Page 172 of The Grosvenor's Ghost
“Yes!” She sighs, waves her hand up and down.
“Or maybe I’m just better at hiding it then you are?”
“What?”
“You don’t think I’ve been dying everyday watching you with Digby? The only time I’ve felt like I can properly breathe is when we’re together.”
One side of her mouth pulls up into a sad smile. “But that’s my fault, I—”
“You can’t blame yourself for being with Digby and trying to move on, Phoebs. I didn’t go away and hope that you’d still be waiting for me. I hoped that you would move on and find someone better. Stop trying to ruin good things; you’re allowed to have them so let yourself have this—whatever ‘this’ is with us now.”
She laughs softly. “You sound just like my therapist.”
“Yeah? Well then he’s a top bloke, ain’t he?”
“He’s alright,” she admits.
“So, can you stop now?” I sigh, leaning my head against the wall behind me.
“Stop what?”
“Trying to push me out because you think I don’t want you because I’m not going anywhere. I’m never going to go away again. I’m not leaving you again, Phoebs. I want you, always have, so just let me, yeah?”
She smiles, tilts her head. “Let you have me? Sounds rather possessive.”
“Just let me have you,” I nod. “You don’t need to want me back.”
She tuts, frowns. “Of course I want you back.”
“Well,” I throw my arms up. “There we go!”
“There we go,” she nods. “What now?”
“Uh,” I stand up, stretch my arms out again. “Breakfast? Coffee? Shower? Pop down St.Paul's and get married? Up to you, really.”
She throws her head back, laughs, reaches her hands out to me to pull her up from the floor. “You’re a bit ridiculous, really, aren’t you?”
“Ridiculous, optimistic—it’s all the same.”
I walk into the kitchen with Phoebe dragging her feet slowly behind me. It’s actually pretty well stocked for once. I come up here a lot when Connie has Primrose or other company over. I stayed once when Primrose was there for the night—and yeah, never again, couldn’t look him—or her for that matter, never underestimate the quiet ones—in the eye for a week.
Phoebe sits on the island, swinging her legs as I start making some tea. Herbal for her, mine with two sugars and half a teaspoon of honey. I don’t know why I like it so sweet. I onlydrink black coffee. I’ve thought about it, you know, maybe I just hate tea but force myself to drink it because I’m British?
“Digby left,” Phoebe says suddenly.
I stop pouring the milk, put it down and look over my shoulder at her. “What?”
“Yeah,” she shrugs casually. “Walked out last night. Took a bag with him.”
“Shit.” I shake my head, trying to understand why she’s so calm—but she wasn’t last night so maybe that was the reason for her coming here and the breakdown? “What happened?”
She swallows. “Told him we were sleeping together.”
My eyebrows shoot up. I almost choke. “You did?”
Phoebe waves her hand airily. “He knew anyway—just wanted to hear me say it. We got into a bit of a tiff and then he packed a bag and walked out. I don’t know where he went.”
“And that’s why you came here?”
