He’s a one-night stand kind of guy. Noted.
Breaking the tension, Connor slings an arm over my shoulders and guides me back towards the kitchen.
“Come on, friend. Let’s get you packed up so we can leave.”
I finish putting on my fluffy pyjamas and run a brush through my damp hair. Sitting on Ivy’s bed, I think about the long day that’s finally coming to an end. After Rhys stormed out of the house, Connor and I finished packing up my things and picked up some lunch from the baked potato van on the way home. Ivy video called briefly to say she would be staying in Edinburgh for a few more weeks, so I should move some of her things out of the wardrobe to make room for mine. I unpacked my pathetic four boxes of belongings (one of which was filled with books) and waited in my room for Connor to go to work.
It was childish to hide in my room, but I couldn’t face anymore talking, especially about Rhys or, even worse, aboutme. I couldn’t be more grateful for Connor’s support and friendship over the last couple of days, but my social battery was running on fumes. So I hid until I heard him leave, then had a long, hot shower without worrying that he would catch me naked or in a towel.
I sit on the bed, brushing my hair, tears running down my cheeks. When did I start crying? For the first time since my life fell to pieces, I let the tears fall freely. I ugly-cry so hard I have to gasp for breath and my eyes sting, but still I keep crying. I cry because a huge part of my life has come to an end. I cry because I feel stupid for being used and lied to. I cry because I feel ashamed of being such an awful wife that my husband would cheat on me repeatedly. I don’t, however, cry because I miss Rhys.
It’s only 6:00 p.m., but I’m exhausted physically and emotionally. Having had both breakfast and lunch today (and a handful of crisps this afternoon), I decide to skip dinner and just make a cup of tea instead. I take it to bed with me and settle down with my book before falling into a deep sleep.
Chapter 6
Words are like toothpaste
Connor
I shouldn’t be watching her. But I am. I can’t help myself.
After years of pining, convincing myself that I could never be more to Tilly than her best friend’s teasing brother, she’s sleeping in my house. And we’refriends.
The thought of finally being allowed to be myself around Tilly, being there to support her, to make her smile, makes me giddy in a way I’m not proud of. Would I prefer that we could be more to each other? Absolutely. But friendship with the woman I’ve loved since we were teenagers is more than I ever thought I’d get. And if that’s all it is, all that it can be, I’ll take it.
I want to step inside her room, crawl into her bed and hold her until all her worries melt away. But I won’t. Not until she invites me. Tilly’s been through too much for me to throw myself at her now. She needs a friend, not some creep confessing their undying love for her just hours after leaving her husband. Which means I should probably close her door – friends don’t watchfriends sleep.
One last lingering glance at her sleeping form cocooned in a duvet, and I close the door and head back to the kitchen to grab a drink. Between a busy shift at the restaurant and helping Tilly move in, I need something to take the edge off. But as I open the fridge, I notice that none of the food has been touched while I’ve been out. Granted, there’s not much in there to choose from, seeing as how I haven’t been to the supermarket for days, opting instead for bringing food home from work. I make a mental note to do a supply run in the morning.
I check the whole kitchen – fridge, cupboards, even the bin. Nothing. She hasn’t eaten since lunch, and even that felt forced. It’s obvious that she’s not looking after herself properly, but what isn’t obvious iswhy. Tilly’s stunning in a natural, effortless kind of way, but she’s oblivious to her beauty. Always has been. And it infuriates me.
Of course, I noticed it a long time ago, just like I notice everything about her. I remember the first time I saw her differently, as more than Ivy’s friend. I was fourteen, Tilly a little younger, maybe nine or ten, so my feelings weren’t the romantic kind per se, but my perception of the scrappy, slightly awkward, freckly girl changed completely in a moment.
Tilly had come to our house after school and, seeing me tease Ivy, as older brothers do, she tore a strip off me.
“My mum says words are like toothpaste,” she’d said, waving her finger in my face. “You can’t put them back once they’re out. So learn to keep some thoughts inside your head.”
It was her audacity and fierce protectiveness, I think, that drew me to her after that. I haven’t seen her show that kind of confidence for a devastatingly long time.
Anyway, it hasn’t been my place to set her straight over the years, to tell her how incredible she is, no matter how muchI’ve wanted to. But things are different now. We’re friends, and I finally have my chance to show her her worth. And not just in the hope that she’ll finally see me as something more, but for herself. So she can finally look in the mirror and stop seeing herself through Rhys-tinted glasses, seeing instead the woman who’s always been right there.
She won’t see the unruly, mousey hair she’s always complaining to Ivy about; she’ll see the gentle mocha waves so soft I have to resist the urge to stroke them. Her smiles won’t be kept inside because she’s afraid of drawing attention to her mouth; they’ll be a permanent fixture, so bright and radiant that looking directly at her full lips will be impossible. And the body she hides behind baggy clothes and folded arms? The soft curves I long to touch? She’ll display them proudly, viewing them with love and kindness.
The truth is, Tilly’s always been conscious of how she looks, and Ivy’s even hinted at Tilly having body dysmorphia before now. Tilly’s convinced herself, and been encouraged bysomeone, that she’s overweight, but she couldn’t be more wrong. She’s not supermodel thin, and neither would I want her to be, but she’s soft in all the right places – healthy, beautiful andnormal, in a world that’s forgotten what that even looks like.
And if she ever gives me the opportunity, I will worship every part of her until she not only knows she is butfeelsattractive and sexy.
Her prick of a husband should have been the one to do that years ago, and knowing that he didn’t, knowing that he fed her insecurities, brings out a rage in me that very rarely reaches the surface. I’m always the calm friend. The dependable one. The one who always thinks before speaking or acting. But when I saw him speak to Tilly like shit this morning, something inside me snapped and my instincts screamed at me to drop him to hisknees and force him to apologise. But that wouldn’t have helped, so I restrained myself for her sake. Barely.
So I’m taking out my anger on a video game instead, vowing to help Tilly build a life she actually wants. Whether that includes me, or not.
Chapter 7
The sums don’t lie
“We need proper food,” I call to Connor from the kitchen. “I’ll go shopping this morning.”
I’ve been worrying since I woke up about how I would handle the food situation. Connor’s kitchen is surprisingly full of processed, high-fat, high-sugar, delicious crap that I don’t want to be tempted to eat. You’d think a sous-chef from one of the most highly celebrated restaurants in the country would have a better selection of ingredients in the house. Maybe he doesn’t like to bring the job home with him? Regardless, I’m determined to get back on the diet and finally shift the weight that caused a rift in my marriage, and for that I need a fridge full of rabbit food, not beer and several open packets of cheese.
