AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter Eighteen
Tellher how you really feel—good one. Thanks, Oliver.
Aaron found himself staring glumly after the departing bus. Alice had effectively dragged the rug out from under him. He reminded himself of one of those cartoon characters, feet pedalling so fast they turned into spinning wheels. Going nowhere fast. The past twenty-four hours churned inside his head as he strode off down the street.
Alice behaving like a ball of prickles towards him, surely that was significant? Hadn’t he learned enough to know when a woman got angry it usually meant they were hiding a truckload of hurt feelings? The truth was, he’d never cared enough in the past to try and put things right. Now, wanting to put it right was tearing him apart.
Except, he reminded himself, she’d told him it had nothing to do with him. He racked his brains some more.
Whatever had stopped her sleeping, it was a big deal, something she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—discuss with him. Despite what she’d said, he couldn’t dislodge the thought that maybe the big dealwasCarts. Aaron’s forehead squeezed. No, that was completely illogical. When he’d suggested something was going on between them, she’d looked genuinely surprised. And there was no point phoning Carts to find out. It had already caused a rift in their usually solid mateship bond. If this went on, he’d lose all his friends.
Hurting Alice, arguing with Carts, Miranda Bendt causing grievous bodily harm to Archie. Lauren falling for Archie’s false promises. His bosses twisting his balls to get him to comply with their story.
What a fucked-up mess.
You aspired to be Archie Bendt.
Yowch!
The beautiful day had turned icy cold by now. The sky was clear, pricked with evening stars. Hands dug into his pockets, Aaron wrapped his jacket around himself and walked faster. He didn’t want to be the next Archie Bendt.
He wanted to—what did he actually want to be? What kind of man? He was going to have to re-invent himself piece by piece like those Lego sets he’d been addicted to as a kid. He wished he could buy one ready to assemble. A kit for a man who treated people decently. A man capable of real feelings, or even—icy fingers curled around his spine—love. It still made him want to shut down, saying that word to himself. But he wasn’t going to. He was going to breathe deeply and try to work out how to sort out this mess. Tomorrow he’d text Alice.
No, damn it. He’d text her right now. So what if it left his underbelly exposed?
Aaron wrenched his phone out of his pocket and typed in:Can I see you after work tomorrow?Paused, then with slow deliberate fingers added,I miss you.
No emoji. Just the words.
He pressed send.
* * *
Ping.
She wouldnotlook.
Ping.
Not under any circumstances.
Her phone could burn a hole in her bag, through her coat, sear the skin of her leg. She would give herself up to a closet full of boggarts before she’d check it.
Besides, it was probably only Carts responding to the “YES, ok” she’d texted him before she left the shop, to stop him from worrying.
Alice laid her head against the window of the bus and closed her eyes.
One day, this would stop hurting; it would be nothing more than a distant memory. She imagined herself walking through the cobbled streets of Cambridge—they had to be cobbled, didn’t they?—her arm looped in her dad’s, barely remembering that man she’d foolishly thought she was in love with back in Australia.
She needed to focus on the issue at hand: tracking down Mum and making her tell her how Henry Beacham-Brown had become her father.
Deep in thought, Alice nearly missed her stop. She got off the bus with an apology to the driver and trudged up her street. She found her key remarkably easily for once, and was just about to open the front door when a laugh bounced down the hallway and stopped her. It was a laugh that used to make her cringe as it bellowed out at school sports days and assemblies.
Rowena was home.
Her fingers flimsy as rubber bands, Alice fumbled to get the key in the lock, and didn’t bother to close the door behind her when she belted up the wooden passage. Polly and Rowena sat at the kitchen table, a teapot between them. Rowena’s signature fuzz of strawberry blonde peppered with grey was crammed haphazardly on top of her head. Her large pale grey eyes rose to meet Alice’s, and it seemed for a moment that time stood still. Then Rowena’s face crumpled like she might just burst into tears. She jumped up and held her arms open. “Darling girl, I’m back.”
Alice felt herself crumpling too. Without conscious thought she moved into Rowena’s embrace.
