‘Now?’
‘Now! Are you cr—’ Matt managed to stop himself just in time. His sister had always struggled to regulate her emotions, their intensity was often overwhelming and it was he who she had always reached for as she felt things begin to spiral.
He felt that familiar tightening in his chest, a feeling of being trapped, wishing that she would reach out to a professional but knowing she never would. And without professional support who else did she have? He didn’t have a choice; he knew it was unlikely but what if the one time he refused to help was the time she took things a step too far? It was a risk that didn’t bear thinking about – not considering their family history, not considering their mum.
He wouldn’t need to stay for long, a few days at most. His sister’s emotions were as fast-moving as they were fierce and once she felt supported would change again in a flash, and then Angelina would be back to her usual self, popping on her shortest skirt and heading out looking for her next celebrity match and his-and-hers Lamborghinis. It seemed an empty, shallow existence to him, and exactly the sort of nonsense he was trying to escape – status-obsessed women driven by dreams of alimony payments and sex with the gardener. However, until she recovered, he didn’t like to think of her feeling alone, rejected, desperate. If he could help her, show her she wasn’t friendless, that she was loved, then yup, that was exactly what he had to do.
‘OK, not right now, but today?’ Her voice was plaintive and suddenly drained of all emotion, which was almost scarier than the screaming, shouting Class A bitch behaviour.
‘Yep, I’ll check the trains and I promise I’ll be there by tonight. But, Ange, you have to promise me if I’m catching the train up today you won’t do… um… you know… don’t do… um… anything stupid, huh?’
Sniffle… sniffle… ‘Well, I have already eaten three yum-yums – oh my God, corn syrup and carbs! What was I thinking? I’ll throw the rest in the bin. Thank you, Matt, I’ll do that now.’
‘OK.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘And then, hang on…’ He switched to speakerphone and scrolled down the train times. ‘I should be there by eight. Why don’t you have a long bath, and then pop onGone with the Wind. I’ll be there by the time Rhett gets out his hanky.’
‘Yes, that’s a good idea, OK, OK.’
‘Right, let me just sort some stuff out here and I’ll see you in a bit.’
‘All right, and, um… thanks, Matt.’
Matt hung up the phone and a bittersweet smile came across his face.Gone with the Windhad always been their film. Not particularly masculine, and not something anyone outside his family knew, but it had been their mother’s favourite and Matt and Angelina had watched it time and time again as kids. First of all with Mum and then afterwards, using the film to trigger memories of her.
His mum’s favourite scene had been the making of the green dress, and she had always hidden behind a cushion from the minute Bonnie got on the horse. Angelina, from the age of four, used to wrap herself in their own curtains and shout, ‘Well, I do declare’ in a southern accent (they should have known then Angelina was predestined for fame), and Matt had been cushion holder and passer. The film was a comfort blanket now for the two of them, as much in adulthood as after her death.
They knew all the words and would huddle under the blanket mouthing along to all the big scenes. Angelina had, obviously, adored Scarlett and Ashley, whereas Matt had not been so keen, much preferring Melanie, who could always be relied upon to do the right thing, unlike Scarlett and Ashley, who appeared to have no moral compass at all. Watching the film now should calm her down, reassure her and, as a bonus, it was nearly as long as the entire train journey.
He ran up the stairs, slinging things into a bag, Scramble yapping with excitement. He wouldn’t be gone for long but before he went, he needed to just whisk around and say goodbye to Rosy, explain why he was racing off. He didn’t blame her for leaving, but they had had such a nice afternoon, again. He really could see a lifetime of such afternoons with her. Yikes! That was not part of the original plan for his time in Cornwall. He’d best shelve that thought for now. However, he suspected he’d revisit it later, probably again and again (and with a smile each time) on the train.
He assumed from last weekend that Rosy was dating. He had hoped it wasn’t serious, of course he did. Then today, when he had gone around in that daft cap to invite her back to his, she had been cutting out all those little hearts. His own had dipped. No one did that unless they were pretty caught up over someone. That was a lot of effort – it had looked like there were hundreds of the things. But still she had come to his house, and they’d had a great afternoon. Everything about them had just gelled. They had so much in common; it was as if they had known each other a lifetime, and the chemistry building up to that almost-kiss, that had been undeniable, inevitable even. As if it were not just a natural progression of the bond they shared but the only conclusion. Surely she didn’t have that sort of a bond with someone else? He knew from experience how hard that was to find.
To be lucky enough to find it with one person was huge. Could she be so lucky that she had found it with two? Woah, there were a lot of assumptions there. Namely that she also felt they had the bond. Hmmm, maybe that’s where the flaw lay? She would, of course, produce this reaction in any man – she was perfect. What was lacking, clearly, was her feeling the same about others as she inspired in them. Stupid arrogant man.
But there was mad chemistry between them. When he had leant in and gone for the kiss, he could have sworn that she was about to kiss him too. It hadn’t been one-sided, had it? Had he overstepped, is that why she’d left? He didn’t think of himself as predatory, but then who did? No, he was pretty sure he wasn’t – he was experienced with women and he knew, he did, when attraction was returned and there was no way, just before that kiss, that she wasn’t feeling the same way as him. He had seen it in her eyes, her whole face. So if he hadn’t offended her with his intention, if she was as keen as he was, then why had she left just because his sister had called?
The obvious answer, staring him in the face, was that she was seeing someone else, and would not allow herself to kiss him. She was attracted to him, he was sure of it, but she was not going to mess around with him. She may at the moment prefer this other mystery man, but he still had a shot. He knew he did. He was going to have to develop a slowly-slowly plan, stop trying to bloody kiss her and let time and charm win her around.
His bag packed, Matt scrawled her a note, explaining that he just needed to go to London to help Angelina out, but perhaps they could catch up when he was back. There, perfect plan, open and clear that he was looking forward to seeing her again but applying no pressure and not forcing her to face him if indeed he had misread the signs and she had felt the need to escape. Smile on his face, he headed down the path to her house, bag swinging from his shoulder, note in hand and Scramble by his heels.
Chapter Thirteen
As Matt let himself into his sister’s flat, the silence reverberated off the walls. Where the hell was she? With no sound ofGone with the Windor snuffling into tissues, he closed his eyes and threw the door to the living room open.
Nothing.
Bloody hell!
He marched from room to room – still no sign – only pausing as he reached the bathroom door. The most fearful of them all. Aware speed could be important, admonishing himself for cowardice, heart beating like a drum and breath coming fast, he threw that door open as well. Empty, all as it should be.
Flat checked, he began to list the facts, hoping to quiet his thundering heart, slow his breathing and bring the sick feeling that was coursing through his body under control. She wasn’t in any of the rooms, not spread out in some kind of suicide attempt. She was not their mother. She wouldn’t do that to him. Surely?
He hadn’t spotted her mobile in any of the rooms, or an abandoned handbag. This had to be good. Unless…
Racing to the window, anxiety far from dimmed, he looked to see if she were splayed on the pavement below, bag over shoulder and phone in hand. As adrenalin pumped through his body he could feel himself shaking, his feet restless with energy, panic making him pace up and down in short steps as he figured out what his next step was going to be.Think!
Ring someone.She wasn’t in the flat so she must be somewhere else.Well done, brains of the nation. Who to ring?Still pacing, he realized he knew none of her circle; they drifted in and then away again. Skimming surfaces, not getting caught in the depths.
Matt stopped pacing and gently smacked his brow – it was Angelina he should ring, not some stranger. If she didn’t answer he would be no further forward… more worried, but that was virtually a default setting when it came to dealing with his sister. But if she did, then problem solved. Although, if she had gone out and was somewhere doing whatever it was she did (it seemed to centre around champagne and paparazzi) then he was going to be livid. Absolutely livid.
