“I think I was rather unkind to Anne,” I blurted out.
“You don’t owe anyone anything,” he said back, his voice low and stern. “And this is fucked up. On every level.”
And there he went again, my mouth letting out a yelp of something, a panic deep in my stomach as he left me standing there in the bathroom. Walked back out into the room, opened the door and chucked the mics out into the awaiting crowd. Then he slammed the door shut and returned to me.
“Perhaps the balcony would be better, but it’s raining.”
“There’s no lock on the door,” I said.
Insanity. Oh God. Here were tears. More of them.
“You’ve had enough. I don’t blame you. If I have to deal with Bisexual Bonehead Ben giving me sexual advances one more time, I am going to scream. Chloe-Catherine has been asked to leave after making unwanted sexual advances towards Trudi. What the hell, Peter?”
I slumped down on the edge of the bathtub. Sat there shaking, no longer in control of myself. Who the fuck was Trudi?
“I can’t,” I said.
“Get in the bathtub,” he said sternly. “I’m getting in too, and there’s a shower curtain here. This is insane. The only place we can have a breather, without a bloody camera in our faces.”
“It’s what we signed up for,” I admitted, like I knew what I was talking about.
“No, it’s not,” he replied.
Then he got in the bathtub, crossing his legs over mine. Two men, fully clothed, in an empty bath. The rustle of a plastic curtain. A door with no lock. At least they hadn’t followed us in here. Those people out there. All those people.
“Peter,” he said sternly. “Now talk to me. Because this has gone on long enough.”
Chapter 14
Oliver
“You’re nowhere near ready for this. Are you?” I said sternly, because what else could I say? The obvious was staring me in the face – a man, a man so consumed by grief, reaching out for my hands and holding them in between his.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” he whispered, through strained breaths, grasping at my skin. “What am I supposed to do, Oliver?”
“Nothing. Because you shouldn’t be here,” I said, trying to keep my voice low. Soothing. Not that this kind of talk was my forte, because it definitely wasn’t. I wasn’t a carer, or someone who looked after people. I had no idea how to do that.
“I suppose I thought I was, you know? Ready to move on? Meet some new people? The thing is, Oliver, I don’t think I want to. I was happy, you know? I like being at home and having the boys around and just working. I didn’t need anything else. Is that wrong? Am I wrong in thinking that?”
More tears. I hated seeing him upset. This guy who was all strength and…grey wisdom. A man who had lived a bit and didn’t care so much. Icared far too much about things that were not important. I knew that. Peter didn’t care about any of that.
“You’re a really good person, Peter. You’re kind and considerate. And…you loved Mary. Nobody expects you to just get up and move on. You’re clearly not ready for that.”
I had no idea what I was talking about. I was still talking, though. Nervously rattling on about nonsense, when he was just staring at me in fear.
“I know I’m not what you wanted to find in here. I know that, Oliver. And it kills me that I’ve ruined all that for you too. You should have been out there finding someone to love, and here I am, messing this up.”
“You’re not messing anything up.” I tried to calm down. Speak slowly and be soft. Not scare him more than he already was. Frazzled breaths and shaking hands. I wanted to get him out of here. Bundle him up and take him home to wherever he felt safe. Because there was something in me that was so immensely triggered by everything in this bathtub.
That overwhelming place of fear.
I’d been there. So many times.
“Where would you be? I mean, if you weren’t here?”
“At work?” he offered up, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.
It left my hands uncovered and cold. I didn’t like it, but I didn’t quite dare to grab that hand back.
