“Helpful…” she murmured.
She slipped the phone onto the worktop and exhaled slowly, as if doing so might settle everything. It didn’t.
The cafetière was still half full.
She poured what was left into her mug, though it had gone stewed and bitter, and took a sip anyway. Eleanor’s voice still rang in her ears, blunt as ever, stripping everything back to the part Sloan had been trying not to look at too closely.
No guarantees.
That was the problem.
In every other part of her life, Sloan knew how to manage risk. She assessed, planned, mitigated. Even when things went wrong, she liked to believe she had seen the structure of the fall before it came.
This was different.
Matty was in her house, as a guest. Gloria was in the lounge, probably thinking up new ways to annoy her. And Sloan was standing in her kitchen, behaving like a woman with a life soft enough to contain mornings like this.
The thought should have amused her. Instead, it made something tighten low in her chest.
From the lounge came the murmur of daytime television, followed by Gloria’s dry cough. Ordinary sounds. Domestic sounds. The sort Sloan had once imagined she had no use for.
And yet.
Her gaze drifted to the doorway, and to the empty stretch of hall beyond it. In a minute, Matty would waltz in as though being here were completely normal. They would take Gloria into town. They would talk, perhaps. Or avoid talking, which was its own kind of conversation. Either way, the day would keep moving, and Sloan would have to move with it.
She took another sip of the coffee and grimaced. Eleanor had said there were no guarantees, and Sloan already knew that was true.
She set down the mug just as she heard footsteps on the stairs, thinking the bitter brew might be a metaphor for the day ahead.
Chapter thirty-two
Matty opened the door and bounded up the stairs towards her room. Brandon’s music was on, but not as loud as the last time she’d been home.
“Where you been, dirty stop-out?” Sarah called out to her.
She stopped outside the kitchen and looked in to find both of her flatmates drinking tea. Brandon had a spliff on the go, burnt halfway down and in need of relighting, but the smell still hung in the air. He jerked his chin at her. “Alright?”
Sarah’s half-eaten tuna sandwich sat wilting on a plate.
“Yeah, it was a long night. Gloria fell and we had to take her to the hospital. Didn’t get back till three, so I stayed over.”
“She alright?” Sarah asked.
“Yeah—more injured pride than pain, I think. They just dropped me off, though. I need to get showered and changed and then we’re buying Gloria a mobility scooter.”
“A lot ofwein these statements.” Sarah smiled, and Matty felt herself blush. “What’s her name again?”
“Sloan,” Matty said, trying not to grin like an idiot. “And yes, she’s...attractive, and I might have kissed her.”
“Oh, heck, here we go,” Brandon said, picking up the spliff and lighting it again. A big cloud of pungent smoke filled the kitchen.
“Now we need all the details,” Sarah said, laughing.
Matty stared at the clock on the oven. “Let me get changed and then I’ll fill you in. Make us a cuppa, will you?” she said, darting away before anyone could get her talking again.
Matty stripped off, turned on the shower, and waited for it to heat. Her body felt oversensitive, as though any touch might set her off. She looked at herself in the mirror—flushed, wide-eyed, lips bruised from last night’s kissing.
When steam fogged the glass, she stepped into the cubicle and under the water. The warm spray only made the sensation worse. She braced her hands on the tiles and stood there breathing through it, trying not to feel every drop as it slid over her skin.
