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The doorbell rings, and I quickly screw on the flask’s lid. ‘That’ll be Dad.’ A shudder of dread moves through me. Reality, grounding with, with a surge. Say if it’s –badnews? It’s one thing having your emails piss your friend off, but it’s another having your actual parents’ relationship changed by it. I almost don’t want to answer the door .?.?.
‘I knew my make-up look would do it,’ says Cate, distractedly, as I say goodbye and head for my coat. ‘And it’s that catsuit. I said it, didn’t I?’
‘You did, Cate,’ says Ralph. ‘That, you really did.’
I open the front door, autumn leaves scurrying across the doorstep, like little creatures caught in the act. With one arm in, and one arm out of my puffer coat, I freeze.
It .?.?. isn’t Dad.
‘Cate’s out,’ is all I say, as Nicholas straightens in the doorway, slotting a hand in his jacket pocket. In his other, is a pile of post, a fan of white and biscuit-brown envelopes.
‘Morning, Millie,’ he says, as if it’s totally normal that he’s here; as if he’s dropping by for a cup of tea and a piece of French toast. He looks dead-eyed. Tired. His brown eyes, slits, his usually smooth, clean-cut face, covered in scruffy, heavy stubble. ‘So, where is she?’
‘I don’t know.’ I pull the door closed behind me, a hand gripping the edge. ‘Shopping, I think. Or maybe .?.?. yoga? I don’t remember.’
‘You don’t remember?’
I point to my face with a lazy finger. ‘I’m dead, Nicholas. Hungover, so, no, I don’t. You can leave a message if you like though. I’ll tell her.’
Nicholas stares at me. Behind him, clouds hang thick, like sodden, inky wool. There’s a rumble in the sky – an aeroplane, or distant thunder.
‘OK, then,’ I say, ‘is that everything?’ and for a moment, Nicholas just looks at me, his eyes, suddenly misted over. Then he steps forward, pushes his hand against the surface of the door. ‘Nick, what are you—’ The door opens but I pull it back, hand burning under the friction of it.
‘Millie, what .?.?.whatis your problem?’ His words are low; spoken through his teeth, eyes closing, like someone trying to keep a hold of himself, to not lose it.
‘My problem?’
‘I know you’re behind – all this.’ His eyes lift, gazing at the flat, as if that’s what’s stolen her away. A princess trapped in a castle.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Nicholas. I think you should just—’
‘Cate leaving me,’ he says, voice breaking, a little, at the edge. He steps back, pulls at the lapels of his bomber jacket, as if ironing himself out. ‘It came out of nowhere. As if she just woke up one day and decided. And do you know what she said to me the other night? That she doesn’t love me anymore. And she hadn’t for a long time.’
I swallow. He’s intimidating. That dead-eyed, intent stare, muscles pulsing in his long, angular face. Cate jokingly called Nicholas her ‘Stefan’, when they first met, after the lead inThe Vampire Diarieswhich she loves. He had the hollow cheek bones, the dark eyes. But right now, he actuallylookslike a vampire. (And not the nice, hot, brooding kind.) ‘Right,’ is all I can think to say.
‘How can that be true? We were together forfouryears.’ He grits his teeth together, glances over his shoulder, checks to see if anyone else can hear him. Owen would do the same. Almost as if it wouldn’t matter how he was makingmefeel, just that everyone else thought he was a decent person, even meaningless strangers. ‘Millie, you can’t seriously think I deserve this. We have a home – alife.’
‘I’m Cate’s friend,’ I say, my voice wobbling slightly, ‘and if this is what she wants, I support her.’
Nicholas laughs, a hand at his chin, a snarl on his thin mouth. ‘You support her. You—’ He looks down at his feet, then back up at me. ‘You of all people should understand this, Millie. Youget this.’
My heart is racing. He’s angry. He’s hurt, I get it. But he’s making me feel uneasy; shaky, on my own doorstep. ‘I think you should leave, Nicholas. Please. If Cate wants to talk to you, she will.’
‘All I did was love her.’
‘Nicholas—’
‘Do you know that? All I did wasloveher, and you’re all fucking out there, painting me as—’
‘Please leave.’
And with that, he strides forward, pushes his face towards mine. I jerk back. ‘You. You have poisoned her mind. It’smybusiness with Cate. Not yours. You don’t know us.Me.’
‘Please leave,’ I say again. There’s a louder rumble now. Thunder. Definitely thunder. Rumbling, like a temper, getting slowly, slowly riled.
‘Tell me what I did,’ he says. I can smell his breath. Coffee. Chewing gum. ‘Nameonething I did that was my fault.’
‘Did you not download a dating app?’ And the words come out wobbly but hot anger is bubbling up inside of me because – how can he ask me that? How can hehonestlythink none of it is his fault? And what I find amazing is that Nicholas has been non-stop texting Cate, calling her, but not once has he said he misses or loves her. Just how irritated he is to have to explain this to people, howembarrassed, how he can’t understand what he’s done, how he’s so lost. Him him him.
