Total pages in book: 184
Estimated words: 176002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 880(@200wpm)___ 704(@250wpm)___ 587(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 176002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 880(@200wpm)___ 704(@250wpm)___ 587(@300wpm)
I get to churn through another six million scenarios en route, but they all disappear in a puff of smoke when the driveway of Madon House appears in front of me. Play it by ear is my only option. I’ve got a posh fitted dress on, but my heels are lower than yesterday. More manageable. They make the walk to the elevators easier on my trademark unsteady legs.
Courage of my convictions.
I’m glad I have foundation on to hide my pallor as I reach the door of the top suite. It’s Mum that opens the door this time, and she pulls me in for a hug as though I’ve been gone a lifetime.
“It’s been a long night,” she says.
“Yeah, tell me about it.”
She takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. “Dad’s through here.”
I hold her back, just for a moment – because I know of his temper. I know of his morals, and his overwhelming concern for his little girl.
“How is he doing?”
She tips her head. “So so. He wants to tear Connor’s bollocks off, but that’s to be expected.”
“And how about Josh’s?”
Mum smiles. “Maybe not a question for right off. Let’s focus on you, ok?”
“Sure.”
Dad looks a bit better today than yesterday, sitting at the suite table with his arms folded and a cup of tea in front of him. He isn’t beetroot red, and he isn’t ghostly pale, so that’s a plus sign. Middle ground.
“Hey,” I say, and take a seat opposite him.
“Hey,” he says back, and his tone is much calmer today. He blows out a breath. “I thought we’d be on a plane back by now, all three of us.”
Mum goes to the kettle and flicks it on. “Things don’t always work out as planned, Ted. Ella’s here now, so there are three of us, we’re just at a table, not on a plane.”
Dad gestures at the window. “Is that where you live? Over there, in one of those towers?”
“Yeah.” I point. “The one on the right.”
Mum presents me with a mug of tea, and sits down next to Dad. “We couldn’t stop staring at it last night, knowing you were over there.”
Her words choke me up. “We must have been staring at each other then, because I couldn’t stop staring over here, either.” I struggle to take a breath, fuck the six million scenarios. “I just wished you were in our place with me. I’ve had the guest room made ready.”
Dad’s throat bobs, but he doesn’t break down. We sit in silence, the three of us, the air heavy with emotion. I don’t care who is going to speak first, or what they are going to say. Being with Mum and Dad is enough in itself, and I soak up every moment, no matter how painful it is.
Mum is the one who clears her throat and begins the conversation.
“Your dad and I have some questions. We gather you don’t work in a seedy brothel somewhere, and you don’t have a druggie pimp pushing you into it, but we want to know more.”
“Who is this agency you work for?” Dad asks. “How does it work, and what do they pay you and all that?” He waves a hand. “Not the… details details, just the setup.”
I’m very glad my parents don’t want to know the details details. I wouldn’t fancy talking about stinging nettles, or being bathed by Daddy.
I tell them about how Ebony first introduced me to The Agency, and how I approached her because not only was I skint and living on pasta, but because I was genuinely missing sex. Dad flinches at that, but Mum is ok, nodding her head.
“I knew they paid well, and I knew it was super safe and very well managed, and I knew I wanted to do it. I just, um, didn’t know how much I’d love doing it, and how the pay would go off the scale.”
I carry on, telling them how I have full control over which proposals I accept. About how strict the agency is when vetting both clients and entertainers, and how professional the code of conduct is with everything from sexual health reports to confidentiality.
“They’ve taken really good care of me,” I say. “They made my store job look like an absolute joke in comparison. My boss there was a bitch who criticised me for everything she could. This job is the total opposite. They appreciate everything I do.” I chance a smile. “Hence my bank balance.”
Dad listens without butting in or disputing anything, which is unusual for him. He asks questions along with Mum, and I can see both of their brains whirring, trying to digest things, but there isn’t the panic or the outrage that there was yesterday.
“I’m proud of what I do,” I tell them. “I know it may not be the dream career you had in mind for your daughter, but I am your daughter, and this is me. I’m confident. Happy. Successful.” I pause. “In love with a man who loves me back. Who is successful himself, and not just dragging me around to gigs as a hang on, and relying on me for pasta every night.”