Page 83 of When London Snow Falls

He shifts and pats his pocket, then frowns. “Fuck. I left my phone back there.”

A scowl comes.

Ben just sighs and takes me by the hand back through into the dining room, where everyone stops talking as we enter. Silently, I retrieve his phone, face down and abandoned by his place setting, and hand it over. I start to go to the other door, but he catches my hand again.

I give him a warning look, but Ben turns to face my parents, first my father, and then my mother. He stands to his full height. He might not be as tall as me, but as a performer, he knows how to carry himself and use his voice to full devastating effect. He’s calm yet scathing.

“Listen. I get that you’re all posh and English. And I’m not posh. And also Scottish, so two strikes against me, and that’s even before we get to music for the third. I can more than tell you don’t think I’m good enough for your son. That’s all fine—I don’t give a shit what people think of me, to be honest. I learned that ages ago. And it’s fucking liberating. But I want you all to know that it’s not okay to treat Charlie like that. Like he’s a pawn in some quiet power struggle between you lot. You—you all need to know he’s brilliant and funny and brave. And believe me, he puts his daughter first in everything he does. From what I can tell, he’s a brilliant dad. But you don’t see him. Also, for the record, he’s as talented and skilled a musician as anyone in my band, and if you can’t see that or accept it, you’re blind and it’s a crying shame. Charlie’s amazing. I’m sorry you don’t see that. He’s shown me what it is to live with heart. Please excuse us.”

“Sorry, Michael and Jenna.” I hate that my voice wavers. “I didn’t want to ruin your event. Just—congratulations. And I’m so fucking sorry. Again.”

Once more, I bolt, this time for the opposite doors into the hallway that leads to the entry. Half blind with tears, I stuff my feet into my boots, grab my coat and burst outside into the stinging sleet. It’s dark and cold and wet, and I don’t care.

“Hey! Wait!” Ben calls after me. It’s a good minute before he catches up, since I’m already well down the lane to the road that ultimately leads to Richmond Station. He grabs my arm, and we stop abruptly. I stare hard at him. Ben’s hair is plastered to his head, his coat open and striped scarf loose, his woolen hat in hand.

I’m hyperventilating in the pouring rain. Ben’s saying more in soothing tones, but I don’t hear him. It’s all just meaningless noise. Even with the driving wet, I’m too hot, too upset, too everything. Fumbling in my pocket, I find the vial of anti-anxiety pills and take two. Roughly, I wipe at my face with my hands. Ben’s holding my shoulders and after who knows how long of me apparently sobbing and swearing, I come back into some semblance of my usual self.

God knows what I’ve said.

And I’m fucking exhausted. More than. Trembling, I hug myself in the sleet, wet and miserable both.

“Can I take you home now?” Ben asks softly, tears in his eyes.

Defeated, I nod. My shoulders slump. “Yeah.”

On the long ride into London, I drowse, half asleep, my arms tight across my chest, leaning into the corner of the carriage in the back seats, frozen and miserable. Even so, I don’t want Ben’s arm around me. Or him to hold my hand.

All I want is to be left alone.

Eventually, I fall asleep until it’s time to change trains. And Ben takes me home.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

It feels like midnight by the time we get to my home in Finsbury Park, but it’s only just after five o’clock, though in January this may as well be the same thing. Ben hasn’t been here before, yet I’m too wrung out from the afternoon’s emotions to feel any nerves about that. Or maybe it’s the meds.

“Do you want me to come in?” Ben asks me, assessing. We’ve said little since I woke up.

“Yes. No. Maybe.” I chew my lip. “Yes.”

I know he probably can’t stay long, because he leaves tomorrow morning on tour, and I’m sure he needs to get ready. And I’m conflicted about wanting to talk about what happened, but I also don’t want to be alone as I try to process the many feelings that drown me.

At any rate, the house is quiet when we get in. It’s crowded and somewhat cluttered in the main living area, but we make a beeline for my room, which is orderly. Even the bed’s made. Uni books sit neatly on the desk, waiting for attention. At least the laundry’s not overflowing, and the clothes are away. The whiteboard with my ever-present list hangs on the wall over the bed. On the opposite wall is a board with photos mainly of Carys with Emily or with me.

Ben takes it all in, finally sitting down on my desk chair after he takes his coat off and hangs it on a hook behind my door. I sink onto the end of the bed after following suit and rub my face with my hands.

“How’re you feeling?” Ben tries.

“Tired. And…tired.”

“Fair. That was a lot.”

“Yeah,” I concede. “It was.”

More than a lot, and I don’t know what to make of it all. My family being arses, or being arses to Ben, or the whole damn thing.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have come. And said all of those things that I did. I’m sorry for upsetting you.”

“No more than anyone else did.” I stare at him, taking in the angles of his triangular face, his light blue eyes, the scatter of freckles across his nose and cheekbones. I adore him and am furious with my parents at the same time.

---