Maybe it’s a sign. Maybe some things aren’t meant to be kept.
THIRTY
One word that took forever
Georgie
I didn’t sleep awink last night. Tossed, turned, counted sheep, even attempted to bore myself unconscious by mentally reciting HTML tags. Nothing worked. Every time I closed my eyes, all I could think about was the guilt that Riri hasn’t been gone six months, and I was so busy flirting with Patrick, so caught up in feeling special for five minutes, that I lost the one thing she gave me to keep safe.
I’m at work by 8 a.m. anyway, even though my heart’s screaming at me to be up the Old Man of Storr on my handsand knees, scouring every rock and sheep turd for a glint of gold. Logically I know Patrick’s right. Needle, haystack.
At least IRIS is behaving today, which is more than I can say for myself. I bury myself in code all morning, but the hollow feeling in my chest won’t shift.
By 5 p.m. I leave my office feeling like there’s a rain cloud hovering above me.
There’s a missed call from Patrick on my phone from earlier. I ring back but it goes straight to voicemail. I don’t leave a message because what would I even say?Sorry for being emotional about jewelry yesterday?Thanks for the reality check about it being just a chain?
I tell myself to get over it. People lose things all the time.
Still, I wish he could’ve been just a tiny bit sympathetic yesterday. He’s not Steve-the-shit levels of cruel, God no, (he’d have tutted, told me ghosts don’t live in jewelry, reminded me that Riri is six feet under). Patrick wasn’t cruel like that. He was just… cold. Or practical.
Maybe that’s worse. Cruelty you can fight back against. Coldness just leaves you frozen too.
I stride through reception, attempting to look like someone who didn’t cry into her cereal this morning, and stop by Mary’s desk. I give her my best “professional Georgie” smile. “Just wanted to check the new features I added are running okay.”
“Great, love!” She beams.
“Mary,” Louise calls over, phone pressed to her shoulder. “I can’t get Patrick on the 9 p.m. flight. Everything’s booked.”
“Oh dear.” Mary clicks her tongue. “Put him on the next available then.”
I frown. “Didn’t—um—Mr. McLaren leave this morning?”
“He delayed it. Now he’s flying the helicopter to Inverness in the dark, which he usually avoids.”
“Oh.” My chest tightens. “Why’d he delay?”
“Some urgent work task apparently. Not sure what exactly.”
I shrug like this is completely uninteresting information, but my heart squeezes. Flying in the dark? My anxiety immediately supplies helpful images of rotor blades versus Scottish mountains in zero visibility. “Is he... safe flying at night?”
Mary smiles. “He prefers daylight but he’s very experienced. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
“Right. Of course. Well, good night.”
I trudge home with a different knot in my stomach now. I can already see tomorrow’s headline: “Hotel CEO Dies in Helicopter Crash.”
No. Stop it, Georgie. He’s an experienced pilot. He knows what he’s doing.
Fee’s belting out something unidentifiable in the bath when I push open the door. I contemplate whether eating an entire sleeve of biscuits counts as dinner.
There’s a package wedged through the letterbox with my name written in neat capitals.
I rip it open and—
My legs go completely useless. I actually have to grab the wall. Tears spring up so fast I can’t even pretend they’re not happening.
It’s my chain. Riri’s chain. Sitting in my palm like it never left.
