‘What difference would it make, Netta?’ His voice was beginning to harden. ‘She’s gone either way. And whether it was an overdose or not, the fact remains that the last thing she knew of me was that I wanted her dead. It’s just too much of a coincidence for it to have been anything other than suicide.’ His voice cracked as he locked his gaze with Netta’s, defiance and sadness competing in his eyes. ‘So that’s it. My big secret. Who I really am.’
‘Mo—’
‘Don’t,’ he said, again. ‘There’s nothing you can say. I just needed you to know the truth about me. I don’t expect you to make it better. I just didn’t want you to think that I was something I’m not.’
‘I think you’re incredible,’ Netta said. ‘Even more now that I know what you’ve overcome.’
‘Don’t do that. I don’t need pity. I know who I am and I know what I did.’
Netta could sense the distance he was putting between them, and the drag on her heart was unbearable. ‘We’ve both got our shit, remember? Everyone does. We’ve lived lives by our age. It’s impossible not to have a bit of luggage, right?’
‘But, Netta, yours was never your fault,’ Mo said. ‘This isallmy fault. It ruined Mav’s entire childhood. Who knows what he could’ve become if it wasn’t for me.’
‘It sounds to me like he’s very lucky he’s got you,’ said Netta.
Mo drooped, looking a million miles from the rock star the world knew. ‘I think I need to go for a walk. Clear my head a bit.’
Netta watched as he let himself out the door into the freezing, empty streets of Christmas Day. Her heart stretched and contracted in her chest. He’d opened up to her. He’d trusted her with something he’d never told anyone. She felt more of a connection to him than she had with anyone in her life, so why did it feel as though he was already slipping away?
Chapter Forty-Two
MO
Mo woke the next morning with a brutal emotional hangover. The titanic weight of yesterday’s confession pressed on him, pinning him to the bunk bed, where he’d insisted on sleeping so Netta wouldn’t feel obligated to pity screw him. Thoughts swept in and quickly out again, unfinished, itching to get away, leaving a burn in their wake, like someone had released a swarm of fire ants into his brain.
He’d ruined things with Netta, he knew it. He should’ve kept all his shit buried deep, where it belonged. Now it was a wedge between them he’d never be able to take away. He could never again be the man she’d been falling for, because she’d never be able to see him that way again. But then, he never really was that guy in the first place. Christ, it was all so messed up. He groaned and rolled over, burying his face into the pillow as regret simmered in his veins, flooding his body with an unbearable heaviness. The drive back to London today was going to be absolutely fucking awful.
‘Mo?’ Netta’s voice drifted through the closed door. ‘You awake? We should probably get going soon.’
He checked his phone. Eight thirty. He’d slept in. They needed to get on the road so Netta could make it back to the hotel in time for the magazine interview. ‘Yeah. I’ll just be a sec.’ His voice fell from his throat like lumps of concrete.
He squeezed his eyes shut. He’d done this. It was allhisstupid fucking doing. Twenty-four hours ago, they’d been making love for the third time—he’d even thought they might’ve beenfallingin love—and now they were having stilted conversations through closed doors.
This is what the truth does.
He pulled on Don’s bizarre Christmas get-up for the last time and drifted down the stairs in a bleak haze. He glanced around the spick-and-span cottage, his eyes landing on Netta as she wiped down the kitchen bench.
‘You’ve cleaned up already?’
‘I couldn’t really sleep,’ she said. ‘I got up pretty early. It gave me something to do.’
She smiled at him, but Mo could see it was forced. She just wanted to get out of there and away from him. She couldn’t be making it any clearer.
***
Heading back to London, Netta fidgeted in the front seat, fiddling with her phone, her hair, the radio.
‘Everything okay?’ Mo said.
She turned to him, eyes searching. ‘I’m nervous about the interview,’ she admitted. ‘And I’m confused about what happened back there, with us. You went for that walk and you came back a different guy.’
Mo felt his guarding walls clicking into place, towers of impenetrable steel replacing the crumbled bricks. ‘Stopped off for a personality transplant on the way,’ he said mirthlessly.
‘Mo—’
‘I shouldn’t have told you all that stuff. Just forget I said anything.’
‘I had the most beautiful couple of days with you.’ There was an edge to her voice that made Mo’s conscience flinch. ‘I’m glad you told me.’
