Page 197 of The Grosvenor's Ghost
Her jaw ticks, she glances at me then back to him. “Someone get him out of my sight.”
George sighs heavily, rolls his eyes. “Alright, I’ll send Athena ‘round your mum’s, get you some clothes and then you can go Christmas shopping or whatever.”
Phoebe smiles, all sarcastic. “Thanks—I’ll send you the bill and you can reimburse me. You know, for the inconvenience.”
“Fuck off,” he scoffs before walking out with Connie.
∗ ∗ ∗
We spend the afternoon shopping with Hugo and three other bodyguards following us—as well as the paparazzi because Christmas shopping?! Headline news, that is. It’s a nice littlebubble we wrap ourselves in under the lights lining the streets. Feels normal. Like this was how it was supposed to pan out in the first place.
We walked through the Harrod’s toy section to pick something up for Charlie’s kid and it just felt so natural. Yeah, it was absolutely rammed with it being Christmas but even still, she was there so it felt okay. Everything feels okay with her.
I think it’s really important to have people in your life who make things okay. Life is a shit show a lot of the time but when there’s someone by your side who’s constantly armed with plasters and bandages, ready to soothe all the hits life throws at you, it makes it all a bit alright. Doesn’t even have to be romantic. I’ve seen it with Phoebe and Freddy. Seen it with George and Albie. My mum with Victoria. Can be anyone. A pet, even. It’s crucial to have that one solid thing in a world where things are constantly changing.
The bubble we’ve been floating around in all afternoon is quickly popped when we get back to the hotel, though.
“I’m speaking to George,” Phoebe tells me, dumping her shopping bags in the middle of the lobby.
She struts off, her heels clicking on the tiles as she shouts his name, popping her head into every hallway and room.
After a few minutes, she comes storming back down towards me, George following behind her.
“Tell him,” Phoebe demands, looking at me. “Tell him that we want to go back home.”
“It’s been one night, Phoebs!”
Hands on her hips, nose in the air. “I don’t care! If Connie can still stay there, why can’t we?”
I frown, look over at George. “She’s got a bit of a point there.”
He clenches his jaw, throws his arms up. “Fine! Fucking go back there, but don’t come crawling back to me when your life is in danger again.”
She spins her head around. “The only person causing trouble is you.”
He leans in, right close to her face. “I’m not the one who killed someone!”
“He didn’t kill him!” She hisses, eyes darting around. Thankfully, we are actually the only people in here.
George squints his eyes at her. “Go back then—but I’m telling you, you are making the wrong fucking choice.”
“You’d know all about wrong choices, wouldn’t you?”
George looks over her head, shakes his head at me. “Get her out of here, will you?”
I tap her arm, nod my head towards the door. I don’t know how I feel about going back. But then again, she does have a point that it can’t be all bad if Connie is still staying there. However, would George lie? Is this Phoebe just not seeing what’s in front of her again? It doesn’t really matter that much, I don’t think. Connie’s apartment is red hot on security. It’s not like someone is going to break in and kill us in our sleep.
Phoebe’s in a strop the whole drive over to Con’s. Arms crossed, huffing and puffing. Maybe she’s still pissed at me. Maybe she’s scared. I don’t know. All I know is that I want to fix whatever it is for her.
When we get in, Connie sends me a text saying he’s going to be out all night, at a fucking sleepover. I’m unsure as to why he doesn't just tell me he’s spending the night at Primrose’s.
Phoebe throws her shopping bags down onto the kitchen table, kicks her shoes off and then collapses on the sofa. I follow her, sit next to her, put her feet on my lap.
“I’m so tired!” She groans.
“What do you want for dinner?”
She groans again, louder this time. “I don’t know!” And then she lifts her head up, a small smile on her face. “Indian?”
