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6
DYLAN
Dylan,
Welcome home!
I hope you and Sky had a great holiday.
Lily xx
What the fuck?
I grab the matching gold envelope and study the smudged postmark, dated a week ago.
I reread the note.
What the actual fuck?
Firstly, how did she know Sky and me are back in England?
And secondly, why the hell is Lily writing as if we’re best friends?
Fuck. I don’t need this bullshit again.
I stare out the large window. The grey London skyline threatening snow reminds me of last Christmas. A hell of a lot has happened since, and I can’t believe it’s winter again. Lily’s card looks up at me from the table, mocking my happiness.
No.
I refuse to rewind. We’re moving on. Sky, me, and the baby.
This is the first time we’ve stayed at my—our—London place for months. The doctor I want Sky to see is in London; it makes sense we come back here, and she didn’t protest. Her travel sickness stops her wanting to drive far. Sky headed straight for the shower once we arrived, and I made a couple of calls. Then I grabbed a beer and poked through the stack of letters, left on the table by the PR girl who’s assigned to look in on the place while we were away.
Most of this shit is bills, and crap I don’t usually deal with. There’s a postcard from Myf from Mexico; she’s taking time out to travel with Miles in between contracts. I swear I can’t keep up with what she’s doing or where she is.
And there’s this headfuck in an envelope. I scrunch the card into a ball and chew my lip. No. I smooth the card flat instead and rip the note into pieces, smaller and smaller, obliterating her words and her name. Who do I talk to about this? Steve told me Lily was sorted, whatever that meant. Clearly, she isn’t.
Tomorrow I talk to building security and make sure the crazy bitch hasn’t visited the place. Sky told me Lily followed her to the hospital once when she visited Tara, and never explained much about what happened. But that was months ago, and we haven’t seen or heard from Lily since.
As far as I know.
Has Sky heard from Lily and not told me? No, she’d tell me. I’ll talk to somebody in management about the situation, tomorrow. This shit needs stopping. Now.
I shove the torn card into my pocket as Sky appears in her skinny jeans and an oversized blue jumper, her eyes brighter. She tips her head at me. “Are you okay? You look pale too.”
“Something I need to talk to you about,” I mumble.
“I have something to talk to you about too.” Sky grins and sits on the sofa, patting the seat next to her.
“Oh?” This could be a bad thing. “Is it going to piss me off?”
She laughs. “I hope not.”
“Hmm.” I sit and eye her warily. “Before I do talk to you—I made you a appointment with the doctor.”
“Already?” She pouts her pale lips.
“Yes. Shut up. You’re going.”
