‘What, because you’d spent two days in the love shack and then you went weird and retreated and made her feel like it’d all been in her head?’ Rhona’s aim was sniper-level.
‘Maybe.’ His thoughts dragged behind his voice as he gripped the phone and pushed himself up, sitting with his back against the wall. Literally and figuratively. ‘No. I don’t think I made her feel like it was all in her head,’ he continued. ‘But something happened in me that I couldn’t control, Rhones. I told her about it, and afterward it was like someone had pulled the lid off a pressure cooker and I just filled up with steam and had to get out of there. And then when I dropped her at the hotel this morning, I told her I didn’t know if I could see her again.’
‘Oh, Mo.’ He could practically hear Rhona shaking her head at him. ‘Honey. What on earth happened to you when you were a kid?’
‘I can’t— I just can’t tell it again, Rhona. Not now. I’m sorry.’
‘You don’t have to tell me anything,’ she reassured him, ‘but I think if it’s heavy enough that you’d throw someone like Netta away, then it’s something you need to talk about withsomeone.Like a therapist. You deserve to be happy.’
Mo had no response for that. If Rhona knew what he’d done, then she’d know that happiness was the last thing he deserved. He tipped his head back, letting it connect with the cool plaster, and thumped his fist into the mattress.
‘You can’t let her go home without sorting this out, Mo,’ said Rhona.
He stood and paced the length of his bedroom. ‘It’s not something I can just sort out, Rhona. I’ve fucked it,’ he said. ‘And I think it’s highly probable that it’s now totally unable to beunfucked. I can’t go back in time and keep my mouth shut. It’s out there now and no matter what might’ve happened between us, it’d always be there like a great, big, dirty cloud she’d always be looking at me through.’
‘So, what do I do?’ Rhona asked, her voice flat with frustration. ‘Do I give her the bank details so she can return the money?’
He sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed the heel of his hand into his temple. Exhaustion coiled heavily, squeezing. All he wanted to do was sleep this whole fucking thing away. ‘No. I want her to have the money. She needs it for something really important to her.’
‘I’m tipping she probably feels pretty grubby, Mo,’ said Rhona. ‘Think about it from her perspective: she sleeps with you, you go weird, and then five thousand pounds lands in her account. I can kind of see where she’s coming from.’
‘No! It’s not like that at all. The money was on the table from the start. It was part of the whole deal in the first place. She has to keep it. Don’t give her the details.’
‘Okay. But Mo, I’m going to send her flight details to you. What you choose to do with them is your business, but I’m thinking something along the lines of that scene fromLove, Actuallymight be an advisable course of action.’
‘Where the kid chases his crush to the airport to kiss her before she goes?’
‘That’s the one,’ she said. ‘I know you’re hurting, Mo. I can hear it. But don’t be a fucking peanut. She’s too good to let go.’
Chapter Forty-Five
NETTA
Netta stared through the tiny window as Melbourne came into view, the clouds above her once again and reality waiting below. Saying goodbye to Audrey and Fletcher had been harder than she’d expected, and the flight had been excruciating—too many hours of no personal space, trapped in claustrophobic hell between the window and a couple with a baby who’d barely stopped crying for the entire flight. Knowing what she was going home to hadn’t helped either. Nor what she had left behind. She felt like the cheese between two slices of mouldy bread, and her edges were curling.
Miserably, she replayed the airport scene in her mind again, torturing herself with the humiliation of it. She’d waited until the final second to get on the plane, a part of her convinced that Mo would turn up. That he would blaze in, declaring his love and telling her she couldn’t leave. That the crowd would erupt into cheers and whoops as he pulled her to him and kissed her with the passion of a thousand Mills and Boon novels. But none of that had happened. And, naturally, it had crushed her all over again. And then, of course, there was the awful unknown—the interview. It was being released in a couple of days. Her only comfort was that Mitch Carlton was a nobody in Australia, so, fingers crossed, the fallout mightn’t follow her home.
The seatbelt sign dinged and Netta clipped herself in, ready to be delivered from one gigantic mess to another. The baby chose the same moment to stop crying, finally worn out. The sudden quiet was both welcome and confronting. Without the intrusion, Netta’s thoughts were free to strip off and stroll around her brain like they owned the place.
Freya was there to meet her when she came through the arrivals gate at the airport. She scooped Netta into a huge hug. ‘I’ve missed you,’ she said into her hair. ‘Never leave me for a rock star again, okay?’
Netta hugged her friend hard and together they rocked in the embrace, travellers milling around them, totally unaware that Netta had gone to London as one thing and come back another. Repaired, but newly broken.
‘Let’s get you home, shall we?’
‘I don’t even know where that is anymore,’ said Netta miserably.
‘Rubbish,’ comforted Freya. ‘Mi casa, su casa until su casa is vacated—which I believe will be in about a week and a half?’
Netta nodded, wiping tears from her cheeks. ‘Are you sure it’s okay with Matt if I stay with you until then?’
‘He’s fine with it.’
Netta gave her a disbelieving look.
‘Morethan fine with it,’ Freya said. ‘He cleared all his snowboarding shit out of the study and we found a sofa bed fossilising underneath. It’s yours for as long as you need it.’
Netta squeezed her friend’s hand as they walked towards the exit. ‘Thanks, Frey.’
