Page 168 of The Home Grown
He holds out a cheque, the creamy off-white paper practically glowing against the dimming evening light.
“A cheque?” I say.
“Yeah.” He thrusts it towards me, his hand shaking as I take it from him.
I run my eyes over the writing, trying to work out what the hell is going on here … aside from the fact people rarely use cheques these days, he doesn’t owe me any money. Kathryn does.
Pay Eleanor Kitchener four thousand pounds only.SignedG Jamison.
“Four grand?” I say, wrinkling my nose.
“Yeah. I mean … I know it’s not the full seven, but it’s the best I can do right now.”
“The best—why are you giving me a cheque for four grand? It’s not you who owes me. It’s Kathryn.”
Greg rubs the back of his neck. “Kathryn doesn’t have much in the way of spare cash at the moment. I’m paying you back—well, as much as I can—on her behalf.”
“On her behalf?” I ask, my voice shaking.
I glance down at the cheque again before looking back at him.
Surely this is a joke.
“Yes. See, I’ve recently learnt that…” Greg shuffles on the spot, burying his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I’ve recently learnt that Kathryn has had some commitment issues, so we need to take some time away. We’re trying to rebuild. To move forward. We can’t have people digging things up or dragging us backwards—whether that’s you or Bettsy.”
The coin drops into the slot.
Of course … this whole situation has Mike’s name written all over it.
“Ah.”
“He came to see me on Monday. Came to tell me about Kathryn and … well, I guess I’m not ready to say his name out loud just yet.”
My brain begins to piece it all together.
“So … you know about Kathryn and Rick?” I ask, more to hear it confirmed than anything else.
But the way Greg winces answers that question for me. No words required.
“You know and you’re staying with her?” I say.
“I’ve spoken to Kathryn, and she assures me he coerced her into a sexual relationship. It was purely physical and?—”
Poor, naive Greg.
I catch his eye and see it: pain and sorrow.
“Coercing her? What the hell does that mean?”
But Greg ignores my question, reverting to the topic of the cheque I’ve got clutched in my hand instead.
“Look, the main thing is, I’m paying you back,” he says.
“But—but that doesn’t explain where it went in the first place?” I say. “If you funded the start-up…”
Greg sighs as he looks towards the pavement.
“It doesn’t matter,” he says. “You’re getting your money back, aren’t you?”
