God, that night.
Debra rubbed her hands over her face, trying to dislodge the memory of Billie’s body pressed against hers, that blend of confidence and restraint, the way her voice had lowered when she’d said her name.
Stop it.
Enough was enough.
She swung her legs out of bed and planted her feet firmly on the floor. Her bones felt older this morning, and her mind was on a restless loop of what-ifs.
She moved through the motions of her usual routine—shower, coffee, the clothes she’d laid out the night before. Something smart but comfortable, something that made her feel like she still had a spine.
But as she stood at the counter stirring her coffee, she realised she’d chosen her blouse in a colour that Billie had once complimented. She almost changed her choice for the day, but she couldn’t do it. She didn’twantto stop being the woman Billie had seen, even if Billie didn’t want to see her anymore.
She carried her cup to the couch and sat in the same spot where Billie had held her just last week. It felt absurd how quickly intimacy had carved itself into the geography of her home or how a cushion could hold the outline of a moment. Debra’s flat was now haunted by the breath and the moans of a woman who couldn’t even look her in the eye.
“Enough!” She set her cup down with a frustrated clatter. “You have a life and children. You’re not a teenager who can’t control her feelings.”
This shouldn’t have knocked her sideways the way it had, but heartbreak had no interest in age or logic.
Her phone buzzed and Debra’s pulse leapt. Of course she wanted it to be Billie, but it wasn’t. It was Maeve.
Checking in on you this morning. How are you?
Maeve’s fierce loyalty would never waver, nor would her worry, but Debrawouldbe okay. She would move on and either meet someone or remain single. At the end of the day, she had breath in her lungs, and she was healthy. It was more than some had.
Morning. I’m okay. Just drinking coffee on the couch.
Debra relaxed back into the couch cushions and stared out at the street below. The world was moving with cyclists and people rushing to work…and she had to wonder how many of them were carrying around an ache just like hers.
Her phone buzzed again.
Lunch? I’m not leaving you alone with your own thoughts all day.
Debra laughed and shook her head. “Of course you aren’t.”
She considered pulling up Billie’s message thread one final time but chose not to. She should block Billie’s number and delete the messages. She should put every trace of those whirlwind few days in a drawer and slam it shut, but she couldn’t. Instead, the questions returned.
Why did you do that to me, Billie? Why did you push me away?
And then painfully…
Why does it matter so much to me?
She stood abruptly and took her cup into the kitchen. She couldn’t sink into the questions and misery any longer, and she couldn’t sit on the couch with Billie’s ghost, but she could prepare for another day with Maeve by her side.
She was going to lunch, and she was going to remind herself that she had a life long before Billie Brown swept through it. She would pull her shoulders back and carry on; she just hoped that one day Billie would be a distant memory to her. Perhaps even a lesson learned.
Chapter Nineteen
Two weeks.
Fourteen days.
Three hundred and thirty-six hours.
Billie had felteveryone of them.
Her sleep had never been great, but lately, it had turned into restless stretches and her appetite had vanished. And work, the one constant she could rely on, felt like wading through fog. She’d started arriving a little earlier than usual, but this morning was the earliest she’d arrived in years. This morning, she’d unlocked the door before the sun had even risen over Savile Row.
