Page 93 of Pride and Privilege

“What do they pay each month?” he asked. “A thousand, two? Look at my fucking ridiculous car. You know that’s nothing to me.”

She couldn’t speak for a moment. “No… That’s too much… Way too much…”

“But it would take the pressure off, wouldn’t it? Your mum wouldn’t have to worry about her hours. Liam could have time to find a job he wants. Maybe even train, do something vocational. They could pay the excess into their savings. Go on holiday. I don’t know. I don’t care what they do with it.”

When Poppy didn’t answer, he looked briefly away from the road. She felt the pass of his gaze, soft and searching. When he spoke, his voice was calm, gentle. “I once read that people with my sort of money talk about it with two zeros removed. So if you want to translate how much things cost to me, take off two zeroes. Twenty-four thousand is two-hundred-and-forty-quid. It’s really not much at all. You’d give that to a friend in need in a heartbeat if you could, wouldn’t you? I know you would.”

Poppy let out a reluctant breath. “Yes.”

“Let me help. I’ll be miserable if I can’t.”

She nodded. Then, remembering he couldn’t properly see her while he was driving, she said, “OK. Thank you. Really… Thank you, Roscoe.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

And she thought that she might actually believe him.

FORTY-FOUR

When Poppy woke onMonday morning back at the London flat, she was surprised to find Roscoe still in bed beside her. It was six AM, and he was normally up long before now.

“I know,” he said, before she even turned properly to look at him. “But I…can’t seem to get out of bed.”

He was lying on his back, staring fixedly at the ceiling, jaw tight.

Unease crawled down her spine. “Is it a panic attack?”

“No. Maybe. Not quite like the others. I keep trying to get up, but it’s like there’s…there’s this huge fucking weight on my chest and I can’t.” His voice snapped off on a sharp inhale.

“It’s OK,” she soothed, squeezing his shoulder, then stroking the hair back from his forehead. “It’s OK.”

“Everything was so easy yesterday. Being with you. Helping your family. It was all right and easy and good. But I think about the office, I think about walking in there, and I can’t…” He forced out a breath. “I can’t breathe.”

“Don’t go. Stay here.”

“I can’t. I have to go in.”

“Do you?” Though she knew what his calendar looked like today. Every day.Yes,he needed to go to work. But that was only if you cared more about the job than the man. “You can take a day off if you need to. Take some time off.”

“I just had a weekend away.”

“Barely. With lots of driving. And several hours of work snuck in. And interrupted by phone calls. And…with a very demanding girlfriend.”

He was still staring at the ceiling, hardly blinking, but he cracked a faint smile at that, just as she had hoped he would.

“It’ll be OK,” she said again, still stroking his hair back. “If you won’t take today off, then you’ll still be able to get through it, OK? And I’ll be there. I’ll be right there with you. And maybe…maybe if you went back to the doctor…”

“Should I start taking the pills?”

“I don’t know. I think that needs to be your decision. But there might be other things that can help, if you choose not to. Some kind of therapy or something.”

“I don’t know how that’s going to help my workload.”

“If Aubrey Ford took over the tax project…”

“My dad won’t budge. I just…” He let out a ragged breath. “I just… It feels like there are walls. Everywhere I look. I see fucking walls.”

“Hey,” she said gently, the anguish in his voice making her heart stutter. “Look at me.” She cupped his cheek. He stiffly turned to meet her eyes, apology and guilt and embarrassment in his. “I’m here. I’m not a wall.”

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