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And what had she done in return?
Acted just like Jules’s mother. Walking out with no explanation.
And maybe she’d got all this wrong. So wrong. She looked down at Agatha who was now happily flipping through her piano book, looking for a new exercise to play. How did someone like Agatha deserve a mum like Mila? There was no reason, it just was what it was.
So perhaps there was no deserving. Or, to put it another way, perhaps things just were, perhaps you just had something, and then you worked to keep deserving that person or that thing.
And maybe Ava was right. Maybe putting the truth out there was the best thing to do. Maybe behaving like a normal person, instead of a closed off and isolated person was the thing to do.
“You must love your mum very much,” Billie whispered.
Ag looked up at her with a big grin. “More than the piano.” She cocked her head to one side. “Do you love someone? There’s no one else here so maybe you just want to be one person but then maybe there’s someone here at night like my dad comes home at night. So, do you love someone?”
Billie took a breath and bit her lip. Then she nodded.
Because she truly did.
Her only problem now was working out how to get Jules to forgive her for long enough to give her a chance to explain.
“I’ll play this then, shall I?” Ag said, setting her book on the stand of the piano.
“Mmm,” said Billie. She was really going to do this. She might not be deserving of Jules now, but she could be, if she tried, surely?
Chapter Thirty Two
“Rough night?” Granddad Jim said with a somewhat approving nod. “I’ve had a few of those. What you need is a big breakfast, all that grease will help, and then a shot of half milk, half vodka with a dash of worcestershire sauce. You’ll be back on your feet in no time.”
“That… sounds like it might kill me. And I’m not hungover,” Jules said, flopping into a chair opposite him.
“Huh. Could have fooled me. You look like death warmed up.”
“Thanks so much.”
“Happy to help,” he grunted. “And I suppose you’re here for the usual.”
“If you mean to wish you happy birthday, then yes, is that a problem for you?”
“Only if you’re going to sit there like a wet weekend,” he responded. “And I don’t like birthdays, you’ve known me long enough to know that.”
“Which is why I haven’t brought anything with me,” Jules said, wondering just why she’d bothered at all. She could be at home on the couch watching daytime TV and wondering why stupid Billie Brooke had hurt her so much.
It wasn’t like they’d spent more than a few hours together total. It wasn’t like they were getting married or anything. It wasn’t like they’d made any kind of commitment. So she supposed it was Billie’s prerogative to walk out if she wanted to.
It was just… well, it was just that it hurt. Hurt longer and harder than Jules had expected.
“You going to tell me what’s wrong then?” Jim said, pulling a cigar from his pocket and toying with it between his fingers. “Or failing that, perhaps you can tell me why your sister wants to murder your piano teacher. Or are the two related?”
Jules sighed and looked at him. Jim’s face hardened.
“You need me to take care of things?”
“God, no,” Jules said. “Not like that. I mean not… Wait. You’re talking about hurting her, right? Or what, locking her in the boot of a car and sinking it in the reservoir?”
Jim sniffed. “Look, you do things your way, I’ll do things my way. But contrary to appearances I’ve never had to do more than a light going over.” He grinned. “Never had to. I’m frightening enough that most people just give me what I want. I could put the wind up her if you’d like?”
“No,” Jules said with an air of finality.
He shrugged. “Please yourself. Want to tell me what happened?”
