I move closer to him on instinct. He looks so bereft that I reach out and place my hand on his arm. The action is so impulsive, it’s like being here is causing Alice to rub off on me already, in a strange sort of osmosis. “Sounds like I’m not the only one with difficult parents.”
He laughs, and the black cloud seems to shift. “Very true. Well, you know where to come if you need any advice.”
“I’ll bear it in mind.”
His eyes twinkle. “Yes, do. Right, shall I show you where you’re sleeping?”
Jack leads the way back up the staircase to a corridor lined with rooms—rooms I poked my head into briefly the other night, checking fruitlessly for photographs. I trail behind him, dragging my feet,wanting to take my time, to examine the old visitors’ book on the small table at the end of the corridor, the impossibly old artwork lining the walls.
Jack leads me to a bedroom adjacent to his. It’s the smallest guest bedroom—a fact I know from my exploration—but I decide not to read too much into it. All being well, I won’t be in here for very long. He hovers for a moment in the doorway: “Can I get you anything? A tea, maybe?”
I’d like a chance to gather myself, so I give him an indulgent smile. “Chamomile would be lovely. If you have it. It’s been a long day.”
“Absolutely,” he says, and shuts the door quietly behind him.
Despite this being the smallest bedroom in the house, it’s a world away from my dank, fly-infested room at Mum’s. It’s wonderfully clean. No dead rats to contend with here. I place the daffodils atop the dresser and sit at the end of the huge bed, on the starched white sheets. As a starting point, this will do nicely.
I unpack quickly. I take out Freddie’s box of things and lay the items neatly across the dressing table. I deliberated over bringing them with me. I wasn’t sure that Freddie had a place in this new future of mine, but the thought of leaving them behind caused my chest to pang uncomfortably. I push the pajamas into a drawer. Afterward, I go into the en suite and stare at the shower: the porcelain sparkling, the showerhead wiped of limescale. I’m going to feelcleanfor the first time in weeks.
There is a knock at the door, and Jack enters carrying a cup of herbal tea and a vase, which he sets carefully on the dresser.
“I thought you might want this, too. For the flowers.”
“Thank you, Jack,” I say. He is so thoughtful. “Honestly, I can’t thank you enough for having me.”
“It’s no problem.” He smiles, then rubs a hand over his face. “Look, I’m so sorry but I have to be at work early tomorrow. Are you OK if I head to bed?”
“Of course,” I say, disappointed. I’d pictured us talking long into thenight, finding yet more commonalities to bond over. But we have all the time in the world for that. “Thanks again.”
When he’s gone, I complete my nightly routine—in the shower, I scrub my hair until it squeaks and use liberal amounts of the Aesop soap that’s been thoughtfully placed on the rack. I brush my teeth in the porcelain sink and wrap a thick, fluffy towel round me. Afterward, I put on my most alluring set of pajamas. I spent more than I probably should have on them just after I met Freddie, though he never seemed to appreciate them.
After our first kiss, my relationship with Freddie progressed quickly. Like there was a magnetic field between us, we were drawn together, even when we should have been focusing on other things. We’d find ourselves sequestered in cozy corners of the office almost by accident, the air charged with tension. We’d sit close to each other during meetings, hands occasionally brushing under the table.
Within two weeks, I’d been to his house, borrowing his toothbrush in the absence of my own, relishing the thought of our DNA binding together on the bristles. I even took pleasure in his lumpy mattress, because it washis. I loved the intimacy of being in his space. Sometimes, I’d run my hand over his stuff, just because I could.
I took little items occasionally. Only things I did not think he’d miss. Things that proved—during the nights we didn’t spend together—that we had something real. Something good. I’d lie in my own bed, staring at the ceiling, and press his pajama bottoms to my nose, inhaling his scent.
It was the happiest I remember being. I was filled with a sense of completeness. Of finally finding my place in the world. And then Freddie had to go and ruin it all.
Once I have completed my routine, I settle into the large bed. It’s so comfortable, I could sleep here and now, but I won’t. I need to stay awake. Just for a while longer.
For an hour, I play on my phone, watching the minutes tick down. I message Tilly again. She’s panicking now, asking if she should call the police—and, though I’m still angry with Mum, I do feel partially responsible. I manage to talk her down. I tell her it’s the first breach of the restraining order in a long while. I encourage her to wait. If Mum turns up again,thenshe can go to the police. I know Mum won’t do it again. She won’t risk the embarrassment. My good deed for the day done, I scroll absentmindedly through my various social media profiles. I check Jack’s again, just in case, but it’s still dormant.
Finally, when I judge enough time has passed, I get up and leave my room. It’s utterly still in the corridor. I press an ear to Jack’s door. Silence. No rustle of movement to suggest he’s still getting ready for bed. Perfect. I push the door gently and it gives with a click. It’s very dark inside. He doesn’t move when the light from the corridor floods into the room.
I pad over to the bed. “Jack?” I whisper, forcing my voice to wobble. “Do you mind if I sleep in here with you? I’m just…so upset about Mum.”
There is a long pause as I wait for him to come to, heart thrumming. Finally, he blinks blearily. “Of course.” And he rolls over to make room. I pull back the covers and slide in next to him. It is wonderfully intimate—we are wonderfully close—and my heart is beating so hard I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep. But at some point I must, because when I wake again in the early hours, Jack’s arm is across my body, and I think I feel a hardness pressing into my back.
Twenty-nine
I’m a littlesurprised by Jack’s reaction the next morning, when he wakes to find me next to him in the bed. I’d expectedsomepushback, since he was half asleep when I crawled in beside him. Honestly, I’d worried he might be angry, and I’ve kept that memory of Marcie pushing me into the muck at my grandparents’ farm simmering right at the apex of my mind since I woke up, should I need to call on it. But instead, when his eyes finally open, he smiles. In return, I give him the one I practiced so hard in the mirror.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
I don’t want Mum to ruin this first morning in bed together, so I tell him I’m OK, then, to remind him of all I’ve suffered through, I say, “I’m still trying to come to terms with it, I think. She was soangry, for no reason at all.”
“You’ve done everything you can for now. It’s not easy to reason with an alcoholic.”
