‘So, this is where it all goes down?’
I’m in the kitchen fighting with the coffee machine when Keir’s voice tugs at my attention, and the thing splatters coffee-coloured milk all over my pale cardigan.Shit.
‘I think it’s fair to say there’s a reasonable amount ofgoing downthat goes on in here.’ He smiles, almost studying me—whether for cracks in my exterior, or the stains on my clothes, who knows. ‘What are you doing, Keir?’ He doesn’t normally come into the studio. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him here before, and he’s certainly never sought me out like this at any other time.
‘Paisley’s car is in the shop for a service,’ he answers mildly, tugging on his ear.
‘I know. There’s a courtesy car parked out front.’
You can hardly miss it; it’s the same colour as baby poo. He refuses my offer of a coffee, not that I blame him, so I turn and make my way in to the studio, though note how he’s a little slow to follow.
‘She’s in the store cupboard.’ His gaze lifts briefly and he nods though makes no effort to ask where that is. ‘And you don’t have to keep your eyes glued to your shoes. There’s no one here today.’ Apart from Paisley and me.
‘Oh,’ he answers mildly, his shoulders relaxing. Guess he was worried about seeing things. Naked things? Like that’s all we do here. I know from Paisley Keir isn’t at all a prude. Maybe he was trying to be respectful.
‘Well, I never was a very good liar,’ he says firmly. ‘I’m sure you’ve already guessed I haven’t come to collect Paisley, so I’ll get to the point. I’m here about Flynn.’
‘What about him?’ My first instinct is to ask if he’s okay. But I won’t. Instead, I put my cup down on the windowsill and lean back against it, crossing my legs at the ankle.
‘Well, he’s currently walking around like he’s been punched in the guts.’
That doesn’t make me feel any satisfaction at all.
Since discovering last night Icancontact Sophia, I’ve been like a bear with a sore head—a bear with a sore head, dancing on hot bricks. And I don’t care if I’m mixing my metaphors or similies or whatever because I feel like the truth is in reach. I’m antsy and angry and worried how this will play out. If it was Flynn in the video, and I find this out definitively, I’ll feel the absolute devastation again. And if it wasn’t, then how that will change things I’m not entirely sure. How would I feel in his shoes?Betrayed. Angry. Hurt. In no place to forgive.But there’s also a third possibility; Sophia might lie. And a fourth, I suddenly realise; maybe she’ll tell the truth and I won’t believe her anyway.
This is the current mess that is my brain.
‘I like Flynn,’ Keir says, coming to stand in front of me, his expression concerned. ‘He’s a solid guy. But I can’t see him doing the dirty on anyone, let alone someone he loves. Someone he’s willing to change his life for.’ As I open my mouth to speak, Keir holds up a forestalling hand.
‘But I get where you’re coming from, too. I’ve been on the other side of infidelity and that shit hurts.’Of course; Keir was married before, but I didn’t know him then.
‘You and me, we don’t know each other all that well. What I do know is, last year you took Paisley in when that fuckwit of a fiancé hurt her. You barely knew her, but you set her on her feet and in a way, you sent her to me. Look, I doubt Flynn would appreciate knowing I’ve been here, but I just felt compelled to say I think you’re selling him—and yourself—way short. Whatever happens, you can’t pretend you two didn’t mean anything to each other.’
~*~
My third visitor comes as a bit of a shock. I’m expecting Hillary. And I’m trying to be very understanding while waiting.Waiting. Stressing. Aching.But Avery, or Stephen this morning I suppose, worked late last night. He and Hills are probably still sleeping. That I understand. What I don’t understand is when Sophia knocks on my office door.
Actually, she doesn’t knock so much as say, ‘Knock-knock.’
‘Sophia!’ Paisley notices her first and at her exclamation, my heart sinks to the pit of my stomach... before rising again, my blood pressure along with it. ‘Thanks for popping in.’
There are so many puns I could go for here. Understandably, I’m not in the mood .
‘I wasn’t expecting you.’ I’m surprised how even my voice sounds.
‘Hillary. He explained what had happened, and I had to come and see you to explain. To apologise. I didn’t know he was your boyfriend, Chas, I promise!’ I thought I was hurting before. I was wrong. ‘He didn’t tell me until after...’
‘After he came down your throat?’ My jaw begins to ache from the pressure of staying composed.
My boyfriend. My love. My torturer. My fucking hate!
‘I can’t believe I did such a thing,’ she continues, the lilt of her Spanish accent peeking through. ‘It’s not an excuse, but I’d taken strong pain medication. I strained my back last week and I was uncomfortable wearing such ridiculously high shoes. So I took a couple of pills, not intending to drink more than one glass or two. But I was having such a nice time, and he wassoattentive.’ I wonder if it’s acceptable to punch her, even though it appears she did no harm willingly. ‘He kept filling my glass, and I kept drinking it. Which was stupid, but do you know how hard it is to meet nice men in this line of business?’
‘I think I might have some idea.’
She has the good grace to look chastened at my reply. I take a seat behind my desk because I think a heavy lump of wood between us might be a good idea right now.
For at least one of us.
