I grab an Uber home and brush past Mum, grabbing Chip and getting out. It’s late and dark. Considering what’s happened to Neive, I should stay indoors but I need to clear my head.
It’s selfish of me to be thinking of my relationship status right now. But my stomach is in bits. This feels wrong. And if it feels wrong, it’s normally wrong.
I will give him the space he needs, I just pray that once they are through this storm, there will still be a place at his side for me.
~
The sun cracks through my blinds, reminding me I’ve barely slept.Just us, MJ. You, me and Neive. I recall the conversation, or should I say lack of, willing myself to remember it differently.
I click my phone again, lighting the screen, and hold it in front of my face. If I stare long enough something will happen. Surely.
I have nothing. No new messages. No missed calls.
The two blue ticks from the message I sent six hours ago mock me.
Jeeves texted me forty-five minutes after I sent the last text. It took Elton forty-five minutes to get someone else to text me.
The thrill of the chase has worn off. Now life is getting serious, silly Reilly shouldn’t be around for this part. I shouldn’t feel this let down when it’s exactly what I predicted.
What’s happened is a huge blow for them. I understand Elton is consumed with this right now, but his lack of contact stings.
I try to put myself in his shoes. How would I react? Who would I lean on for support?
If it’s not the person I’m trying to spend my life with, then should that person be in my life?
Elton needs to pull his head out of his arse. I’ve been the last thought to people before and although I understand he needs to put his family first, I need to put myself first.
I open the email from the bank, again.
Congratulations. Your Business Loan application has been accepted.
I close my eyes as I search for the right feeling; something should be happening. Joy, warmth, excitement, maybe even a sprinkling of nerves.
Instead I feel cold.
This moment has been tarnished and I can’t help but resent Elton for that.
TWENTY-NINE
Elton
She had tiny hands. Tiny little hands that grasped on to me so tightly, my skin blanched. Her piercing wails were so loud they could have woken the dead. I remember her eyes, her innocent eyes exploring the new world around her.
I knew in those moments I would do anything to make sure she was happy and safe.
The day I walked into MJ’s house and my heart dropped at the site of the mess and dire living situation, I swore I would never abandon Neive again. I swore I would protect her and care for her. She’s such a good kid; so kind and thoughtful. Reilly’s amenable demeanour blindsided me. I allowed myself to become distracted from my life purpose. Convinced myself I could take what I wanted. If I had been at home, I would have been there. I would have picked her up from the front door of her friend’s house and taken her home. Safe.
Instead, she was nearly in the hands of someone out to get something from me. Jeeves got to her and saved her but it should have been me, I’m responsible for her. She tells me she’s okay and she will recover but I don’t think I ever will.
“Elton, buddy, I’ve got this. Work can wait. I’ll deal with it all,” Charles reassures me. He’s flown back from New York and came straight here – immediately taking the reins so I can focus on organising for MJ to leave rehab early and come home to mine, permanently. She needs to be around for Neive’s recovery.
I’m praying this won’t send her over the edge, but being away from Neive right now would be worse for everyone. With outside therapies and keeping an extra close eye on her, I think we can make it work.
Neive has spent today between the sofa and her bed, and MJ hasn’t left her side. Physically, she’s fine, but trauma can be exhausting.
I finished handing over everything I needed for Charles to take control of work for a few weeks. He’s been filling me in on his meetings in New York and despite his protest I started to compile extra data to send back to the researchers. I need something that’s not reliving the worst-case scenario. Or my last conversation with Reilly.
“Thanks for this, Charles. I owe you.” I make my way round my desk, taking a seat next to him on the sofa in my home office.
