“Do you still have the second phone we gave you?”
The second…oh! I pat my thigh. It’s there, a rectangular weight in the leg pocket. “Okay. I forgot about that phone. Yeah, I have it. Do I pay you for the calls?”
“No. Your bill is taken care of.” He stands and lifts his emptyplate before reaching for mine. “Are you done?”
“Huh?” He holds out my plate; a crusty corner resting on top.
“Are you full?”
“Oh, yes, thank you.”
“Then I’ll show you upstairs. You need to rest.” He clears both plates away and drains his own juice before leading me to the stairs.
“There are four rooms,” he explains, turning right at the top of the stairs and leading me to the end of the corridor. On one side, there is a single door and on the other a double. He points to the single, white-painted door, taller than two of me put together and surrounded by an elaborately carved frame. “This one is yours, and I’m opposite.”
I wonder if Sylvie is already tucked in and waiting for him? The thought brings me more pain than I like to admit, so I force it away. What right do I have to this man, anyway? I’ve known him for less than a week. I’m being petty and ridiculous.
“If you need anything, just knock,” he offers kindly. I can’t foresee me needing anything from him. Wanting, however, is a different matter.
“Thank you. For everything, I mean.”
“I am sorryfor everything. I never would have wished this on anyone, but I’m grateful that it was you who stopped to help.” He hovers, staring back and forth between my eyes and my lips, each transition like a whisper of touch. “Well, I’ll let you get settled. Help yourself to anything. This is your home for the foreseeable.”
His generosity and trust are astounding. When I really think about it, he’s taken in a stranger from the Vale and is trusting them not to rob him blind while he sleeps. He either reads my nature really well or has full faith in his guards. Which brings to mind the conversation I heard earlier. I scan the ceiling and sure enough, a spatter of black dots line the corridor. Cameras. I’m betting they are all over the ceiling downstairs, too.
“Cameras,” Dax confirms, following my eyeline. “They are in the communal areas only. Your bedroom is clear, but your windowshave an infrared alarm fitted on the outside so you can open them, but I wouldn’t lean out too far or you might end up with a dozen men barging in through your door.” He smiles, but the warning is legitimate.
“Okay. I’ll call Charlie and then I guess I’ll see you in the morning?” I open the door and step into the room. The thick carpet beneath my feet almost lifts me an inch higher. It’s like walking on clouds. The room is too beautiful. I almost ask if it’s really okay for me to sleep in here. I’m unclean and unworthy, but the look on Dax’s face, the way he watches my reaction, encourages me to hold my tongue. I don’t want to seem ungrateful or remind him of the social chasm between us.
“Yeah, the morning,” he mumbles, as though declaring the words to himself. Dax turns and takes a step towards his own door. He rests his hand on the handle and presses the lever down. It opens an inch or two before he stops. “Jules?”
“Hmm?”
“You’re going to be okay. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
He doesn’t hang around long enough for me to tell him what I think about that. I guess he already suspects that I’ll argue that I’m not his responsibility—I probably would have if he’d hung around, but he takes his leave, closing his door behind him without even looking my way.
“Thank you,” I whisper into the empty corridor before closing my door.
The bed in his spare room is so huge it dwarfs my parents’ double. Piled high with blankets and pillows of all shapes and sizes, it appears higher than it probably is. Like the rest of the lower floors, this room has a neutral palette, but the designer has thrown in flourishes of delicate duck-egg blues and greens. The effect is of a subtle hint of colour in the most elaborate places; the upholstery of a pair of antique chairs stationed between double windows, the thick silk-woven tiebacks holding brocade curtains back to create a beautifully framed view of the city in the distance, the fabric of thecushions and blankets layered upon the bed.
The room smells of lavender. The aroma is so rich that I follow the wafting scent into the small adjoining bathroom and find a tub filled to overflowing with rustling and bursting bubbles.Did Dax run this for me?I dip my hand beneath the iridescent puffs and find the water pleasantly warm. He didn’t mention it.
I strip and climb in. If the room had a fire, I would burn my clothes. Caked in dirt and sweat, they peel from my skin like an icky layer of filth.
The water welcomes me. I sink deep into the tub and swish the bubbles just like Casey always does whenever I get the chance to treat her and the boys with a bubble bath.
God. How long will it be before I’m able to do that again? And with their new family dynamic, will I even be welcome? Where are they now? Are they safe?
Aiden will make sure of it, but having faith in Aiden isn’t the same as knowing for myself. Not being able to call them or hear their voices is going to kill me. I’m as much a mother to them as Mum is. This feels like I’m abandoning them, but the alternative—risking them—is unthinkable.
Fuck Eric Feelan!
I hate him. I’ve hated him for the longest time and knowing that he isn’t my real dad brings with it a mixed sense of relief and regret. He’s the only father I’ve known. Sure, he’s displayed nothing more than contempt for me, but he took me in, and his family welcomed me as one of them. My grandmother never treated us differently. She never favoured the boys over me or Casey. I’m grateful for that. I’m glad to have at least one worthwhile relationship from my childhood. Still, a question nibbles at the edges of all my reasoning. A question that will probably never get an answer:What was the point?
My maudlin thoughts keep me in the tub until my skin crinkles and the water becomes chilly. Only then do I pull myself out and wrap two of the softest towels I’ve ever held around my hairand body. My grubby belongings, I fold carefully; they might need disinfected, but they are all I have, so I take care of them like they were mine to begin with.
The weight in my trousers reminds me about the phone. I pull it out and put it on the nightstand. The call to Charlie can wait until I’ve dried my hair and climbed into bed.
