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I swallowed hard. ‘Thank you. Both of you. For everything.’
‘You’re entirely welcome. Any more biscuits going?’
‘Of course. In the kitchen. Help yourself.’
Milo went off, whistling tunelessly, and Jaz heaved herself up. ‘Right. I’ll just bring up the rest of the cushions from the van and then that’s about it, I think.’
‘Thank you.’ I took the empty mugs into the kitchen, where Milo was standing demolishing chocolate digestives in two bites. ‘You’re a star,’ I called to Jaz, dumping the mug in the sink.
She really was.
One evening, when I’d first moved into Milo’s house, he was away overnight at a works Christmas party and Nash had come looking for me, yelling and banging furiously on the door. I’d cowered inside, terrified, and eventually he’d left, realising I wasn’t going to open the door and presumably worried the neighbours might report the disturbance to the police. I don’t know what I would have done if Jaz, who lived next door to Milo, hadn’t heard the threats he was shouting and come to find out what was going on. She calmed me down and stayed over that night, sleeping on the sofa to keep me company until Milo returned, and I would always be so grateful to her for that.
Nash had somehow found out where I was living, and I never felt completely safe at Milo’s after that. It was the main reason I was over the moon when Ellie suggested I rent this flat above the café. Living here, I was really hopeful Nash wouldn’t be able to find me.
And I’d finally feel safe.
But as I said goodbye to Milo and Jaz, a weight seemed to settle in my heart. I was alone in the flat but it was what I wanted. Wasn’t it?
Milo ran down the stairs but Jaz lingered.
‘Are you okay? You look . . . worried.’
‘No, no. I mean, yes, I’m fine. I think I’m just tired.’ I smiled, trying to ignore the feeling of dread that was churning my insides. ‘A good night’s sleep and I’ll be right as rain. Honestly.’
She didn’t look convinced. ‘It’s bound to feel a little strange, living by yourself.’
‘Of course.’
She smiled. ‘You’d better make the most of the peace and quiet, though, because you won’t be on your own for long. Milo’s already talking about a night out at Carlo’s for pasta and a catch-up. How does Friday suit you?’
‘Friday?’ I perked up, feeling a little better already. ‘Well, obviously I’ll have to check my packed diary.’
‘Obviously.’
‘But I think I can safely say that Friday would be perfect.’
‘Excellent. Well, give me a ring if you need anything... or just for a chat, okay? I’m going to miss you being next door at Milo’s.’ She leaned in for a last hug and as she ran downstairs to join her boyfriend, a warm, almost happy feeling surged through me. I might be alone in the flat but I had friends and I was going to be just fine.
As I retreated inside, closing the door and double-locking it, my eye fell on the floral watercolour Milo had put up for me in the hallway. Depicting dusky pink hellebores against a brilliant blue sky, it was one of my own paintings and I was particularly fond of it. It had almost gone up in flames in the fire, and I shivered now as images of that terrible night flashed through my mind. Luckily, ‘Hellebores’ was one of the few paintings I’d managed to save.
At one time, long before the fire, I’d thought of using this hellebore image to create a range of greetings cards to sell online... perhaps having it printed onto gift items... aprons, oven gloves and cushions.
But then I’d met Nash and all my exciting plans seemed to get buried under his own wishes and desires. Not that I realised this at the time, of course. It didn’t happen immediately. I guess he was on his best behaviour when we met and it took a while for his explosions of anger to start emerging.
Looking back now, I felt such a fool.
I glanced in the mirror on the hall wall and a young woman with a pale complexion and anxious green eyes stared back at me. I leaned closer, flicking at my blonde hair and thinking I looked weird. I had a fringe now, for the first time in my life. Had it been a costly mistake?
In an agony of frustration, I whipped off the wig and forced myself to look at the thin, wispy blonde hair beneath. The real me.
My hair had started to fall out soon after that night and the fire in the summerhouse. The doctor said it was probably the shock but that it would likely grow back. Well, so far, there was no sign of that, and just recently, the fall-out had been getting worse, not better. Every time I showered, I ended up having to clear a distressing amount of hair from the plughole and all over the shower cubicle. Now, I washed my hair only when I needed to – but that didn’t stop it coming out. My pillow showed evidence of the alopecia every morning, and I tried to avoid combing my hair. I’d thought buying a wig would give me back my self-confidence – help me get back the pre-Nash me – but of course a simple hairpiece alone couldn’t possibly accomplish that! Every time I caught a glimpse of my new choppy bob in a mirror or a shop window, I felt it was taunting me. It was a reminder of all the bad things that had happened and the emotional and psychological consequences I was still living with.
It was funny looking back. Everything had seemed so rosy and perfect at the start. I’d genuinely believed – in those first few months of being with Nash – that I’d met the man I was destined to share the rest of my life with...
CHAPTER THREE
I first met Nash three years ago when he was playing the role of Bottom in a local am dram production ofA Midsummer Night’s Dream.
