‘It would probably be quite entertaining, though,’ he mused, going in for another biscuit. ‘Mainly for the other patients.’
‘Exactly. Oh, by the way, do you want me to pick up anything from your flat and bring it here? Toothbrush, deodorant, books?’ Freya asked.
‘Only if you don’t mind.’ As much as Fin was counting on a quick exit, looking down at the various stitches, plaster casts and bandages, it was probably safer to prepare for a long recovery.
‘Of course I don’t mind.’ She reached into her bag and pulled out a pen and paper. ‘Tell me what you need and I’ll swing by later and pick it up.’
‘Thanks, Frey. It won’t be much, I promise.’ A sickening thought struck him. ‘You’ll also have to excuse the state of the flat …’ He glanced down at his hands, remembering the pile of empty bottles he’d left in the recycling bin. ‘It’s going to be a bit of a mess.’
‘That’s fine,’ she replied, ignorant to his unease. ‘I know you worship the ground Eleanor walks on, but she can be messy as hell when you live with her,’ she teased.
Fin’s heart dropped into his stomach.
‘Frey?’ He glanced up at her.
‘Yes?’
‘Will you check in on Eleanor for me?’
Her eyes narrowed and she looked at him shrewdly. ‘What’s going on?’ She leant forward in her chair. ‘Did something happen?’
‘No,’ Fin lied, shaking his head adamantly. ‘I worry about her, that’s all.’
‘I think the only thing you should be worried about is yourself right now. How many bones did you break? You’re more plaster cast than skin!’ She flicked his leg gently. ‘But fine – as it’s you, I’ll check.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Now, back to this list … I’ve got here deodorant, toothbrush, toothpaste … underpants?’
Eleanor
Eleanor had been lying on the floor for what felt like hours. She knew she should get up but it was comfortable down here on the carpet, sprawled out on the ground. What other options did she have? She’d tried everything. Drinking hadn’t helped. Eating hadn’t helped. Crying hadn’t helped. Running hadn’t helped. Now, she was learning that doing nothing didn’t help either.
Ben or Fin.
Fin or Ben …
She balled her hands into tight fists and slammed them down hard on the floor.
‘There isn’t even a choice!’ she hissed through gritted teeth. ‘There. Is. No. Choice.’ She beat every word out angrily on the carpet, scrunching her eyes closed and begging her brain to stop thinking for one moment. There was nothing to think about. Her life could and would andshouldkeep on going as it was. She was happy. She was starting over. She was with Ben.
‘I’m with Ben,’ she repeated out loud, bringing the details of his kind, broad face to her mind.
Is that why you’ve been ignoring his calls?
All at once, Ben’s blond, shaved hair became blazing red, his chiselled cheekbones dotted with freckles. His face merged and morphed into Fin’s.
No.
Stop thinking about him.
He was drunk. The words mean nothing.
A loud knock on the door startled her but Eleanor stayed where she was. If she ignored it for long enough, the person would leave and she could get back to drowning in the incessant bleating of her own inner thoughts. But the knocking continued, growing louder and more urgent.
‘Eleanor,’ her sister’s voice boomed through the letter box. ‘I know you’re in there – open up.’
Eleanor stayed resolutely still, slowing her breathing down so that the tiny inhales were almost inaudible. She needed to disappear, to find a way to become completely invisible.
