Page 79 of All the Forbidden Things
I keep my head down as question after question is called out from the reporters and photographers situated at the gate at the end of the drive, and I wonder if Max knows they’re there.
As soon as I get through my front door, I call my brother.
“Kid?”
“Whitney’s turned up early. Her sister and a nurse are with her, and there are paps at the front gate. Max sent me back to my flat with the baby but wants me to call Aaron. I’ve called you first, though, because . . . Cal, he looks really shook up.”
“Shit, right. Drop all your blinds and pull your curtains that face the street. Stay in the flat. I’ll call Aaron from the car. You okay?”
“I think so. I just wasn’t expecting all the photographers. Max already looks worried, and I don’t think he’s aware they’re out there yet.”
“He’s probably stressing about what she might be up to. Keep your head down, and I’ll be there in about thirty minutes.”
“Drive careful. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
On shaky legs I head upstairs, take Layla to my bed, settle her in the centre of it—surrounded by pillows and cushions—and then proceed to drop my blinds and draw my curtains.
My parents doing the job they did and my brother being who he is means I’ve been raised amongst a certain level of celebrity, but attention from the press has rarely been aimed directly at me. What just happened as I crossed the drive has my stomach churning, my body shaking, and an unsettled feeling constricting my chest.
Max
Ilean against the doorframeof the room Whitney’s in. She’s sitting back in the speciality hospital bed I’ve had imported from Germany, and the nurse she arrived with earlier is taking her blood pressure and writing up notes.
I went into an absolute blind panic when they pulled up my drive in two cars this morning. I’d met Whit’s sister, Deana, before, but I had no clue who the other woman was, and my first thought was that she was a lawyer or social worker.
I thought my biggest fear was about to become a reality.
I thought they’d come to take my daughter away from me.
I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t think of who to call first. Even when Whitney had smiled as she was wheeled from the back of the adapted car, telling me she’d been released from the rehab facility early, I couldn’t relax. I could barely fucking breathe.
She’d then introduced Kasia, her nurse, to me, and the adrenaline I’d had coursing through my body had nowhere to go, I thought I might throw up.
I’ve spent the last few days regretting my decision to invite Whitney to complete her rehab here before she flies back to the States. I’d planned on talking to Aaron and Len today to see what their thoughts were on setting her up in a flat until I serve her with the divorce papers. I wanted to tell them that now that I’ve had a bit of time to consider everything, I don’t really give a fuck what the press think of me, what bullshit they might report, or what an arsehole I’ll be portrayed as for divorcing my crippled wife. As soon as news of the divorce gets out, I’ll probably be publicly crucified anyway.
What I do care about is my child, and I don’t want to provoke Whitney into doing anything that might jeopardise my chances of being awarded full custody of her. Although, since arriving almost two hours ago, Whitney hasn’t once asked after Layla or even to see her, so I’m not sure she would fight me on it anyway.
There’s something seriously wrong with that.
Her cold stare hits me from across the room before she turns to her nurse and says, “Kas, do you think you could give me some privacy so I can talk to my husband please?”
“Of course. Your blood pressure is normal after the car ride, how’s the pain?” the nurse asks in her Eastern European accent.
Whitney’s eyes flash to me then back to her nurse. “The pain’s pretty bad in my lower back.”
“Okay, well, we can give you something for that. Stay in bed for a while and we’ll wait until this afternoon before using your chair.”
Kasia sorts through a bag for pills and hands a couple in a small plastic cup to Whit, along with a bottle of water. Whit knocks them back, and Kasia leaves, passing by me with a smile. I close the door and head towards the bed my wife is sitting in, my jaw hurting as I release some of the tension in it to speak.
“What the fuck’s going on? Why no call to tell me you’d be here early?”
“I thought I’d surprise you. Aren’t you pleased to see me?”
“No, to be perfectly honest. I could live the rest of my life quite happily never seeing you again.”
The smile is wiped from her face and her chin tips up, a gesture I’m all too familiar with, and one I know means Whit is pissed off and mentally preparing her come back. “Max, I know things were bad before the accident. I know I made some mistakes, said some things—”
