Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 134212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 671(@200wpm)___ 537(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 671(@200wpm)___ 537(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
Who are you, Luke Williamson?
Pushing my way through the front door, I come to a startled stop when I find Billy sitting on the stairs. My natural instinct is to panic. I drop Boris’s lead and rush toward him. He must see my worry, because he’s quick to ease it. “I’m fine,” he says, taking the rail and heaving himself up with too much effort. I wince and hiss with him, all the way until he’s standing, though I don’t help, knowing he won’t want me to.
“You’re up,” I say like a fool.
Hitting me with dull but sorry eyes, he swallows. “Takeout and a movie?”
My throat is instantly swollen, tears stinging the backs of my eyes. Don’t cry on him, Lo. “I would love that.” I force my words past my happiness and go to him when he opens his arms. I could tell myself not to cry until I’m blue in the face. I’d still fail. My cheek meeting his chest, he takes me in a cuddle as I silently sob into his bathrobe, feeling his mouth on the back of my head. I hate that he feels remorse. I hate that he feels he has to say sorry. But I love this. I miss this. So much. This cuddle, this closeness, the fact that he’s suggested eating and he wants to snuggle on the couch. Such simple things, but things that fill me with untold joy.
“Come on.” He wraps his arm around my shoulders and leads us to the lounge. He leads us. Not me leading him. I’m not holding him up or encouraging his steps. I know he’s making a point, but it’s hope I need to cling to with all my might. I can’t remember the last time we did this. Months? “Boris seems sprightly.” Billy motions for me to sit, which I do, Boris jumping up too. He collects the remote controls and walks, albeit slowly, back across to me.
“He has epilepsy.” I give Boris’s ears a scratch. “But he’ll be fine. They’ve given him pills. One a day.”
Billy lowers to the couch and lifts his arm, and I eagerly crawl in under it, closing my eyes in complete contentment. We don’t need to eat. We don’t need to watch a film. We could just be here, together, cuddling. “I bet the bill was something to wince at.”
“It’s taken care of,” I murmur, pushing back all thoughts except for those of this moment. Because it’s magic.
Chapter Six
The next two days pass by quickly, thanks to the madness of Scarlett’s meeting schedule and the need for coffee and cakes on loop. I’ve been feeling quietly guilty for more or less forcing Billy into feeling bad and giving me what I needed the other night. After getting himself down the stairs and to the couch, eating, talking, and watching a movie, he paid for his overexertion. Dr. Smith called yesterday morning to talk about Billy’s missed appointment. What could I say other than the truth? He refused to go. He asked how he was. “Terrible” was the only word I could find. He sent Billy’s GP for a home visit. It was pointless, Billy’s general practitioner simply assessing him in order to report back to Dr. Smith. On leaving, he told me that if Billy’s condition deteriorates, I should let them know so they can act. And do what exactly? The only way they’ll get Billy into hospital is if he’s unable to protest. How poorly will he have to be for that to happen?
Friday lunchtime, as I’m finalizing the diary for next week, the ping of my phone has me grabbing it blindly while I scroll through Scarlett’s calendar. It’s Magda.
A quiet day here so far. I’m off now as my niece is visiting from Spain. I’ll see you on Monday. Have a lovely weekend.
I send a quick reply to thank her, blinking my eyes clear. I’ve been staring at the computer screen all morning and it’s taking its toll. My stomach rumbles loudly, reminding me that I haven’t eaten since yesterday lunchtime. It’s no wonder I’m tired. I pull my top drawer open in search of the biscuits I keep for emergencies when I need a quick sugar hit. An empty wrapper greets me, and I pull it out, pouting at it. And my tummy rumbles again.
Food. I throw my phone in my bag, swap my heels for my trainers, snatch my coat from the hook, and rush out of the office to grab myself some lunch. The freezing cold air does a good job of waking up my brain as I hustle down the street to the nearest Nero’s. I burst through the door, grimacing at the long lines of people on their lunchbreaks. Being poor isn’t the only reason I avoid this place.
I head for the fridges and settle on a tuna baguette, my mouth watering just looking at it.