Page 66 of The Alpha Escort Agency
“I'm not going to work for a rival. I’m not planning on doing this line of work anymore.”
There was a moment’s silence down the line and he hoped it signals the end of the conversation.
“Ahh, you’ve met an Omega.”
He screwed up his eyes. “It’s not that either. I just … I can’t do this anymore.” The last few times he’d been with a client had felt wrong. As if he’d been betraying not just his Omega, but himself.
All along he’s been fooling himself. Telling himself he’s content with this job, that the arrangement works for him, meets both his sexual and his financial needs.
It’s a lie. It’s been an excuse. A way to stop himself from doing what he really wants to. Photography. And why? Fear of failure? Fear of rejection? Because it isn’t manly enough, Alpha enough?
Screw all that. Alice has opened his eyes and he can’t go back to autopilot. Maybe she’d been the catalyst for change, but even without her, it’s still the right thing for him to do. He needs to give it a shot. He needs to try.
Chapter 20
There’s something on the doormat when she leaves for work on Christmas Eve.
It’s a small parcel, wrapped in brown paper and tied with string and it smells of Rory. She starts and stares at it, wavering. Ignore it, leave it there and head to work? Or unwrap it quickly and get the pain over with, like ripping off a plaster?
It will have to be the latter. If not, she’ll only spend the three days at her Mum’s wondering about it, and it will drive her mad.
She drops her bag to the floor and picks it up, pulling an end of the string until the bow gives way and then folding back the paper. There’s no note inside, no explanation. Another small bundle. This time wrapped in red Christmas paper. She rips it away and the contents fall out into the palm of her hand. Three tiny china ducks; two drakes and one hen.
She pinches each one between her finger and thumb and rights them on her palm, arranging them in formation so they swim across her skin. They are expertly painted, the details minuscule yet perfect. The deep green blue hue of the males shining in the way the wet feathers do.
What should she do with them? She brings her hand up to her eyes, examining them more closely, the twinkle in their eyes, the cross expression on the female’s face, their feet tucked up into their bellies, and then she closes her fingers over them until they are hidden from view.
She should throw them away. Put them on her bookshelf. She should do anything but what she does, sliding them into the pocket of her skirt and raising her hand to her nose, inhaling his scent. Like an addict. It’s a stupid thing to do, but the hit it gives her is too good to resist.
Afterwards she sits on the tube, staring at her reflection in the darkened window. The carriage is almost empty, despite the rush hour. There’s a man in a nurse’s uniform asleep on a seat at the far end of the carriage, and a girl in a shop blouse sat a few seats along from her. The train bumps and rattles along the tracks, the roar of the machine whistling down the tunnel and loud in her ears, and her reflection jerks and jolts around like an untethered puppet.
Or perhaps it looks like a ghost, she thinks, or a spirit; the way it’s transparent, the dirty brick wall clear through her face, as well as the outline of the seats opposite.
Is that what she is? A shell? She rubs her head. Not understanding her own thoughts.
She leaves work at four pm and makes her way to her mum's house.
And then it's Christmas Day, but it isn’t the same since Alice’s dad died and her sister moved to Australia. Now it’s just her and her mum and the house is too quiet and too empty. Her mum doesn’t bother to cook a whole turkey anymore and there’s no point in epic games of monopoly or charades by the fireplace.
After lunch, they go for a stroll along the beach. The clouds hang heavy in the sky, sinking low into the grey sea, the wind whipping the sand up onto their legs and stinging their skin. They walk until the town disappears into the sand dunes.
She rarely comes here now. Not since it happened. She doesn’t like to remember it, to be swept back to the moment, her heart stopping in her chest all over again. But her mother wants to be here, crouching down low and digging her hand into the wet sand, scooping up a handful and squeezing it through her fingers.
“I always feel like he’s here,” her mum says, “It’s so easy to forget he’s not. Like I’ll turn around and there he’ll be laughing about something.”
Alice twists away, and gazes out towards the horizon, where the murky water meets the dull sky. It doesn’t feel like that to her. He’s gone and the loss has felt physical. A hole inside her. It hurts every day. She never, ever wants anything to hurt as much again. Ever.
Her mum threads her arm through hers and they walk home, settling down in the sitting room and switching on the TV.
From the other sofa, Alice can see her mum glancing at her and finally she turns down the volume and says, “You’re very quiet today, Alice. Not your usual cheerful Christmas self.”
Alice shrugs. “Christmas isn’t the same now, is it?”
“Hmmm,” her mum says. “You missing your dad?”
“Of course, aren’t you?”
“Yes. Christmas is always hard … are you sure it’s nothing more, though? You’ve seemed away with the fairies since you got here. I’ve hardly seen you smile. Even when we were chatting to Molly and Pippa on Skype.”
