected.’
She smiles. ‘Thank you.’
‘Don’t thank me.’ I finish my water and set the glass by the sink, falling into thought. Empty. Dad’s store is empty. But my heart is full of the memories. I smile, feeling warm inside. Like a weight has been lifted.
‘I’m going for a few drinks this evening,’ Mum says, returning to her pot. ‘Coming?’
‘I was thinking of going back to London tomorrow,’ I say quietly. I’m on a roll. May as well keep up the momentum.
‘Then tonight can be your leaving party.’
I glance down at my bedraggled form. I feel manky. ‘I have nothing to wear.’
‘Then we’ll pop into town and fin
d something.’
I gape at her. ‘I doubt I’ll find anything in town, unless I fancy a trip to the local bingo hall.’
‘Don’t be such a pessimist,’ she scolds, pouting. ‘There’s a new little boutique store. I bet they’ll have something.’ She looks down at her watch. ‘It’s four o’clock. We have an hour before they close.’ She whips off her apron and wipes her hands on a tea towel. ‘Come on.’ I’m claimed and guided out the door, Mum grabbing her coat and purse on the way. ‘My treat.’
‘No, Mum,’ I argue. She’s not exactly flush with money. I won’t have her splurging it on me.
She pulls the door closed behind her and links arms with me. ‘I know my daughter is a hot-shot in London, but I would like to treat her.’
A hot-shot in London? I inwardly snort. Maybe an idiot in London. ‘Mum, you really don’t have to.’
‘No, but I want to. And that will be the end of that.’ She pouts, an overexaggerated gesture that’s meant to make me feel guilty. It works. I sag, defeated, as she leads us towards town. I should be supporting her newfound spirit, not raining on her parade.
‘We’ll drink wine while we get ready, too,’ she adds.
I laugh to myself, thinking this woman is a flipping stranger. And, actually, I quite love her.
I gape as Mum sashays into the kitchen, totally astounded by what I’m looking at. A fox. ‘Jesus, Mum.’
She giggles and performs a carefully executed twirl. ‘What do you think?’
What do I think? I think she’s going to the local pub, not to the Royal bloody Opera house. ‘Amazing,’ I say instead, because she really does. Her curvy body is encased in a beautiful deep blue wrap-around dress with a silver shrug. ‘Heels?’ I look down at her feet that are graced in a pair of stilettos. I’ve never seen her in heels. She has always blessed her feet with squidgy-soled flats.
She points to her toes and admires them. ‘I’m getting used to them now.’