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With him, always.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The following evening after a particularly long, draining day in the office, I stand in the kitchen listening to the kettle bubbling up to boiling point. I make Billy a cup of tea and take it up to him. He didn’t eat much of his dinner, no surprise there, but if I can at least keep his fluids up, it helps. I think.
“You look lovely today,” he says as I place his drink on his nightstand.
“Pardon?” I look at him, dazed, and he smiles mildly. It’s a rare sight, and though I don’t know what he’s smiling about, I savor the sight.
Reaching for my hand, he holds it with his frail one. “I said, you look lovely.”
“I do?” I look down my body, to my black boyish trousers and sheer black blouse. I haven’t worn this outfit for years, nor the black ballet flats that have been hidden at the back of my wardrobe forever. I didn’t register what exactly I put on this morning, not until Billy pointed it out now. I look in the mirror next to Billy’s bed. I haven’t seen the woman before me in too many years. I reach up to my long blonde hair that has been straightened, returning it to its former shiny self, even if my roots are still more than obvious. My silvery eyes are framed with lashes thick with mascara, my lids painted with my usual thick line of eyeliner, a little flick at the corner of my eyes. And what’s strangest is that I honestly do not recall applying any of it. This morning was a blur.
“Lovely,” Billy confirms, and I look down at him, indulging some more in his smile.
“Want to take me out for dinner?” I ask lightly, a complete joke that I hope he appreciates. When his weak smile widens slightly, I know he has. He and I both know he’s going nowhere.
“How was your day?” He changes the subject while I tuck his sheets in around him.
“Long. Are you comfortable?”
“Dead,” Billy mutters, and I throw him a horrified look. “Dead comfy.”
“That’s not funny.”
It takes too much effort for him to smile again. “Sorry.”
I roll my eyes and faff some more with the blankets on his bed, and he lets me. “You want some help having a shower before bed?” He hasn’t had one since yesterday morning, and I know it’s because he feels too crap to get himself out of bed. He can’t deny my help forever. He has to let his pride go.
“I can shower myself.”
He can’t, but I refuse to argue with him. “Can I get you anything before I get ready for bed?”
“Get ready for bed?” His lined forehead frowns. “But it’s only six thirty.”
Yes, it is, but what else is he expecting me to do with my evening? “I’m tired,” I tell him, wishing I could take it back the second it slips free, because Billy’s face twists in displeasure as a result.
I’m saved from our potential confrontation when my phone rings, and I reach into my pocket to answer. “Scarlett?” I say to myself, taking her call.
“Lo, I’m so sorry to do this to you, and if it’s not possible, please just tell me so.” She sounds out of breath, like she’s racing to get somewhere.
“Are you okay?”
“My mother-in-law has been rushed into hospital with breathing difficulties.”
“Oh, Scarlett, I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?”
“Yes, that’s why I’m calling. I have the annual fundraising gala this evening, and we obviously can’t go now. Will you go in our place?”
“Oh,” I breathe.
“I wouldn’t ask, but we need someone there representing the company. It won’t look good if no one shows up. The invitation is for two, so you can take a guest.”
I laugh to myself. Yeah, because I have options lining up outside my door ready for me to invite them.
“Maybe a friend?” she adds, knowing what I’m thinking, as per usual.
“What about Rachel?”
“She’s out of town, and Belle has a family function she can’t get out of. There’s no one else I’d entrust this to, Lo. I wouldn’t ask. I know things for you are hard at the moment.”
Hard? “Scarlett . . . I . . .” I look over to Billy and see him watching me.
“Go,” he mouths, and I shake my head. He nods his in return, reinforcing his order.
“Would you, Lo?” Scarlett pleads. “Free champagne and free entertainment.”
“I don’t know, Scarlett. I’m not much of a socializer. I’d hate to let you down.”
“Let me down? Never, Lo. You’ll be perfect. I’m going to email the invitation to you now. Just show it on the door. Our donation for the auction should have arrived this morning. Try to have fun, okay?” She hangs up, clearly a ploy to prohibit my attempts to argue with her.
