Page 80 of Mayfair Madame
“Only if you want to.”
I’d got this far, and I knew if I stopped my story, it’d play on my mind until I’d finished.
“That night was the worst. They yelled and hit me before they locked me in the box room. Just bolted the door and walked away.” I could still hear the screech of metal on metal as it slid home. How I’d banged on the door as I pleaded with them to let me out.
I knew Ellie was upset, but I’d started, and now I needed to finish the story. A phrase came to mind, one from a book I’d read in school. It seemed to describe my time in foster care perfectly.
It wasthe bestoftimes;it was the worst of times.
“I shouted and screamed over and over, but it fell on deaf ears, and for two days, I was locked in the room with a bucket in the corner and a thin, dirty mattress on the floor with just my clothes to keep me warm. What made matters worse, I’d started my period a few days previously. I was left with nothing but wadded-up toilet paper to protect me.”
Ellie stifled a sob. “I never thought it’d be this bad. I’m so very sorry, Naomi.”
“Hey, it’s in the past. I’ve come to terms with it.”
Except I hadn’t, not really. I still woke with the stench of stale blood in my nose, felt the hardness of the floor beneath my body, remembered the pain from relentless hunger.
But I was strong. I’d come back from the brink and made something of myself. I had to keep telling myself over and over. I wouldn’t let it define me. I was more than my fears.
I was Naomi Reeves. The Mayfair Madame.
“What happened next? Please tell me it didn’t get worse.”
“They eventually let me out with threats to tell no one. And I didn’t, not for a while anyway, but one day at school, I was cornered by a teacher. They’d noticed how withdrawn I’d become, and before I knew it, I’d blurted out the complete story. Another foster home, another school, but thankfully, it wasn’t as bad as the previous one.”
“Then what happened?”
“Like I said the other day, Social Services kept a keen eye on me. Regular visits, interviews, and by the time I hit eighteen, I left. You know the rest.”
“I can’t imagine how fucking awful that must have been. Going through that. Makes my sorry story about being fat inconsequential.”
“No, it doesn’t, Ellie. We’ve each suffered in our own way. We were both bullied, and it doesn’t matter who did it, be it kids or adults.Nobody deserves that. We didn’t deserve that.”
I looked over at the clock. It was already eleven.
“Let’s get some sleep and put it all behind us. Tomorrow is another day, as they say, and I have you to share it with.”
Before long, the sound of Ellie’s breathing changed as she slept,still nestled into my side.
I’d missed her the past few days. Missed her voice and her face.Missed her in my bed. We’d spoken on the phone, but it hadn’t been enough, and now, with her safely lying next to me, my world fell into place.
A world that included Ellie Sharpe.
Chapter Twenty Three
Ellie
Breakfast the following day was a quiet affair. Naomi had slept through the night. Not a nightmare in sight. She’d said they happened infrequently, and I’d wondered if retelling the events of those horrific couple of days would cause her to have another, but the night had been uneventful.
I’d woken several times and, like a creeper, had watched her as she slept. The steady rise and fall of her chest, the little snuffles and whimpers, but nothing like before.
I reflected on the previous night, and how she’d related her harrowing story. I’d expected an emotional retelling with plenty of tears but had heard an almost robotic voice describing an event that could have happened to someone else.
It must have been upsetting to go over it again, but she hadn’t shown a flicker of emotion.
She’d said very little since we’d got up. Ordinarily, I’d think it was me, that I’ddone something wrong, but I knew dredging up such hard memories couldn’t have been easy for her. I’d made her coffee, served my speciality—toast and marmalade—but she’d barely touched it.
“What’s your plan for today?” I took a bite of the almost-burnt toast and threw it back onto the plate. No wonder she’d not wanted it.
