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My heart rate galloped. I wouldn’t be able to rest until I knew for sure.
But the thought of getting up and dressing and leaving the house felt like a monumental task. I didn’t care what I looked like, but I had enough self-worth that I didn’t want to go out smelling of body odour and with bad breath.
I was probably just late. The lure of that lie was compelling. If I told myself it was nothing to worry about, I could close my eyes and go to sleep again. I wouldn’t need to take a shower or get dressed. I wouldn’t need to think about how much I missed Jayden, or Bruno, or how there was nothing I could ever do to change things or roll back time.
I curled back up under my covers, aware the sheets were stale and needed washing, just like everything else.
“Ivy!” Mara’s stern voice broke through to me. “I’m not going until you’ve got out of bed. Bruno is dead, but you’re still alive. I won’t let you throw everything away.”
I was still alive, but it was a life that would never have Jay in it. I’d tasted what it was like to have that kind of intense passion, and now the thought of trying to continue with that missing was too much.
My world had drained of colour.
She yanked back my duvet, and I groaned and reached for it again.
“No.” She held it tight. “You are not staying in bed. Something needs to change. This is not how you’re going to live your life.”
“I’m tired,” I groaned.
“You’re depressed,” she counteracted, “and that’s completely understandable, considering what’s happened, but there are things you can do to help that. See a doctor, get some meds, if you need to, but start with a shower and sort your hair out, and brush your teeth.”
A doctor. Meds. I wouldn’t be able to take anything if I was pregnant, would I? I had no idea how these things worked.
I squeezed my eyes shut.I’m not pregnant, my period is just late.
Images of the number of times I’d had sex with Jayden unprotected flashed through my head. Every caress, every kiss, every time afterwards when we’d held each other, our foreheads pressed together, wrapped in each other’s arms. Those were the painful memories, the ones that made my chest ache and made me feel like I would never run out of tears. But every time I missed him, I was tormented with guilt.
How could I miss the man who’d murdered my brother? What kind of person did that make me?
She wasn’t giving up. “Come on, Ivy. I’m serious. I’m not going to leave until you do.”
I shut my eyes again and didn’t move.
She let out a sigh, and for a moment, I thought she’d gone, but then I heard the thunder of the shower running.
Her hand clamped around my arm. “I told you I wasn’t giving up.”
“What are you doing?”
“Getting you out of bed.”
I hadn’t been eating much since everything had happened. The meals she brought me pretty much went uneaten, apart from the most basic of foods, such as soup and toast, just enough to keep me alive. But my lack of eating meant I’d also lost a fair amount of weight—I guessed that could also account for my late period—and it made it easier for her to move me. She was a wide, stocky woman, and easily hauled me out of bed.
“Mara, no!”
“I told you I wasn’t taking no for an answer.”
She hauled me across the bedroom, towards the bathroom. The sound of the shower grew louder as we got closer.
I was still in my silk pyjamas, but she didn’t seem to care. She slid open the glass door of the shower and shoved me inside. I gasped as the water hit the top of my head and shoulders, soaking through the thin material of my pyjamas. I guessed I should at least be grateful the water wasn’t cold.
“Mara, you cow!”
“You can call me names all you want. I’d rather that than no reaction from you.”
“Fine. I’m in now. I’ll wash. You can leave.”
She put her hands on her robust hips and shook her head. “Nice try, but I’m not going anywhere. I’m standing here until you’ve washed yourself and your hair, and then I’ll let you get out.”
