Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 126154 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 631(@200wpm)___ 505(@250wpm)___ 421(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126154 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 631(@200wpm)___ 505(@250wpm)___ 421(@300wpm)
In half an hour I’ll be snuggling up with Joe on the sofa playing choo-choo trains as Dean puts the kettle on.
The glow of headlights behind me makes a long shadow of my silhouette, and then they swing away onto a driveway. And I know. I just know.
I stop.
Wait.
I dare to glance back over my shoulder in time to see Mr Henley step out of his Mercedes.
I’m too far away to see him clearly, but I want so desperately to watch him make his way inside.
I take a couple of small steps back towards his house, close enough that I see he swings the door open quickly, with an urgency that hitches my breath.
This is risky. Too risky.
I’ve resumed walking when I hear the thump of his front door for a second time.
The hairs on my arms stand up, my throat tight and scratchy as I pick up my pace.
Please don’t see me like this, please don’t.
I stop dead as I hear him call after me.
Alexander
She’s not here, but the alarm is still running through its activation cycle, so she’s close. Really fucking close.
I just want to see her.
I want to look her in the eye and thank her for her gifts.
I want to tell her she’s doing a great job.
I want to ask what her name is.
I want to ask her her life story.
I want to know her.
The door slams behind me as I dash back into the street, and I know I’m acting like a crazy. I know I’m out of my fucking mind.
And there she is, a tiny figure in stripy green walking away towards the underground.
“Hey!” I shout, and I feel like such a fool. “Miss Moll…” Fuck. That’s not her fucking name.
Fuck.
What the fuck do I fucking shout?
She stops.
And I’m scrabbling for words, pacing towards her without a fucking care for how deranged I look.
What the fuck do I say?
Hey, Miss fucking cleaner? Hey, MM. Come and say hi to your idiot fucking boss.
I’m trying to find the right fucking words, trying to get this crazy fucking impulse under control and not appear like an absolute fucking crazy when she keeps on walking.
She hears me and she keeps on walking.
It fucking floors me.
I stare in horror as some poor freaked-out little employee makes a dash for it, and I know I’m way out of line.
So out of line I can’t do anything other than stumble back to my front door.
Jesus Christ.
My head spins.
I’m a head case, a fucking lunatic.
My fingers fumble with the door handle and I barge back through to safety on the other side.
I head straight through to the kitchen to splash myself with cold water, and that’s when I see the bottle of wine still on the island.
I tear into the note.
Dear Mr Henley,
You are too generous.
Thank you, but please enjoy the bottle yourself.
MM.
I laugh a bitter laugh.
Of course.
She doesn’t want the wine.
She doesn’t want to fucking know me.
She’s just a woman doing her job, and I’m a fucking imbecile.
An imbecile who’s too much of a fucking addict to think straight. This cold turkey is sending me fucking nuts.
It has to stop. Right fucking now.
I fire off an email to the New Start volunteers, telling them poor Ted can’t be there tonight.
And then I call up Claude’s messages.
It’s time to put a stop to this craziness.
Chapter Eighteen
Melissa
Walking away from him breaks my heart.
I feel it shatter into pieces, my belly churning as I rush down to the underground and away from there.
I want nothing more than to change my mind, turn on my heel and batter his front door down, apologise for my rudeness and beg his forgiveness.
But I can’t.
Because in a couple of hours’ time he’ll be seeing my naked body on a screen somewhere, if he hasn’t seen it already.
I’m all in, committed to staying the course, committed to whoever wins this auction tonight.
Please God, let it be him who buys me.
Please God, let him show mercy on his rude cleaner and let her keep her job.
My cuddles with Joseph soothe my heart enough to breathe through the panic.
Dean makes me a coffee and joins us on the living room floor, resting his head on my shoulder without words, knowing just as well as I do that my fate is about to be decided somewhere across the city.
I’m glad he’s my best friend, my constant in this craziness.
We put Joseph to bed together after dinner, and I slump down exhausted on the sofa, beyond hope that my mastermind plan is going to work out well. I snuggle up to Dean and he puts his arm around my shoulders. There’s a difference in him, an acceptance. I guess he’s as exhausted as I am.
And that’s when he says it, just a whisper in the darkness.
“I get it,” he says. “I get why you’re doing it. You’ve been through so much, lost so much.”