I spent too long pouring over the words in the article, reading the quotes she’d made and questioning why I was sitting there doing what was effectively torturing myself. She’d been asked about her relationship, and about me,the English soccer player, Ryan O’Connell.
We both have busy lives at the moment, but I’m hoping as soon as we’re into spring, we’ll be able to spend some time together.
I zoomed into the words and screenshot them, saving it in my camera roll. Then I carried on reading, seeing words that echoed what she’d said to me before when we’d talked, about what parts she’d like, where she wanted to live –in the countryside where I have land. It would be great to have a permanent base rather than short term leases –and her plans for the future –to keep acting and being able to choose roles I’m passionate about.
I put my iPad away and rubbed my face, my head all kinds of boggled. I was spending too much time on my own, and too much time thinking about her, which meant it was time to grace Nate with my presence.
Twenty-five minutes later and I was at his house, a detached monstrosity of a thing that was set back off one of the most prestigious roads in Cheshire and was currently up for sale. Nate had found somewhere very different, not too far from the farmhouse I’d bought, where he could indulge his daughters’ newfound obsession for horses. I keyed in the security code and parked up, making sure I blocked him in because nothing irritated him more, and irritating Nate was an occasional pleasure I liked to take.
He was at the door by the time I got there, arms folded, grim look on his face.
“You’re a fucker.”
I gave him an innocent smile. “I’ve parked perfectly parallel.”
“Not the point.”
“Where are the girls?”
He glared. “School and nursery. But if there’s an emergency, I’ll have to wait for you to shift your stupid car.”
“If there’s an emergency, I’ll be driving you because you wouldn’t be in any fit state to get behind a wheel.” My smile was winning, as Otter would describe it. I had been in this situation with him. We’d been at an England camp when he’d had news about Chan, that she’d had a seizure and had to be admitted to hospital. I’d driven him home.
“Why are you here, anyway? Haven’t you got an actress to pine over?”
I shook my head. “I need a distraction.”
“I have shit to pack. You can help.”
It wasn’t actually shit that he had to pack. It was Chan’s clothes that he was bagging up to donate to charity shops. I walked into the bedroom they’d shared to find what looked like a wardrobe had exploded.
“Are you keeping anything?” I had no idea how to handle this. I knew he’d held onto her stuff, but it wasn’t the sort of thing we’d talk about.
He shook his head. “I took out a few bits to save for the girls. They’re packed away already for when we move.”
“So all this needs going through?”
He nodded. “There’s a lot. Chan liked shopping.”
That she had.
“Okay. I think we need to call in the troops.”
Nate turned his eyes on me. “What do you mean?”
“The longer this takes, the more painful it’s going to be. Many hands make light work.”
“Depends on whose hands it is.”
I nodded. It did. In this case, it would be the hands of Danny, Jude and Jesse, all of whom were available today because their booking at some car rally thing had been cancelled.
They were there within half an hour, along with pizzas and beer. Nate’s glare now contained daggers. We didn’t have training in the morning, so it looked like Nate’s spare room and sofa would be used.
“I’m not used to this.” Jude looked up from a pile of Chan’s dresses. He was actually pretty neat at folding them.
I’d made the decision to have Jesse occupy Nate with his new car, leaving the three of us to pack up. Getting rid of your wife’s clothing after she’d passed away wasn’t something that anyone should have to do, and while I knew Nate wouldn’t have paid someone to do it, we could at least make this a little easier.
“What are you not use to? Women’s clothes?” Danny grinned.
