Page 36 of The Grosvenor's Ghost
I’m not wearing a shirt, I realise. Just tracksuit bottoms so it better not be something like an emergency evacuation. I’d be well embarrassed.
“It’s alright.” I hear Connie say. Can’t see from where I’m standing in the kitchen so I dry my hands and go over.
Knocked for six when I see Phoebe standing in the doorframe, mascara under her eyes, cheeks red. She doesn’t clock me at first but it’s almost like a reflex how quickly my heart drops into the pit of my stomach.
“I don’t know what I did!” She sobs. Still hasn’t noticed me standing here. “He just got so angry!”
“It’s alright,” Connie says again, wrapping her up in his arms. “Come in.”
She pulls back, sniffs, walks forward. Sees me standing there.
“Oh,” she chokes. “What the fuck?”
“Yeah,” Connie shrugs sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s sort of moved in with me.”
Her bloodshot eyes ping pong between Connie and I.
“And you didn’t tell me?” She frowns, her mouth parts, she sucks in a shaky breath. “Why would you not tell me?”
“It never came up!” He shouts back, on the defense.
Phoebe throws her arms out, a bit angry, I think. “What? Arthur living with you never came up? You could’ve rang me, Connie! A thirty second phone call would have sufficed!”
He reaches for her, arms out. “I’m sorry.”
She puts a hand to her eyebrow, faces away from me. Embarrassed? Ashamed? Why would she be any of those things in front of me? We’ve never been like that.
My heart slows down a bit when she sits down on the sofa, kicks her heels off. She’s going to stay. I like the fact she will for some reason. However, I am still wondering why she’s crying.
“Cuppa?” He asks her, scratching his bare chest.
Her voice is low, too low. Hate it. “Can you make it Irish?”
He nods. “Course I can.”
Connie walks over to me standing by the kitchen. I pull him aside, into the hallway. “What the fuck is going on?”
He pulls an uncomfortable face, a bit pained. “Digby.”
“Digby what?”
Blows out a breath, he hates to say it. “Digby made her cry.”
I can’t explain what happens to me but an all consuming anger takes over. A bristling one. One I haven’t felt for a very fucking long time. Never met Digby before, hope I never have to. I was all for making pleasantries with the bloke but not now—fuck him. How anyone can look at her face and watch it crumble into tears is beyond me.
Now, don’t get me wrong—I’ve made her cry more than anyone, I know that. I’m all too aware of that so don’t think I’vesuddenly changed my tune and become all hypocritical but this is different. He was the one that was meant to swoop in, make her better, kiss the scars and bruises I left behind.
Connie starts making her tea, adds in probably about four shots of Jameson. “This ain’t the first time, Arth.”
“What do you mean?”
“Everytime they argue, she turns up here, spends the night. I don’t know why but she won’t leave him. Between us—she doesn’t even love him.”
I roll my eyes. “And how would you know that?”
I fucking hate thinking about the fact that while things got better for me, they got worse for her. Me going away was meant to heal things. Truth be told, I only went because of her. Because she deserved better. She needed better and I couldn’t be the better she so desperately craved. Some days, on the particularly long ones, I’d hope that she did find someone who could be the man I never was. I wanted her to be happy—it was the only thing I wanted for her.
I loved her so much that I was more than prepared to let her go.
