Page 86 of The Home Grown
Terrified of making the same mistake as before. Trusting him, only to be let down. Waiting for him to call …
I stop in my tracks, playing Jess’ words in my head as I look towards Kathryn, who busies herself with her client, making idle conversation about the weather.
She wouldn’t, would she?
But she would.
Deep down, I know she would.
Maybe I should come out and ask her, or maybe I should let it go.
But half an hour later, I can’t let it go. And it’s at the forefront of my mind when Kathryn’s new client arrives.
At the sink, washing my client’s hair, I catch the conversation my sister’s having; there’s talk about my flowers, still on display in the window, much to Kathryn’s irritation.
“They’re Ellie’s,” she says, dismissively.
And when her client looks at me, expectantly waiting for me to elaborate, a surge of courage surfaces and I realise now is the time. After all, I’ve already annoyed Kathryn today, so what’s another thing to add to the list?
“Yeah, funny story,” I say, keeping my eyes on my hands.
I swallow, taking a moment to decide if this is something I really want to do. But what have I got to lose? Several more hours of the silent treatment from my sister, no doubt. No biggie.
I look at Kathryn. “Remember how you thought they were from Mark?” She tilts her head to show me she’s listening. “Turns out, they were from Michael Betts.”
I wait for something—anything … then I see it. A flicker of contempt in her eyes.
“Michael Betts?” she says, her tone cold.
“Yeah. We re-connected recently. Long story short, he was keen to make things right because apparently … all those years ago, when he returned from Germany, he tried to call, but I didn’t get his messages.”
I watch Kathryn stiffen.
“Apparently, he called.” I keep my voice casual. “And someone told him to ‘never call this number again’.”
And I look up from the sink just in time to lock eyes with her.
She stares at me for a moment, and I know, I just know, it was her. She’s guilty. Call it intuition, call it a feeling … I don’t know, but there’s a sensation in my gut that’s telling me all I need to know.
“I need to grab something from the back room,” she says. “Won’t be a moment.” She plasters on a false smile as she walks away, then her lips form a straight line as she passes me, keeping her focus ahead of her.
I guess I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but I know I’ll never get a confession from her. She’ll admit no wrongdoing.
But maybe that’s okay. Maybe I don’t need her apology. Maybe I just need to stop waiting for one—and start being who I want to be.
BETTSY
Ellie
Where shall I meet you?
Bettsy
By the big clock. I’ll be the one with the red carnation.
Ellie
Are you being serious?
