Page 101 of The Home Grown
“Kitch,” he says. “Don’t worry. Honestly, it’s fine. In fact—it’s probably better you didn’t see that game. I mean, imagine havingthatas your first memory of seeing me play.”
He lets a smirk creep across his face.
“Shall we go up?” he asks, wiping a rolling tear from my cheek with a coarse thumb.
I peel myself away from him, nodding and moving to reach for my bag, but he picks it up and bundles us into the lift, hitting the button for the fifth floor.
“So, she knows, huh?” he says, keeping his attention on the illuminated ‘5’ on the control panel.
“She does,” I say, trying to remember how much detail I went into on my text message.
I told him about the salon, the change of name, the new employee, and I told him that Greg turned up half an hour after Kathryn’s disappearance with ‘bad news’—the bad news being that she read his emails. The ones he sent his ‘friend’ about my predicament.
Kathryn knows Mike and I are married—or suspects we are, anyway.
“I think you should probably tell your mam,” I say. “She had an appointment last week and mentioned she was going to look at having a coffee and a catch-up with my mam and if Kathryn knows … it’s only a matter of time. It’s probably better coming from you.”
Mike exhales sharply. “Right.”
The lift comes to a stop, and he tugs at my hand, pulling me into the hallway and leading me towards a door propped open by a hockey bag.
He leads me inside, stopping to take his shoes off in the cluttered entrance hall.
Hockey stuff, shoes, a coat rack full of clothes. There’s stuff everywhere. But it doesn’t feel overwhelming. It feelscosy.
“Uh, sorry about the mess,” he says, kicking the door closed behind us. “Hutch is having a clear outand?—”
“Don’t worry.”
“Come on through,” he says.
He guides me to the living area, almost in darkness, bar a lamp in the corner. He nudges me towards the sofa where I drop down, letting the cushions envelop me.
Mike disappears, returning a moment later with a glass of water and a roll of toilet paper, bunching off several sheets and thrusting them into my palm.
“I’d make you a brew, but we’re out of milk,” he says.
“It’s fine, thanks.”
And I just sit there and cry. Mourning the loss of my tattered relationship with my sister. Because there’s no going back from this. There’s no way she can make this right.
“My sister’s such a bitch,” I say, dabbing my eyes with the tissue. “And do you know what’s worse? My mam knew the whole time. My mam knew Kathryn was re-branding. That came out too. When I rang her earlier, she told me it’s Kathryn’s business and I need to support her. I need to support her. I mean—when has she ever supported me in return?”
The reality of the situation hits me hard in the chest. Everything I’ve done for her in the past and this is how she repays the favour?
A fresh wave of tears flow and Mike’s enormous arms engulf me. He smooths my hair and pulls me onto his lap. Cocooning me in a warmth I didn’t realise I needed.
“Shhh, it’ll be okay,” he whispers.
“I don’t know if it will. And now I’ve lumbered all this crap on you and?—”
“It’s fine,” he says softly.
“And now I can’t face going home, Mike. I mean … Kathryn would likely call in and tell me I’m over-reacting. She’d lecture me and give me a rundown of the way things are going to work and there’d be an expectation for me to wear a smile and get on with it. And I can’t go to my mam and dad’s because they’re on‘Team Kathryn’—well, Mam is, and Dad goes along with anything to keep the peace.”
“It’s okay,” he says, but I’m barely listening. I’m still reasoning, probably for my own sanity more than anything.
“And Jess is having issues with Phil and?—”
