I turn off the tap and grip the sides of the basin, closing my eyes so I don’t need to see myself in the mirror. The reflection is of the last person I want to see right now.
Once I go back into the party, I can go over and talk to her. See if she looks okay. Ask her if she’s all right.
A miserable voice deep inside tells me that won’t get me anywhere. She’s hardly likely to speak up for herself. Not in the roomful of rich men.
After all, I’m sheltering in the bathroom and I’m physically stronger than most of the attendees.
Your mother will kill you if you fuck this up.
And that thought acts as the slap of reality I need. Esme can decide what she wants to do tonight. I’m happy to come to her aid but not if she’s just going to turn around and run straight back home.
I practice a smile in the mirror until it looks genuine, then slip out of the door, back to the party. One glance around the room shows me that Esme is no longer there. Neither is Allain.
“Feeling better?” Maxwell asks in his clearly nettled voice.
“Yes, all good, thanks.” Some of his frown lines disappear but not enough. “This is such a great opportunity you’re giving me, I guess it makes me nervous. I’m terrified of disappointing you, of disappointing your friends.”
The dose of treacle seems to do the trick and his face relaxes back into his placid smile.
And then, because I can’t help myself, no matter what penalties I’m lining up for my future, I add, “If you could… organise what you hinted before. That would be fantastic.”
His smile grows wider. I know the smile already. The one that says he recognises something in me that reminds him of himself.
Nausea dunks me underwater again, stealing my breath, but this time it’s not a surprise. I recover far more quickly.
“Come on, then. These men won’t wait around all day.”
I slip closer to his side, just falling back a half step so he can feel he’s in the lead.
You cowardly little shit. You should burn this place to the ground, then ask questions. What if she’s being ferried away to an appointment right now? What if…?
My stomach does a slow forward roll, but as I shake the hand of the District Commander, who is exactly who I thought he was, it settles into place again.
* * *
Four hours later,I pull into the main road into my hometown of Redmund, swinging to my left at the first intersection, heading for the wrong side of the tracks.
My mother lives in a house near to the industrial area. A decent size property which is heading into its best season; the cool winter days that don’t raise the same chemical stench as the heights of summer.
“Seb!” She greets me with an enormous hug at the front door, then steps back to scan my face, hers full of surprise. “What’re you doing here?”
Worry pinches her vocal cords until they pitch a few notes higher than normal.
“I just wanted to ask you a few things,” I say as casually as possible. Despite having time on the road to finesse my language skills, I haven’t found a better way to ask than just blurting it out. “Can I make you a coffee?”
“Decaf at this time of night,” she answers, still frowning, “but, sure. You want a sandwich?”
I pull a packet of chocolate almonds, half empty, from my jacket pocket. “I’m okay. Been snacking on these.”
“Snacking.” She rolls her eyes, pushing me aside as she opens the refrigerator and the cupboards, pulling together a feast despite my protestations.
And they’re not loud. Not when eating gives me another chance to plan what it is I want to say.
After my stomach’s full and I have a cup of warm decaf in my hand, I can’t put it off any longer. “I saw Esme earlier tonight.”
And there’s a flicker of fear on her face as she mutters, “Not again, Seb.” She folds her arms and glares at the floor, muffling her voice against her chest when she says, “I thought you two broke up.”
“She left school. We didn’t break up.”
