Page 75 of The Twelve Days of Christian
“Bethany, hi, how are you?” I splutter out, as a whisper of possibility stirs inside me. After two days, I’d almost given up hope my pleading with Peter Holt had made any difference.
“I’m great. Now I’ve found you. I can’t believe we let you go the other day without so much as taking your phone number. I think we were all so entranced by little Kona. Well, never mind. I’ve got news.” Her eyes dance and my stomach leaps in anticipation.
“Good news?” I suck in a hopeful breath, while still fearing disappointment.
“Very good news. So, Peter has made some decisions. But we need your help. You and Tommy Bunt.”
I nod, agreeing even though I’m unsure of what’s about to be asked of me.
“Don’t worry. It’s not much. All we need, my darling, is for you both to come along to the live show tomorrow evening. Wear something nice. You know how the girls get all glammed up for them? Here, give me your address.” She shoves her phone at me. “Phonenumber, too. A car will call for you at six. One of the crew will fill you in on everything when you get there.”
I have so many questions spinning through my brain, but it seems I’m not going to get answers because Dana interrupts, leaning through the door from the emergency suite.
“Haley, we’ve got incoming, I’m afraid. Cops have raided a dog fighting ring.” Her mouth is set in a grim line. It’s going to be a rough afternoon.
“Bethany, I have to go.”
“Of course, darling.” She pats at my arm with long, black-tipped fingernails. “Don’t let me take up any more of your time. I can see you’re needed.”
“I’ll see you there tomorrow?”
“You will.” Her smug smile suggests maybe everything is going to be alright.
She flounces out the door with a swish of her jet black coat. I head for the ambulance bay, realising she never bothered to wait for me to say yes.
It’s probably just as well the tube is packed. The press of commuters helps keep my exhausted body upright as the train sways and jolts along the Northern Line. Squeezed like a sardine, I manage to wiggle my phone from my handbag. It’s the first time today I’ve had a moment to look at it and I’m eager to catch up onChristian’s messages.
There’s a pang of guilt at neglecting him. I look forward to his selfies with the dogs, the nerdy jokes, and the flirty suggestions. They brighten my day. And today I could have done with some of them to restore my faith in the goodness of people. Of the three dogs brought in from the dog fighting ring, we only managed to save one. Days like today are the worst.
My brows knit in a frown when I find only two messages. I open the first to see a selfie of him and Mularkey. He’s still wearing my Oodie, like he was when I left him this morning. He’s adorably ridiculous in it. What is oversized on me, swamping my body, with the hemline reaching my calves, is a figure hugging mini dress on Christian. I shake with laughter, a loud snort escapes, and the woman pressed against my back huffs her disapproval as if she’s the fun police.
When I open the second message, my world upends.
CHRISTIAN:Maybe this was a mistake. I’m going home to the apartment. I’m so sorry.
I gasp in horror. It can’t be right. This must be some kind of silly joke. I’m frantically trying to think of the punch line. He sent this hours ago, this morning, and I haven’t replied. What will he think of my silence? With shaking fingers, I tap out a reply.
HALEY:What’s happened? Tell me. Talk to me. Call me.
I stare at the screen, begging for those three little dots to appear, and when they do, my legs sag in relief. The dots hover for a moment as I wait, holding my breath. Then evaporate. I’m left with blank white emptiness. I sway, distress swamping me, each breath like a knife in my chest. The train jerks as it brakes for the next station and I stumble.
“You OK, love?” A woman opposite me, with kind eyes, places her palm against my shoulder, steadying me before I lose my footing.
“Yeah, thanks,” I nod, but she sees the lie in my eyes.
When the train pulls into Leicester Square station, I’m first off, ducking and diving through the crowds of evening commuters frantic to get to the next platform. I’m in luck, finding a Piccadilly Line train waiting. I leap through the narrowing gap and the doors glide shut millimetres behind me. I slump in the doorway, panting.
Opposite me, a woman with dangling Christmas earrings smiles up at the man with his arm wrapped around her waist. He rolls his eyes and gives one of the tiny green trees a playful bump. Their banter, so like Christian’s gentle teasing, is in stark contrast to the despair nudging at me. There should be a guy like this one waiting for me at home. What if he’s not?
At South Kensington I fall out onto the platform and tumble up the escalators jostling my way past those who don’t make way. I’m pushy and rude and I don’t care.
Outside, my footsteps are precarious on a pavement slick with early evening rain; a hint of sleet, that faint metallic smell drifts in the air. I elbow my way through the streams of people hovering outside the shops and restaurants. It’s a relief to turn into the side-streets where the dark hush swallows me up. I keep running.
There are lights on in the house, little golden beacons of hope shining down on me. If the house is lit, he must still be there. I fling open the door to find silence. The usual smells of dinner cooking are absent. There’s no smoky crackle from the fire, only the hum of the heating system. I race into Christian’s room and it’s empty. His things are gone. In the lounge, there’s no guitar case propped up in the corner.
I check my room even though I sense I won’t find him there. He’s made the bed and my neatly folded Oodie sits at the foot. My eyes are drawn to the bedside cabinet. There’s a little present, Christmas wrapped, but I don’t pounce on it like I normally would. It feels final, like a parting gift, and I don’t want to open it and confirm my fears. Dread that what was between us is over spirals, a tornado in my stomach.
The books I loaned him sit beneath the tartan wrapped box, one with a bookmark tucked into the last page he read.
