Page 86 of Owen

OWEN – SIX WEEKS LATER

On reflection, telling my father where to shove it was a good decision.

I stood my ground.

I did the right thing.

I know I did.

Two weeks ago, Jacob called me in the dead of night to inform me that the printing plant was on fire. The entire business literally went up in flames.

Spreading over five hectares, it was the biggest fire Castleview Cove had ever seen.

I sat up all night, watching every news bulletin, reading every article, and each one of them mentioned my father’s struggling business.

A few days later, a journalist who dug deeper uncovered the billions my father lost. It was all there in black and white. Which means both Gideon and Richard know, too.

The only thing I haven’t been able to ascertain is how the fire was started. However, knowing how hot some of themachines we used for printing get, I can only assume it was a paper fire.

I’ve brushed off the thought that’s crossed my mind several times; would my father really commit arson to help with his problems?

Was he reallythatdesperate?

Two weeks have passed and I’m still mad at my ego-driven father for losing the family business that his father and my great-grandfather fought to build from the ground up. The family’s reputation was everything, but from over four hundred miles away, all I could do was stand by, watching and reading about how the Brodie heritage burned to the ground.

A huge part of me is relieved. The other part feels sad my father had the opportunity to make something of a business with enormous success and an incredible legacy and then lost it all.

I haven’t spoken to my sister in months, but I refuse to pick up the phone and speak to my her. I guess there is also part of me that is sad because we aren’t close. If we were, I would know what the financial status of the family is as well as their mental state too, but I’m completely in the dark.

Either way, it must be testing my mother and father to their limits, and knowing my mother, she’ll either be having a mental breakdown about her world blowing up, or wearing her impenetrable iron mask, pretending everything is fine.

I push the thoughts of my family out of my mind and go back to preparing dinner.

Between Jade’s busy display schedule, Poppy’s weekly routine, me keeping house, and my new volunteering position at the youth club on camp, which my “safe to work with children” security check came in handy for, I haven’t had a day off since the wheels of the plane hit the runway the day wereturned from Cyprus, and it’s been the quickest six weeks of my life.

So much has happened. I settled into Jade’s military family home with ease, and it’s so Jade. Elegant with colorfully painted shabby-chic furniture, where no two pieces are the same. Each room has a theme with loads of soft, quirky Scandinavian-style fabrics, and cushions, dozens of fucking cushions, with tassels. What is it about women and scatter cushions? It’s just a cushion after all, but I am not allowed to use them. Jade has informed me they are for “decoration only” and that pillows are to women what power tools are to men. I can’t argue with that. Since our return, I’ve had to borrow a few tools from the neighbors to fix the extremely squeaky bed she had.

She informed me the squeak was never an issue before my arrival. However, with the number of times we have had sex in it, it sounded like it was going to break. My solution: I’ll fix it, so bring on the power tools because my body craves her in a way that I can’t explain and that bed is important to us. It’s where we share midnight secrets, where she has the ability to shine light into the darkest of my memories, and where she tells me she loves me.

It’s our sanctuary.

Living with each other permanently came naturally. Mirror images of one another, we are both organized and immaculate and I am guessing her tidiness comes from being in the military, where discipline and cleanliness are paramount. For me, it was because of my mother’s insistence; we were never allowed to play with toys outside of our rooms, and it wasn’t as a safety precaution in case one of the staff tripped over them. Oh no, it was a means to control us, to stifle any fun, and confine us to our rooms. It was also a way to criticize us if we didn’t tidy up after playtime. God forbid there was even so much as a toy soldier lying on the floor.That triggered a barrage of insults fromDid you do this to upset me?Are you just stupid? Or the one she loved to use the most:You’ve caused me nothing but heartache since the day you were born.

Seeing Jade with Poppy is like a breath of fresh air and the opposite of my stone-hearted mother. Jade is full of fun, encourages messy playtimes, isn’t afraid to be silly or play dress up, and as soon as she returns from an overnight display, she has Poppy in her arms in a heartbeat telling her how much she missed and loves her.

It’s heartwarming and life affirming. It’s how I wished my childhood was.

My mother may have fucked me up for a while, but I refuse to let her ways become the norm. Because it’s not.

It’s a bonus having Gregor living a mile away from camp. I visit and chat with him most days, and we are closer than ever.

I have my little family now and I couldn’t be happier.

Taking care of Poppy seems to come naturally to me. Going for a run every day round the perimeter of camp as she chatters away to me in her stroller. Taking her with me to the gym while she naps, and she loves nothing better than holding the grocery list when we visit the store.

We celebrated Poppy’s first birthday without Michael because apparently, hecouldn’t make it. Since our return, he has made every unbelievable excuse in the book not to visit. I mean, who uses the excuse that your mother’s budgie has died and that she is inconsolable to the point you can’t leave her? Although, knowing my mother, she would cry more over the death of her precious corgi than me.

Jade was right about him—he doesn’t deserve Poppy.

---