I pull out my phone to send him a message. I need to say something to express how sorry I am for everything, to offer my condolences, to tell him I’m here for him if or when he needs me.
I compose something that doesn’t go halfway to saying everything I want to say, but then I remember. He really has blocked me.
The worst part is, I deserve it. He has every right to be done with me. I’m done with me too.
ChapterTwenty-Five
Kian
Ijust about make it down the drive without running over the fucking pariahs of the press who line the gravel path down to the farmhouse. I make a mental note to talk to someone about some security. I’m not sure if it’s something my agent can do, or Kelsey, but maybe there’s someone they can recommend. It’s a relief to get back inside the house.
‘It’s awful out there.’ I shuck off my jacket and throw my shades down onto the counter where Grant’s preparing lunch for the kids.
‘Worse than yesterday?’ he asks, continuing to chop cucumber into sticks, each slice of the knife a little bit more aggressive.
‘Much. Not sure who gave them the right to ask such invasive questions, but yeah, definitely worse. Today they were mainly asking if I was worried about missing Singapore?’
‘They either don’t have family or are complete monsters. Who wouldn’t miss a race to come home and grieve for a much-loved parent?’
It’s a good question, but not one I can answer.
‘I’m going to talk to the team’s head of security and see if there’s anyone they can recommend to help give us a bit more privacy until this dies down.’
I actually can’t think of anything more awful than Elise having to face these vultures right now. While she and I both grew up in the public eye because of our celebrity parents, she’s made every possible life choice to take herself as far from the spotlight as possible.
She’s never had media training on how to handle such intrusive questions without snapping, especially when she’s under emotional duress, like she is now.
It would be nothing short of a bloodbath if she steps off the property.
‘Maybe we could try an electric fence or something, so if they get too close they’ll get zapped.’ I laugh in response but it’s not a bad idea at all.
I’m just opening a couple of beers when I hear movement upstairs. It sounds like Elise is heading to the bathroom, but at least I know she’s out of bed.
‘How’s the to-do list looking?’ he asks as I extend a beer bottle to him.
‘Awful, Grant. I don’t know how to do this.’ I’m not even saying it for sympathy or so he’ll help me more, I truly mean it. I’m good at being organised about my racing life, but outside of that I don’t feel like I can get a grip on anything most of the time.
‘I chose the flowers.’ I didn’t have a clue what I was doing but I have a memory of some flowers that Mum loved to have on the windowsill and I went for a whole lot of those ones. They’re pink and white, but I don’t remember what the florist called them or what they’re supposed to mean.
I’ve felt like that a lot recently. With Elise not getting out of bed and Grant looking after the kids, all decisions are on me. Which is fine. I’m happy to do it. It’s time for me to bear the weight of this responsibility for once in my life. But I do wish I wasn’t doing it alone. I want it to be perfect for Mum and I think that can only be delivered by Elise.
‘I hope you got Astrantias.’ Hearing Elise’s voice in the doorway sends goosebumps down my arms and tears pinpricking the backs of my eyes. ‘Mum planted them in the garden and picked them all the time. While she still could, she used to leave them in our shared bathroom. They symbolize strength, the strength that she wanted us to have.’
My arms open and Elise attaches herself to me and I finally let myself cry. The kitchen fills with sounds of sobs and apologies on both of our parts which neither of us really need to be saying. All we need is to grieve in our own ways, to process the loss, and to remember Mum together.
The jet lag is brutal, and I’ve spent the last two sleepless nights running over different memories of Mum from the last three decades. There are so many good ones and that’s what’s been important to me while trying to come to terms with the loss.
I can’t even begin to think how it’s been for Elise, because although we’ve both known that Mum’s been sick for years, Elise is the one who’s had to live with it every hour of the day since then. I’m just hoping all of her good memories haven’t been taped over by the ones of Mum losing her motor functions, and her ability to recognise people.
We hold each other for what feels like hours, while Grant busies himself around us, feeding the kids, tidying up, and starting dinner so Elise and I can just be together. I’m going to have to thank him in a major way when things start to feel more normal. Elise picked herself a good guy. I’m almost jealous. No, that’s not right – I’menvious.
I’m envious that Elise has someone to look after her while she grieves. I’m envious she has someone to hold her when she cries. I’m envious she has someone to listen to her stories and memories of a person that they’ve heard a hundred times already.
Could Harper ever have become that for me? I almost snort into my sister’s hair. Not likely. He must know by now that Mum’s passed away – it’s on every news outlet, and of course I wasn’t there in qualifying – but he hasn’t rung.
Well of course he hasn’t, you idiot. You blocked him!
He can’t.
