Page 42 of The Twelve Days of Christian
Two mugs of coffee wait on the kitchen counter; mine strong and dark, hers milky-sweet and spicy. Even our drink choices scream to the world how opposite we are. Cup in hand, Haley heads to the lounge, choosing a place on the sofa I’ve claimed as my own, which I interpret as permission to sit beside her.
I sip at the coffee, warming my cold hands on the mug, the burning bitter liquid a welcome hit of caffeine to wake me up for this conversation. I have no idea what Haley has to say, but I have a suspicion I’m not going to like it.
“I didn’t go to my exam today, because there was something more important I had to do.” I grit my teeth, wanting to tell her showing the world her ability is incredibly important; and surely any qualification is another step towards her becoming what she should be—a fully-fledged vet, not the nurse assisting at their side. As if reading my thoughts, she adds, “And that’s fine. My tutor confirmed they’ll give me a grade based on my coursework because I was sick on the day of the exam.” She looks up at me from under dark lashes, lipspressed together, a little pink of shame colouring her cheeks. “Yeah, I lied,” she admits. “But sometimes lying is necessary.”
“So, where did you go?” I probe gently.
“Sarratt. It’s near Watford.”
I feel like I’ve heard that name before, but I’m too shocked by the fact she drove the Porsche all that way. On the motorways as well, for god sakes. I shudder as images of her journey spring to mind. In the low yellow sports car, buried in traffic; impatient cars whizzing by and brutish trucks thundering past almost grazing smaller vehicles.
“Haley—” I chide.
“Don’t start,” she says, holding up a hand. Her eyes close in frustration, and she bites at her lip. “Please.”
The rebuke freezes in my throat. My words on this subject are unwanted and unnecessary. If I’m going to have any future with Haley, I need to squash down my overwhelming need to protect her. Let her see I have faith in her to make decisions and to take action without the shadow of all my worry and what ifs. It’s not going to be easy, but I take the first step and swallow down the words my instincts are screaming at me to say.
“Sure,” I nod. “Sorry.”
“I went to see Loreena. And Tommy,” she adds with the ghost of a smile. My mouth falls open, a whirl of questions circling in my stunned brain. Only one reaches my mouth.
“How is she?”
Haley’s mouth tips up at the corners. “That’s the first thing she asked about you.”
Of course she would. Loreena and I formed a strange bond there in that godforsaken place on that fucking useless show, the onlygood thing to come out of the whole sorry saga. Except for holing up here with Haley for twelve days.
“And?” My last sight of Loreena was on the TV screen last night, upset and angry, but in reality, that was days ago. I’m hoping time with her beloved Tommy has taken the edge off all those emotions, just as being here with Haley has damped down my rage, leaving me with a simmering need for justice, or better still, vengeance.
“She’s doing OK. Tired. Down but not out.”
“I’m pleased to hear it. You know she’s pretty special to me.” I’m not afraid to own it. Loreena deserves my loyalty. She’s certainly shown it to me.
“Yeah,” Haley says, her voice gentle, green eyes on mine, serious but soft. “I can see why now. She’s a special person.”
My heart leaps at her words. Somehow, Haley recognising this, that her feelings for another person—beyond Ollie—should mirror mine, gives me hope we’re not so different after all. Underneath, the people we care for and the things we value are the same. Hope maybe our lives could intertwine, we could become a ‘we’, flares inside me. I nod, swallowing down the surge of emotion, yet feeling a little reckless.
“So, what did my two favourite women talk about for a whole afternoon?”
A smile twitches at the corners of her mouth. There’s an unreadable expression in her eyes. I’m getting dangerously close to spilling all. Every tiny detail of my unrequited adoration of her. Tossing it out there and waiting to see what happens. But I’m still scared, because to do that risks her tossing it back at me, unwanted.
“You, of course. Isn’t that what you wanted to hear?” she teases.
“Of course,” I say. “You know that old Carly Simon song, ‘You’re So Vain’? That’s me.”
“I don’t,” she frowns. “But it sounds perfect. Your theme song, maybe?” A grin splits her face. The banter has taken the edge off my tension, and perhaps hers too.
“Yeah, I’ll own it.”
“Well vain or not, Loreena has been worried about you. More so after last night.”
Bile rises in my throat as I do the numbers. How many people tune intoWild For The Win? How many of them believed the poisonous picture of me woven through out-takes and innuendo? What was a battle to expose the show’s endorsement of a barbaric practice has now become personal.
“So, has Tommy got his heavies out looking for me? Sent them to rough me up—or worse?” I know Loreena’s husband is protective of her. He sounds the sort of guy who might well act against someone he thought had wronged her.
“No, Tommy’s always going to believe Loreena. He knows exactly what did and didn’t happen in Scotland. It’s OK.” I relax at her reassurance. At least the most important people know the truth. “But they did have someone looking for you. That guy lurking around your apartment the other day—would you believe he opened the door at their house? I nearly fainted.”
“Shit, so hewasstaking out the apartment.” I immediately tense again at the mention of the mystery man.
