I let go of her hand and stand up. I need to do some serious grovelling, to Elle and to Nora. Given what Elle just told me, I’m surprised Nora even let me in the room.
‘Hey, Nora.’ I hold out my hand. ‘I’m Josh. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Elle’s lucky to have you in her life.’
‘Which is more than I can say for you,’ she mutters, but she takes my hand and eyes me curiously.
‘I’m gonna go and let Elle rest.’ I’ve done enough damage. I need to let her heal. But I can’t stay away for long. I turn back to Elle.
‘When will they let you go?’
‘Tomorrow morning, hopefully. If I promise to rest up when I get home.’
‘Do you want some company tonight? I can come back? I’m sure they have a cot I can sleep on.’
She smiles. ‘No. I’m pretty drowsy from the morphine. I’m sure I’ll sleep like a baby.’
‘Let me come help you get yourself home, then.’ I’m desperate.
To help.
To show up for her, for once.
To prove I’m not a flight risk at the first sign of trouble.
She and Nora exchange glances, and Nora gives a tiny nod.
‘If you’re sure?’ Elle says. ‘Nora has work tomorrow. She should be at work right now, in fact.’
‘You got it.’ Better and better. I get to take Elle homeandavoid the pit-bull. ‘I’ll be here first thing. I’m gonna look after you, baby.’
CHAPTER 41
Josh
Along night followed my visit to the hospital yesterday. Sleep eluded me as I agonised over Elle’s revelations. The first thing I did when I left the Princess Grace was drag my sorry ass off to an NA meeting.
Because if I didn’t, I was going straight for a bottle of the best scotch I could find and pretending like drinking four-figure scotch was somehow classy and not the desperate act of a pathetic fucking man who was scared to face up to the pain he’d caused the people he loved.
Person he loved.
The meeting helped me get my head straight enough to make my way home and figure out a game plan. And by the time I collapsed into sleep around 3am, my plan looked like this.
One. Don’t have a drink. Don’t pop a pill. Don’t fall at the first fucking hurdle. You let her down last time, man. Don’t you dare do it again. She needs you fully functional.
Two. You better persuade her to listen to your side of the story. She may tell you to go to hell. But without her hearing it, she’ll never trust you. Not really. Not enough.
Three. Do everything in your power to make sure nothing like this ever, ever happens to her again. Elle’s got herself a new pit-bull.
Four. Get some fucking sleep. See Point One.
I must have crashed hard, because when I wake up, I feel pretty intact, and I mentally high-five Yesterday Josh for staying away from temptation. I’m still reeling from everything Elle had kept to herself.
That when she was busy dazzling me and making me fall hard for her in Cannes and afterwards, she was hiding her illness.
Putting on a brave face.
Giving me a sanitised version of herself in case showing me the real Elle, ill and vulnerable, would put me off.
That when I pulled my unforgivable Twitter stunt, I triggered a flare-up so bad her doctors contemplated removing her colon.
