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“Youdon’t want me near them,you mean,” I point out. “Don’t try to pretend this is Jett’s doing, Charles. I’m not that stupid.”
“Charles raises his eyebrows — which is quite a feat for him, because he’s had alotof Botox in his time — but somehowmanages not to comment on this. Either that or he’s not quick enough to think of a decent comeback.
“I’m just looking out for my son — and my future daughter-in-law,” he says evenly. “I’m sure your father would do the same for you. If you knew who he was, that is.”
“Okay, that’s enough,” I tell him, opening the door. “I’m not going to stand here and let you talk to me like this in my own home. You’ve had your fun; now you can go.”
“With pleasure.”
He steps outside, then turns back to smirk at me.
“I’ll let you get back to solving the mystery of your parentage,” he says with a voice like poison. “Have a nice life, Alexandra. Or as nice a life as someone like you can manage, anyway.”
I slam the door closed before I can reply.
Then I sink down behind it and burst into tears.
***
The crying jag is fairly satisfying, but it also leaves my face looking red and puffy, so I indulge myself for a few minutes, then give myself a quick shake and go to splash some water on my face.
I haven’t opened the letter Charles left me. I don’t need to see it in black and white to know that Jett obviously has no intention of seeing me again. Even if he wasn’t the one who went out and got the restraining order — that has Charles/Asher all over it — he must have at least known about it, and he obviously didn’t object too strongly.
So.
I guess that’s it.
It really is over this time. There’s not going to be a moment of clarity when Jett realizes I’m the one he really loves. He’s notgoing to come running across the town in the snow just to tell me he wants me back; and not just because it’s not snowing, but because — crucially — hedoesn’twant me back.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror for a moment, as if I’m hoping I might morph into someone more acceptable — to Jett and to the rest of the world — but I remain resolutely myself.
??Disappointing.
Pull yourself together, Lexie, I hear Mum say in my head, like she does whenever I’m upset about something and she doesn’t know how to deal with it.
Mum.
She was about to tell me something about the DNA results when Charles arrived, and I had to cut her off. I call her back, but there’s no answer; she’s probably at work. I really want to speak to her, though, so after a few minutes of pacing the floor and wondering what to do with myself, I quickly run a brush through my hair, then pull on my coat, making up my mind to drive over and speak to her in person, even if I have to brave the horrors of the soft play again to do it.
Car keys.
Where are my car keys?
I pat the pockets of the coat I was wearing yesterday, and which I distinctly remember putting the keys to McTavish’s car into as Mum and I left the house. We took Mum’s car in the end, but I still had the car keys when we reached the film set; I remember feeling them in my pocket.
But they’re not there now.
Which means I either left them in Jett’s cabin last night, or they fell out of my pocket; either during my fight with Jimmy, or when I rolled out of the way of the falling electricity pole.
Great.
This is all I need.
I think hard.
I know I can’t go back to Emerald View; not while there’s even the slightest chance of seeing Jett or Violet there. It’s probably safe enough for me to go back into the woods where they were filming, though; I very much doubt they’ll go back there today after what happened last night, and I suppose if there’s any sign of life when I get there, I can just turn around and go back the way I came.
Or I could stay here and wallow in my misery.
