“Oh yeah? Like what?”
“They called you Yoko Ono.”
I can’t help but giggle, curling my fingers around his shirt. “Yoko Ono? That’s almost a compliment, innit?”
Dom takes my jaw in his hand, looking down at me with nothing but love and concern. “I don’t want them blaming youfor this. I don’t want them making snarky insinuations like that. It’s awful. And it’s unfair.”
“Since when has life ever been fair?” I roll my eyes at myself. “God that sounds so piteous. But you know what I mean. And I don’t fucking care what they say about me. We know the truth, that’s what matters.”
“I care what they say.” Dom gazes intently into my eyes, stroking his thumb along my cheek. “And I know I can’t change it, but the thought that they’d say things like that about you because of me…” He breaks off, shaking his head, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “You’ve been through so much, and I won’t be a source of more pain.”
“You’re not.” I press my forehead to his and sigh. “You never could be. Please don’t do this. Don’t torture yourself.” I take his hand, and press it to my chest. “I’m here. Right where I want to be.”
“Daddy DILFalready gone for the day?” Char flops down on the couch beside me, her hair still a mess from bed.
“Yes he is, he had an early meeting.” I roll my eyes in her direction and grimace. “When are you going to stop calling him that?”
She scrunches up her face for a moment, mulling over the question. “Never, probably. It’s too good a nickname.”
“You’re a pain in the the arse, you know that?”
“I do.” She leans over and pecks a kiss on my cheek. “But I am the most adorable pain in the arse in the world,andI have coffee.” She springs back to her feet and sidles over into the kitchen. “Jordan bought me a new machine.”
“Oh yeah, and how long till you and Priest make it official, ey?”
Char shakes her head, taking apart the shiny chrome pieces of the new espresso machine. “I told you, it’s not like that.” She glances up at me, and her face is soft, a warm smile on her face. “He’s… he’s like the brother I would have liked to have had. I know you always talked about him like that, too. I get it now.” She looks back down at the coffee machine with an expression of disgust. “Nothing like my actual fucking brother, that’s for sure.”
“No, Jordan is definitely not excrement direct from Satan’s arsehole.”
“No, he is not.” Char slams some piece into the coffee machine, turns a dial, and steam starts pouring from a spout in the top. “Sorry!” She yells over the noise. “It’s a bit loud!”
I wave my hand, wincing as the sound increases, and wondering if Char’s about to blow up the entire flat with this fandangled shiny new machine. Then I hear something that sounds like my name from the morning show on the TV, and I whip around to look at the screen.
Joanne Murray is sitting at a desk with the two hosts, Mary Price and Harriet Osborne, women I know from some soap from back in the day, who now host the only bearable morning show. Joanne looks incredible as always, her blonde hair pulled into a voluminous French bun, her pink silk blouse clinging to her voluptuous frame.
“She’s so elegant isn’t she?” Char shouts over the relentless sound of the steam. “I think Troy has a thing for her!”
I turn the TV up so I can hear what they’re talking about, to see if I was hallucinating about it being my name they said.
“Yes it’s a terrible thing to have happen,” Mary says, shaking her head mournfully. “Such a shock, and we’re obviously thrilled Mia is home and recovering.”
Harriet nods emphatically. “I’ve always thought she was a lovely woman, you know? And she and Archie Graves made such a beautiful couple.” She sighs heavily, clasping her hands on the table. “It’s a shame that didn’t last.”
“Well,” Joanne says, a tight smile on her face. “No accounting for the actions of men, is there?”
Harriet and Mary exchange something of a look, and the sound of the coffee machine dies off, sending me scrambling to turn down the booming sound of the telly as Harriet starts talking again.
“I do have to wonder if those two things aren’t linked, you know?”
“What did she say?” Char asks, coming to sit beside me and handing me a cup.
I shake my hand to shush her, keeping my eyes on the screen. I told Dom I didn’t care what people said about me, and I don’t, but having this conversation about my personal life play out right in front of me is like a car accident I can’t look away from.
“How do you mean, Harriet?” Joanne asks, mirroring her action by clasping her own manicured hands on the table.
Harriet seems to juggle the air with her hands, as though trying to find the right words. “The situation with Archie and Mia, and now Archie’s father.”
“Oh, Dominic,” Mary says, and raises her eyes at the camera. “Yes, we all sawthatpicture, didn’t we?”
