“Do you have any idea how difficult it is for the cabinet to clear their diary for an hour? I had to take whatever time they had,” Mom said.
“Why aretheycoming? They didn’t know Dad.” And Dad certainly didn’t know them. The only people Terrence Clarke had associated with were his fellow corporate lawyers, and they were holed up behind their desks just as much as his father had been. “Turning a memorial service into a publicity stunt for your agenda is bad form, Mom.”
She gasped. “Really, Sebastian! I’m paying my respects to your father!”
Respect?After the miserable marriage they’d had?
“Look, Mom. I gotta go. I’ve got tons of work on today, prepping for this press call …” Seb paused, curious as to whether she’d ask for more details.
She didn’t.
“You’ll have to fly back. I’ll get my assistant to book you a flight.”
“No, Mom, I—”
The disconnected call dial tone had Seb staring at his phone. Had she seriously cut him off?
And why was he so surprised?
Head pounding, Seb flopped back onto his bed, breathing deep to shake off his mom-induced irritation. Speaking to her always brought up bad thoughts of his shitty childhood, but now there was the added memory of the day Seb’s father died.
The day Seb slammed the door and didn’t look back.
In through the nose, out through the mouth.
Seb breathed in deep for several minutes, pushing the lid shut before any more thoughts from that day escaped.
Truth was, his parents had always been distant, never giving a damn about their only child. Seb was a by-product of a loveless marriage and it had taken a lot of help from therapists over the years for him to see his parents’ union for what it really was—a load of bullshit.
Seb rubbed his temples. Years of therapy had also taught him how to read his state of mind, and what to do about it when it got too dark. Brooding over his unhappy childhood always chipped at his self-worth, so he continued to breathe in and out, practicing the relaxation exercises that kept his demons at bay.
Minutes passed, and when Seb opened his eyes, the sun was up and streaming through his window. Jet lag threatened. He wasn’t due to meet with Mikey and Brenda until 9 a.m.— three hours to go—but napping now would make him sluggish, and he had to be sharp when he told them that he’d laid himself wide open for scandal and ridicule. He hauled himself to the shower and whacked it on cold, holding his breath under the freezing spray.
A walk.That would calm him. He finished his shower and dried off, pulled on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and headed down to the waterside. He’d come here last night, after he’d somehow managed to sit through a meal with Mikey and his family, trying not to choke on his food every time the conversation had steered toward Cassie and her notable absence.
It was 6 a.m. Apart from a few runners and dog walkers, the sidewalks were almost empty. He rounded a corner, his gaze drawn across the wide river to the charming hints of the city’s naval history, cranes, railway tracks and huge cast iron moorings. He’d read about the historic dockyard last night as he lay on his bed trying not to think about Fake-Cassie. If not for her, he would have been happy exploring this city but now, his time here was plagued with dread. Where was she?Whowas she? Would he ever see her again?
Walking across the footbridge—Pero’s Bridge, according to the map on his phone—Seb glanced at the two huge white trumpet-like horns that decorated the halfway mark. He carried on farther, past restaurants and cafés and fountains, until he came to the wide open space he could see from his hotel room window. Google Maps told him this was the amphitheater, something else he’d read about last night, along with Millennium Square, which was situated behind the buildings in front of him.
Choosing to stay close to the water, Seb continued exploring past the amphitheater, following the river—the Avon—that fed through the city. If he carried on this path, he should eventually arrive at the famous Clifton Suspension Bridge, the city’s most iconic site.
As he took in the luxury apartment buildings on the other side of the water, Seb’s phone buzzed. A simple message from Mikey.
Call me ASAP.
Man, that didn’t sound good.
Had Mikey somehow found out about Fake-Cassie already? Had she contacted him? Posted something on social media? Seb’s empty stomach clenched. There was only one way to find out.
Seb called Mikey. “Hey, is everything okay?”
“It’s Evie. She’s bleeding.” Mikey’s voice shook, and Seb began sprinting back toward the hotel. “The ambulance should be here any minute, but I need you to stay with the kids until her mom gets here. She’s a couple hours away.”
“Sure, man. Anything. I’ll be there in five.”
Helen stared at her bedroom ceiling feeling shit and lonely. She was due to start her community sentence today—working for the highways, clearing litter, and lord knew what else out of the gutters and verges—and she wasn’t in the best mood to face her punishment.
She’d spent half the night crying.
