I open up the French doors to the balcony for some fresh air and settle on the sofa. This is probably going to be a long one.
“I’m good, Mum. I didn’t get much sleep, but I’ll be okay.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
That gets a laugh out of me. “Do I have a choice?”
“Not really, no.” Mum must be outside because I hear birds and the occasional bark from her elderly chocolate labrador, Bert. He used to love to chase the birds. These days, he manages the occasional yap to keep them on their toes.
“Have you spoken to Josh?” I ask, despite the fact I’d promised myself I wouldn’t ask about him.
“No, but I understand Will has. He was very tight-lipped about it, though. I can’t give you any details beyond that he’s okay.”
“I really don’t care whether he’s okay or not, Mum.”
Mum laughs. “Darling, I’ve watched you idolise that boy from the moment you met him, so don’t even try that shit with me.”
Wow. She must be distraught. Mum rarely swears. Usually only when Will or Ben have done something truly awful.
I sigh. “Fine. I care. But I have to work on not caring. Because as much as I wanted things to work out, they’re not going to.”
“Do you remember that movie—The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel?” I have no idea where she’s heading with this.
“Yes?”
“Remember what the boy—Sunny was it?—said? It will all be alright in the end, and if it’s not alright, then it’s not the end. I have faith things will work themselves out as they’re supposed to.”
“Hmm.” I had the same faith once upon a time. Not anymore. “Josh said we couldn’t be together because he was bound to screw it up. And then he’d lose you and Dad and Will. And I get that. Maybe I didn’t want to hear it before, but I do understand where he’s coming from. I want you to promise me, whatever happens, you won’t hold any of this against him.”
“I can’t promise it won’t be difficult, Greer. But Josh will always be part of our family. Whatever happens.”
The last thing I want is for her to feel any animosity towards Josh. She’s the closest thing he’s ever had to a loving mother, and I can’t take that away from him, regardless of where we stand.
“Thanks, Mum. I’m going to take a shower. I’ll talk to you later.”
I don’t want to burden Jessie with all my crap. This should be a shiny, happy time for her right now. But I can’t sit around this flat on my own, wallowing. Once I’m out of the shower, feeling slightly more human, I decide the best bet is to call Ben.
Funnily enough, for the family screw up, Ben is probably the most in touch with his feelings of any of my brothers, and I often go to him when my emotional turmoil needs a calm and steady hand.
“I know the perfect thing. Be ready in half an hour. Comfy clothes.” And he hangs up without another word. Which is how, an hour later, I find myself walking into an axe-throwing parlour. Ben is bloody brilliant. This is exactly what I need.
“You’re a genius,” I tell Ben as they hand me a danger waiver to sign.
“Never forget it. Best anger management therapy ever.” He’s grinning from ear to ear.
The girl on reception shows us to our cage, all the while flirting with Ben, who, friends tell me, is hot in a way that transcends the physical—although he’s physically hot too, I hear. Apparently, it’s something about the look in his eyes. Whatever it is, I’ve never known a girl not to flirt with him. If he ever kept their numbers, his little black book would be more like a large black filing cabinet.
The space smells of woodchips and is noisy with thuds and cheers and the screeching of metal blades skidding across the concrete floor.
After a five-minute run-down on what to do and not do, the instructor leaves us to it. I can’t wait to get started and pick up my first solo axe, but Ben holds up his hand.
“Wait a minute.” He trots down to the wooden board painted with a target at the other end of the cage and pulls something from his pocket. I can’t see what he’s doing until he steps away a moment later, and right there in the centre of the bullseye is a blown-up picture of Josh’s face.
“Bonus points if you hit him dead in his weird-creepy eye.” And then he laughs before heading back to stand way behind me and let me have at it.
I feel a little bad on the first throw, aiming at Josh’s face. But only a little. Anger fuels my throws, and bit by bit, the tension in my body starts to lessen. By the end of our hour, the picture is hanging off the board in shreds, and my temper has been restored. Well, for the most part.
“You’re pretty good at this,” says a guy in the next cage, nodding to where my final throw has just missed what’s left of Josh’s two-tone eye. It’s quite the compliment coming from a guy who appears to have his own axes and has been hitting the bullseye consistently. “We have a regular tournament if you’re interested in joining. Shelley at the counter can give you the info.”
