Mattie stared into the darkness. Was she unable or unwilling to find the words to answer Zabu’s question?
Zabu’s face turned serious. “When I’ve finished this deployment, I will return home and see a psychologist. It’s not easy to recover from things I’ve seen. The trauma, the tragedy... It’s overwhelming.”
Every time someone mentioned counselling or therapy, the wordNoscreamed in Mattie’s head, and mentally, she curled into the foetal position. “I’ll be fine with the vodka option.”
“You could try both. Of course, there’s something else that can give us immediate relief.” Zabu winked and leaned in for a kiss.
Mattie pulled back and shook her head.
“No?” Zabu raised her eyebrow. “So, that answers my unspoken question. You have changed. I’m thinking that you’ve met someone?” She smiled. “Yes, you have. And they are important to you. Important enough to say no to me.” Zabu nudged her shoulder playfully. “Who is she?”
“Nell. We met last summer. Somehow, she got under my skin.”
Zabu looked amused. “It happens.”
“Not to me. Not before. Not like this.” Just a few hours earlier, a grieving man had shown Mattie photos of how his street had looked before the earthquake. Her first thought? Nell would’ve loved the architecture of the mosque.
“Does your Nell know this?”
Mattie glared at the darkness. “I suspect she’s very pissed off with me right now.”
“I suspect you need to talk to her.” Zabu tapped her arm. “You are blaming yourself. I am a doctor. I don’t blame. I try to heal.
“You think I need healing?”
“Yes, my dear friend,” Zabu said softly, “I do.”
Zabu’s words weighed heavily on Mattie’s mind as she shifted in the single bed. She and Moeen had decided to stay at their hotel, but sleep continued to elude her. The wall didn’t have any answers either, despite her staring at it for hours on end. Rain splattered against the window. Out of nowhere, she remembered the words of a Polish poet:Raindrops are the tears of a broken soul. She pressed her lips shut. Zabu thought she needed healing. So did Nell, Shona, and Lisa. Why didn’t they understand that if she allowed this thread in her mind to be pulled, everything would unravel?
How loud was she crying? Not wanting Moeen to hear through the hotel’s thin walls, she dragged the pillow over her face to muffle the noise. Hell, she was a mess. Eventually, she got herself sufficiently under control to lay back against the pillow instead of half-suffocating herself with it. What now? Sleep wasn’t happening. Music? Maybe not. Music had so many associations that it would most likely set her off again. An audiobook? She woke up her phone and stared at the photo on the screensaver. Mum, Dad, Simon and her, all grinning at the camera. A snapshot in time, one that would never be repeated. She ran her finger over the screen, wishing she could reach in and hold them all again.
What would Mum have had to say about all of this? The only woman who’d ever loved her unconditionally, had seen her at her very worst, and still came back for more. Caring had been her love language.
“You’d love Nell, Mum,” she whispered into the darkness. “Ilove Nell. But I hate me.” The truth burned her throat. She didn’tknow who she was anymore. “I’m lost, Mum. And I’m too scared to find myself again.”
Chapter 33
Aside from the Grinch being green and having onion breath, Nell decided she fit every other criteria for being one. She was grumpy as hell with all of the festive cheer and wanted to shout that Christmas was stupid, stupid, stupid. How well would that go down with the extended Abraham family? Almost as well as announcing she was, on reflection, a lesbian, and that she’d fallen in love with a woman. A gorgeous, intelligent, career-driven woman who’d ditched their romantic Christmas plans for a work assignment.
Her mother handed her a plate of carved meat to put on the table in the dining room. “Cold turkey and ham for supper.”
Nell managed to suppress an eye-roll as she took it from her. Such gluttony. It’d barely been four hours since their gargantuan Christmas dinner of roast turkey, stuffing, and six different types of vegetable. Six! Yet here they were, setting the table for supper. Her mother directed proceedings from the kitchen, while she and Caroline did her bidding. Nell took her time, careful to stay out of an inane conversation about the choice of hymns at Midnight Mass. So what if they’d omitted “O Come All Ye Faithful”? Thank god she’d given herself an early-release clause this year. Normally, she felt obliged to stay until thetwenty-seventh, but she planned to leave after lunch on Boxing Day. Then she’d return to Devon and lick her wounds.
Today had been never-ending. She’d woken after a fractious night, having failed miserably to get comfortable on the same single mattress that she’d slept on as a child. Breakfast in the kitchen had been slightly later than usual on account of Midnight Mass. Her mother had fussed over jams and her father had hidden behind the pages ofThe Telegraph’sbusiness section. The new Smart TV—a gift from her brother Declan to their parents—remained off because her father pronounced it was rude for it to be on while they were eating. She couldn’t bring herself to point out his hypocrisy as he ate and read at the same time.
“Declan’s done very well for himself, making senior partner,” he’d said, his voice muffled by the broadsheet.
“Indeed,” she’d said, hoping her instant affirmation of her father’s pride in his first-born would mean an end to the conversation. If only he showed the same interest in her or Caroline. Her mind had wandered back to the text awaiting her when she woke. Mattie had wished her a Merry Christmas. She’d typed a response:I miss you. I think about you all the time. Are you coping, being surrounded with so much tragedy? I want to spoon you at night so I know you’re warm and safe. Then she’d lost her nerve, deleted it, and sent,Merry Christmas to you too. Xxx
After the admittedly tasty lunch, everyone gathered in the parlour, as per family tradition, to watch the King’s Speech. Nell’s lips had twitched as she remembered Angie’s incredulity about calling one of the rooms a parlour. Declan and their father had insisted on standing for the National Anthem. Caroline had glared at her two sons who were less than surreptitiously playing Clash Royale on their phones. Three glasses of chardonnay had made it bearable, but only just.
Nell ferried bowls of salad, plates of bread and cheese, mince pies, and a fruit Christmas cake into the dining room.
Her mother wiped her hands on the dainty apron tied around her waist. “Remember salad cream for your father.”
Dutifully, Nell fetched it from the fridge. And then her heart stuttered. Mattie’s voice, here, in her parents’ home. Nell turned to the TV screen, and there she was, wearing a thick coat, scarf, hat and gloves, but still looking cold and pale. On screen, local residents accused government officials of failing to enforce government regulations that demanded all new buildings were constructed to be more resistant to earthquakes. A loud bang interrupted them. Mattie flinched. True professional that she was, she used the moment as evidence of how the noise of cranes demolishing buildings deemed unsafe was adding to everyone’s anxiety.
Oh, Mattie. She was wearing her camera face, but surely what was happening around her was taking its toll. God, how Nell wanted to smooth away that frown on her forehead.
