Page 67 of Take My Breath Away
“You’ve always said you’d back me, with encouragement and practical help. But now you aren’t.”
“Perry, we’re not a cash cow, you know. And haven’t I explained, about the bars—”
“What?” I jump up from the table and stride around the room as anger burns through my blood. “Are you accusing me of trying to somehow ponce off you? I’ve never, ever, asked you for anything, and I wouldn’t have asked you for this if you and Dad hadn’t always made a big thing about wanting to help me out when the time was right, when I found something I really wanted to do—”
“Perry, just—”
“I’m sorry you can’t help me, and accept that you can’t, but do you know what I’m more sorry about? It’s the broken promises.”
Silence stretches out. I sag against the sink, and my shoulders slump as the flare of my anger dies to nothing more than barely warm embers.
“I’ll speak to your dad, see what we can—”
“No. Thank you, but no. I’ll make alternative arrangements.” More loans, more debt. “Good luck with the bars and restaurant. And no, before you ask, I won’t be coming out to stay over Christmas and New Year, so you’ll just have to pay for the extra help you need.”
* * *
I’ve got no option but to jettison any idea of help from my parents. It stings, it really does. It’s not just the help they always said they’d give me won’t now be coming my way, but the lack of faith in what I want to do — which is pretty rich given they’ve gone into the hospitality business with no background whatsoever, although I suppose catering to a crowd of sunburnt expats who dream of egg and chips and a Sunday roast is a good money spinner.
I want to be angry, I think I have a right to be angry, but all I can feel is let down. But I won’t beknockeddown. I’ve got the money Granddad left me, and it’s not insubstantial. It’ll be a healthy deposit, but I’m going to have to see about increasing the mortgage… All this is going through my head, and I open up my Operation Perry file, and pull up the spreadsheet I’ve set up, making changes to my projected costs.
Tight, it’s all going to be very tight, even with the wiggle room I’ve worked in. I go through the figures again. Yep, it’s official. I’m going to be living on Pot Noodle for years to come.
Yawning, I rub my eyes before I push my fingers through my hair, scratching my nails over my scalp. My frantic scratching slows, then stops.
The idea settles on my shoulder, and whispers in my ear.
Maybe I could ask…?
No. There’s no way I can do that.
I am not asking James to help me out. Whether he would or not, I have no idea, but the thought that he might think, if only fleetingly, that I see him as some kind of cash cow, as my mother so succinctly put it, makes my stomach shrink.
No, I’m on my own with this. Whether I sink or swim, it’s all down to me. I close down the spreadsheet and attempt to put aside this new turn along the road I’ve called Operation Perry, and get back to organising Elliot’s diary.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
JAMES
Perry always looks so serious when he’s working, even though today his work’s taking place at the kitchen table. He’s even dressed in smart trousers and a shirt, although the tie and jacket he wears when he’s in the office are missing. With a headset on, and a small frown wrinkling his brow, he’s the picture of concentration. He looks up, his eyes widening and battening on to mine. I make a sign for tea, and he answers with a wan smile and nods.
“You’re early,” he says, a few moments later, removing the headset before standing and stretching. The movement tugs out his shirt from his waistband, revealing a strip of pale torso.
“Hmm. My meeting finished sooner than expected, so I called it a day.” I hand over the tea which he takes, smiling his appreciation as he takes a sip before he sighs and stares down into the mug.
“What’s the matter?” I ask. His smile’s limp and there’s an air of dejection about him.
He shrugs. “Oh, I phoned my mum earlier, to talk to her about the promise to help out — or so-called promise. They can’t do it, because they’ve bought more bars and a restaurant.”
“So no assistance from them at all?”
Does this mean he’s going to give up on the idea of moving to Brighton? It’s a spike of excitement in the pit of my stomach, but it’s a shitty thought that his plans might be scuppered, and it’s especially shitty when his mouth is turned down and he’s staring at the floor.
I could help him…And I could, but I’d be helping him to go when it’s the last thing I want… Yet the new home, the new business, the new start, it’s what he wants so much. I put my tea down, and get ready to say what I don’t want to.
“Pe—”
“It’s a kick in the teeth, I can’t deny it, but maybe I should be looking at it in a different way. A more challenging, but ultimately more positive way.”
