‘Stop it, Will!’ Her eyes flashed. ‘I get that you’re hurting, I do, but please listen. He made mistakes but he cared about you. It’s all in the letter he wrote me—it’s why he wanted me on this project with you. He asked me to help you, be your friend...’
His lungs emptied.
No... It couldn’t be true. Everything they’d shared had felt spontaneous. Real! He felt his teeth clenching, grinding. But it wasn’t. Yet again, this wasn’t about him. It was about Dad. Pleasing Dad! Being his friend for Dad. Doing it all for Dad. All...
He felt his eyes looking at their tumbled sheets, a hot wave rising inside, rising and rising. From the bottom of his trashed heart he did not want to hurt her, but why should he be the only one hurting when there was so much hurt to go round?
He sprang from the bed. ‘And did he ask you to sleep with me as well?’
Her face paled. ‘How dare you?’ And then her mouth was tightening, her eyes blazing white-hot fury into his. ‘Get out, Will!’ Rising up onto her knees, as if making herself taller would make her louder, more emphatic. ‘Get out! Now!’
His heart caught, but only for a beat, and then the bile was back, hurtling through his veins. ‘Oh, don’t worry yourself, Quinn.’ He snatched up his clothes, heading for the door. ‘I’m already gone!’
She felt the words ringing in her ears, stinging, reverberating, her throat thickening, hot tears sliding out, tickling her cheeks.
Will...
How could he have said such a thing, even thought that Anthony, that she...?
She felt a shudder taking hold and sank down, pulling the sheets up around herself.
He couldn’t think it, believe it.
No! She drilled her fingertips into her temples. No, no, no.
He was only venting, striking out like a wounded animal because she’d spoken up for Anthony, trying to defend him, intercede. Lashing out because of all the pain inside, hurt he’d hidden behind a façade—drinking...gambling...casual encounters which didn’t require trust. Hurt he’d kept bottled when he should have let it out to those who should have listened, who should have been strong enough, brave enough, to take it, instead of copping out—Judy, Anthony!
Her throat constricted around a sob. And unwittingly she’d made it so much worse. All those years of coming in, only to find her and Anthony together, finding them laughing maybe. She felt her chest heaving, another sob rising. Oh, she could see it all now through Will’s eyes. Her hand on Anthony’s arm. Her arm linked through Anthony’s when they were walking to the pub. Sitting by him on the sofa, getting him to watch the kind of movies she used to watch with Dad. Popcorn! Trying to make Anthony into Dad, trying to coax him into being what he wasn’t, what he’d never been, and all because she’d needed a parent, needed it so badly that she couldn’t see what she was doing to Will, dislodging him from the spot he’d fought so hard for. Bad enough trying to fill Pete’s shoes without having to battle her as well. No wonder he’d left all the time. No wonder he’d resented her.
No wonder! Her heart clenched. Stupid, Quinn!
Blind to the last, to the very end. Even while the red flags were going up—that tightness along his jaw, that cool edge sharpening in his gaze—she’d just kept on talking, hadn’t she? Banging Anthony’s blasted drum in his face, hellbent on trying to help, but all she’d done was push him over the edge and now he was gone.
She felt fresh tears scalding. Love light in his eyes just hours ago, making love to her right here, taking his tender time with her, pouring himself into her until she was helpless, out of her mind with pleasure and love... Rare... Precious... Real! Her heart reared up. Not something to let slip through her fingers, not when it had taken her this long to find it. She might have given Will his marching orders but she loved him, heart and soul, and she wasn’t letting him go. This wasn’t the end!
Phone!
She’d call him, apologise, beg him to come back, and then they’d talk, sort all this out.
She scrambled off the bed and ran into the other room, but before she even got to her phone the pressing silence declared everything she didn’t want to know. Dead battery. Killed off by Miles Davis. And of course her charger was at her rental apartment. And Filipe had asked her to text. She felt a flick of panic. What time was it? If Filipe was trying to check in and couldn’t get through, he might come back, might be coming up the stairs right now!
She looked down at her naked body and dived for her clothes, dragging them on quickly. The room! She ran back in, straightening and plumping, hauling the massive silk bedspread into place. Filipe had remarked on it just that morning, so she couldn’t leave it anything less than pristine. Then it was the bottle and the glasses, napkins, wiping and tidying. Ridiculous to be chambermaiding when what she needed to be doing was hightailing it after Will.
The Metropole. He always stayed there. He was bound to be there.
Please, God, let him be there!
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
HE PUSHED THE great door shut and dropped his bag.
Silence.
But of course. Because Marion wasn’t expecting him back today and Dad was—
He pulled in a breath. Just as well. He was in no fit state for company. What he wanted was a drink.
In the office he poured a Scotch, knocking it back as he went to the desk. He was so tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of reacting, of revolving inside these same old doors. He sank into his chair, forcing his gaze through the leaded panes to the giant beeches at the outer reaches of the garden.
Oh, Quinn...
She was right to have sent him packing. He’d been cruel, out of order. But only because of this festering sore inside that he needed to lance and drain. The boil of Dad. His heart pinched. And yes, the boil of Pete too. How it hurt, turned him inside out to admit it, but he had to face it. He’d loved Pete to his bones, but after he died he’d resented him too, for shining so brightly, for leaving Mum bereft, Dad, all of them, aching and angry. To have that much hold, so that functioning without it was impossible, wasn’t healthy. No one should have that much power!
He rubbed his hands over his face. But power only gripped if you let it and he couldn’t, not any more. Fighting with Quinn had shattered more than his heart. It had snapped his strings, floated him free. Oh, he’d been seething, yes, bruised and broken all the way to Rossio Square, but then he’d remembered her stricken face, her eyes wide with shock and disbelief and hurt, and remorse had cracked him open.
He’d turned back, calling her over and over, getting voicemail over and over because she was blocking him, shutting him out. And then, standing outside, surveying the burnt-out shell of himself, he’d realised he would be no good to her anyway, no good to himself, until he’d dealt with the demons inside, forced himself over one last hurdle.
He put his hand to the drawer and pulled it open, taking out the envelope Edward had slid over the desk to him an eternity ago...
Dearest Will,
Already I imagine you curling your lip at my salutation, but whatever you think you are dear to me, dearer than you could ever imagine. My admiration for you knows no bounds.
You are strong, Will. And sensitive. A powerful combination. You succeeded where I failed, conquered your natural reticence and shyness to reach out to me, but I couldn’t conquer my demons in turn and be the father you needed, deserved. I go to my grave knowing that I have failed you as utterly as I failed your brother. Yes! Failed him too, beyond redemption. I should have leaned on you, Will, confided in you, but something inside me wouldn’t allow it. So now I must write out my guilt, burdening you further, for which I am deeply sorry.
Pete was killed because of me. Because I refused to drive him to rugby practice. Mum was out that day, if you remember. It was raining. Pete came into the office, asking if I could take him. Three miles. Only three miles, but I said no, because I was busy. I told him to take his bike. He was good about it, the way he always was.
‘Okay, Dad. It’s fine.’
