Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 143633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 718(@200wpm)___ 575(@250wpm)___ 479(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 143633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 718(@200wpm)___ 575(@250wpm)___ 479(@300wpm)
“Well, did you like Tom?”
I grinned my head off. “I loved him. He’s great. Really, really great. He’s even made Mum a chicken pie for dinner.”
“Excellent. I can’t wait to meet him myself.”
“Maybe later, when they’re done? I could drop Mum a message?”
His piercing eyes met mine.
“I’d love to meet your prospective stepfather, yes. He’s welcome over whenever you’d like, as is your mother.”
“Steady on!” I said, realised I’d used Julian’s favourite words and then giggled and covered my mouth – just like I always did. “I don’t think we should be buying new hats just yet. A chicken pie isn’t engagement fuel.”
“Steady on indeed,” he said, “But it’s got nothing to do with chicken pie. It’s to do with you. With the faith shining through you, having seen him with your mother for yourself. I know you wouldn’t give that easily, sweetheart. You’ve had a lot of experience to judge it by.” He waved a finger at me. “Don’t even think of saying thanks for that compliment.”
I poked my tongue out. “Thanks anyway. I’ll never stop saying thanks and you know it.”
“Just as you’ll never stop pushing your glasses up your nose, no matter how fitted the frames get. It’s a tiny one of the many, many things I love about you.”
I dropped my bag on the sofa, took out my phone to type out a message to Mum, then cast my phone onto the coffee table before I dared to ask Julian the question. After his early hours admission a few nights ago, I couldn’t not…
“Have you heard anything?”
He carried on through to the kitchen, not meeting my eyes. Hurting. Scared. Heart on trial.
“No. Not yet.”
“It’s still early days, remember?”
“The postal service is very quick, Rosie, and you know it. I’m not feeling all that optimistic, but at least I can say I tried. And maybe I’ll try again one day, who knows?”
I did. And I’d be behind him every step of the way – helping him build bridges with the people he loved, just as he had with me. Feeling the pure relief of having my mum back in my life had only reinforced how much Julian must be desperate for his children, and his brother, and even some of his old friends. Damn, even Katreya, to an extent. After all, he had been ready to lose his life over losing them, and he would have done if I hadn’t knocked on his door that night.
“You could drive over there, to Oxford,” I said, but he shook his head.
“Not if it would hurt them. It could burn bridges even further, and rightly so. Screams and hurt on top of hurt is the last thing any of them need.”
“But what about you? What do you need?”
“You,” he said simply, still trying to brave it through his pain.
The risotto was ready to prepare, ingredients laid out in the kitchen. Julian started frying it up and I put the kettle on, wrapping my arms around his waist from behind.
“It’ll be ok, you know. One day. They won’t be able to live without you for ever.”
“I admire your faith in me. I’m certain, however, that they’ve lost theirs.”
He’d told me roughly what he’d put in the letters to them, and how he really had opened his heart and offered it on a platter. If only they’d take it. If only even one of them would so much as look at the olive branch he was waving and see him for the beautiful soul he was, despite his flaws.
I watched him cooking, and he turned the conversation back to Tom, keeping it there until our dinner was ready.
“Here’s to us,” Julian said at the dining table with our risotto, holding up his juice glass in a toast. “And to your mother. To Beverly and Tom.”
He laughed out loud as our clink of glasses was met with a knock at the door, and I realised my phone was still on the coffee table. I hadn’t seen Mum’s reply. Duh.
Oh my God, here it was… Tom and Mum meeting Julian together. All four of us. It felt like a major event, not just some people hanging out together.
“They can have some risotto if they’re still hungry,” Julian said as he crossed the living room to answer, but I doubted that would be the case. I was sure they’d be stuffed from Mum’s favourite meal.
“Hey!” I called out as I heard the door open. “Sorry! I missed your messages!”
But there was no answer. Not so much as a sound. Nothing.
“Is that you, Mum?” I called out. “Julian? Is that Mum?”
Nothing. Only silence. And there was something in the air. Something tense and ominous, and enough to make my heart race. I was up from my seat, risotto forgotten as I dashed across the living room to find out what was going on, and standing there, in the open doorway was a man I’d never seen before, but clearly recognised.