I stood and crossed the room to the bay window. I looked out over the garden to the river beyond. It was so beautiful here. I didn’t know what made me realise in that moment that this house would never feel like my home. Maybe it was that the garden had never been mine, or maybe I just didn’t want to live in the city. I missed Harrington.
“I was having such a good day, you know,” I said quietly. “My dress is blue, I thought you’d like it. You’ve always liked me in blue. Your pocket square is supposed to match, Grace said she’d speak with your tailor to coordinate. She’s really nice. I like her.”
Alfie came to me, wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me back against him. I kept my gaze fixed out of the window, I couldn’t bear to look at him. Humiliation burned my skin.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m glad I know.” I attempted a brave smile but my lip quivered. “We can’t tell Natalie, it’ll ruin the wedding. She deserves a nice wedding.”
“Lo—”
“Please don’t be nice to me.” I bit my lip. “I guess I really am a golddigger. Didn’t take me long to ask you to reach in your pocket for me.”
He didn’t argue, he knew I didn’t mean it. He just held me until eventually the tears came.
Twenty-Eight
The feel of the shovel going into the dirt felt good. The rhythm of it. Dig, press down with my foot, pull up earth, throw, repeat.
The sun wasn’t high enough to make me sweat yet, but I could feel the weight of the work in my muscles. The rough wood of the shovel handle rubbed against my palms, causing red patches in the crooks of my thumbs.
I’d lain awake next to Alfie for hours, playing over everything I’d learned about my father. He was a liar, a criminal, and a violent one at that. Worst of all, he needed money. When I couldn’t lie still any longer I’d snuck out of bed. It was a testament to how tired Alfie was that he didn’t wake up.
I needed something physical to do. So I decided to dig a hole. It wasn’t going to fix Alfie’s relationship with his mother, it wasn’t going to turn my father into an honest person, but for right now, it was making me feel better.
“What are you going to put in there?” Alfie startled me out of my ruminations, causing me to nearly drop the shovel.
“I don’t know. Maybe the body of my dirtbag father,” I huffed. “Or maybe a plum tree.”
“I’m going with a plum tree. We might need Elliot’s help for the other option.” The fact that Alfie wasn’t joking should have frightened me more than it did. Maybe I’d just gotten used to the scale of his power and influence now.
“Can I help?” he asked.
“No,” I snapped, driving the shovel deep into that dirt. The wooden handle splintered, breaking off, leaving me with a useless stump. “Seriously? You’re a fucking billionaire and you can’t afford a decent shovel?”
Alfie shrugged, unaffected by my outburst. “The hole looks deep enough for a tree anyway. Or a body, if you folded it up.” He held out a hand to me. “Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“To get a plum tree.”
“It’s the wrong time of year for planting plum trees. I should wait until spring.” I moved some of the dirt around with the toe of my trainer. The relief I felt from digging was fading now and I was just left with being sad again.
“Well, we can go and look at them anyway, if it’ll make you happy.”
I blinked at him. “It’s Sunday, everywhere is shut.” It was a lame excuse.
“Not for me. Come on.”
My chest began to loosen as soon as we stepped into the nursery that was only twenty minutes from Alfie’s house. Of course as soon as Alfie had moved here I’d taken myself to explore this place even though it was out of my budget. It was already open so luckily, Alfie didn’t have to use his powers on anybody.
I was surrounded by salvias, geraniums, a full catalogue of roses. Everything you would expect to see in the middle of summer. Soon, when late summer came, these would be replaced with rudbeckias, heleniums and japanese anemones. Dahlias were in full bloom and I remembered how pretty my mum’s had been, cut and added to my gran’s dining table in one of her favourite vases.
Of course, I gravitated towards the bleeding hearts. My fingers moved over the petals. As Alfie stood by, close but not too close, letting me absorb and mediate, I thought about my mother. I wished she was here more than ever. I had so many questions. Did she know who he really was? What he’d done? Is this why he’d cheated on her before he left? He wanted her to hate him, to end it first? I needed fucking answers and the only person who could give them to me, I couldn’t trust to tell the truth.
I looked over my shoulder at Alfie who was reading the care label of a nemesia plant. “I want bleeding hearts in our garden, wherever we live.”
He came over, wrapped an arm around my waist and kissed my hair. “Tell me about them. Why were they so special to your mum?”
