RICK: Still friends?
ME: Course. Just finished talking.
RICK: Sweet.
ME: Dick.
RICK: You love it.
ME: I do.
ME: I can’t do this…
RICK: You can. Now go do it!
ME: Fine. But I still hate you.
RICK: Fine, but I still love you.
ME: Gross. Take it back.
RICK: Never.
ME: Fine. Love you too. Now bugger off.
I caught my reflection in the gold-framed mirror and did the—always denied, but every woman does it—automatic butt-check. Milestone-wise I was a walking disaster, but at least my ass still looked thirty-five going on twenty-five.
Small mercies.
My heart was still racing as I pulled into the petrol station on my way back from Burnish Lawyers’ Wills & Estates Office. The three-hour drive from London to Glades Bay had done nothing to dispel my anxiety, and the meeting had only increased the frequency of my heart palpitations. Trevor, the lawyer, had been a stick thin man with hair pulled into a low ponytail. He wore a black suit at least two sizes too big. He’d been genuinely excited to walk me through the paperwork, and his unwelcome clapping of my back said that he thought this a splendid gift to celebrate.
“Do you have any idea who would have left it to you? I couldn’t say if I wanted to,” he’d added quickly. “But any ideas?”
His eyebrows rose, and he spoke speedily like he couldn’t wait to hear all of my eager guesses. Well, he was going to be sorely disappointed.
“None. I was actually hoping you could tell me,” I’d said, swivelling side to side on his green office chair.
“Oh, I couldn’t. Confidentiality is the foundation of my entire career.” He gripped the lapels of his jacket and flashed the same cheesy grin from his website photo. His gold tooth caught the light. “You’ve seriously got no clue?”
“Not one,” I said, my lips pursing as I felt a fresh wave of regret for letting Rick talk me into this. “Especially for that address.”
“It is strange, yes,” he said, stroking the greying beard on his chin. I studied him and realised he must dye his hair black. “That’s why I was hoping you knew. You know, the backstory. The angle.” He perched on the long wooden table that filled the middle of his office.
My eyebrows bunched together, and I studied him, silently searching for his intention like I did with everyone I met. I couldn’t read it, so I settled on Trevor being nosy as fuck.
“There were rumours about that place around here,” he added, waving his arms around to show the town. He looked at my blank stare. “After it got shut down, a couple of staff started talking. Pretty bad from the sounds of it. You know anything about it?”
Umm, no thank-you.
This felt like the most unwanted invitation to a trauma confession I’d ever received.
“Nope. Key?” I asked curtly. I wasn’t in the mood for gossip or sentiment.
“The key? Oh! Yes, of course,” he said, running his fingers across his chin again. “Here.”
He fumbled around the piles of now-signed paperwork on his table, his cheeks a darker shade of red. “Congratulations,” he added and handed me a brown envelope that contained everything I needed. I half expected it to burn my hand as I accepted it. Or for its weight to tug me to the ground like the fire of Hades. Or better still, for a bunch of people to jump out from behind the curtains screaming‘punked!’then we’d all laugh and cheer as I punched them in the face.
“Thanks,” I said with the same enthusiasm I gave the gynaecologist.
