Page 52 of The Grosvenor's Ghost
“Digby is taking me out to dinner.”
“You don’t seem thrilled by that.”
“I’d rather be with Arthur.”
I don’t know why I just said that. He’s just always on the forefront of my mind. His name rolls off my tongue like the lyrics to my favourite song.
“Why don’t you plan something with Arthur, then? A walk in the park? You said that you two used to do that a lot.”
“I can’t.”
He tilts his head. “Because of Digby or The Nightmare?”
“Both.”
“You need to tell him, Phoebe. If you want to be with him, you have to tell him. Keeping a secret like that from him won’t end well.”
I get up, walk over to the window, light a cigarette.
“If I don’t tell him then there’s no chance of being with him—which is good, I have a boyfriend. In my head, if I tell him, it’dbe like running straight into his arms, although I’m not sure he’d want me.”
“You need to stop thinking that. You can’t make a judgment on something that hasn't even happened. You have absolutely no proof that he’d turn you away.”
I whip my head around. “I’m not a judgemental person.”
“I never said that you were. I was saying that you were making a judgment on a situation that hasn't taken place yet.”
I shrug, resting my wrist on the window ledge. “I’m just preparing myself for the worst.”
“Because you’re used to receiving the worst?”
Roll my eyes. “Who’s making judgments now?”
“That wasn’t a judgment. That was a question.”
“You’re gaslighting me.”
I hear him laugh quietly. “No, I’m not, Phoebe. I asked if you are used to expecting the worst. Are you?”
“I don’t know,” I mutter.
He walks over to the window, leans against his desk. “Do you still monitor Digby?”
My stomach sinks.
When Digby and I first got together, It was bad. I didn’t realise how much trauma Arthur had inflicted on me. Everytime Digby went out with his Uni mates and came back a bit pissed, I’d get all edgy—checking his pupils discreetly, laying on his chest to the lullaby of his heart beating healthily. Even when he got up in the night for the toilet and walked into a door or something, I’d bolt right up, expecting to see him in a lump on the floor with white powder on his nose. It was obsessive at first. Every slight noise in the middle of the night would have me waking up immediately; panicking in a cold sweat. Thankfully, Digby doesn’t have the same bad habits as Arthur did.
I guess I was kind of expecting the worst to happen then.
“I don’t anymore.”
“That’s an improvement.”
Is it, though?
The other day at Connie’s art show, I saw Arthur go into the bathroom and just like I used to, I expected him to come falling through the door, unable to stand up. He didn’t, obviously. But my heart still sunk. He saw me watching when he left, winked and smiled.
We were both proud of him.
