CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Chapter Twenty-Two
Jackson
I didn't sleep Thursday night, staring at my phone and willing it to ring or to see a text from Vanessa, but nothing came. Part of me wanted to hire a car and go to her, check everything was okay as scenarios kept flying through my mind that she'd been kidnapped and was in trouble but the rational part of my brain informed me that if that was the case, I'd have heard from Sophie or one of my siblings or even on the news.
Friday was torture and I ended up switching my phone off and putting it at the bottom of my suitcase, needing to stop checking it every thirty seconds as it was clear she didn't want to speak to me. I raged between feeling as if I needed to go and hit a wall and feeling as if someone had stuck a hand into my chest and pulled out my heart, understanding for the first time in my life where songwriters got their inspiration from. On the train back to London, I went through my camera roll on my phone, gazing hopelessly at the photos of Vanessa and of the pair of us. There was one in particular that Ava had taken, when we were sitting at the table at Dad and Marie's discussing how much make-up Van insisted on having and how it had taken up most of the work surfaces in our bedroom. At that moment there had been no one else in the room, even though all of my family bar Callum had been there. We had been looking into each other's eyes, her hand on my knee and I probably had a semi at that point because that was all it took, and one of my hands in her hair, curling it around my fingers. We looked like we were in love and that was less than a week ago. I set the picture as the home screen on my phone, clearly wanting to torture myself and I replay every time I've been within my head, own personal, twisted Netflix.
I avoided my siblings for the whole of the weekend, trying to get my head around why Vanessa had ended it. Ended us. Perhaps ended me. I found it hard to figure out the words to describe how I felt so I locked myself away and read through legal journals, looked at case reviews and generally buried myself in work and weights at the gym. I didn't want to talk to anyone, unless it was Vanessa. I didn't want to see anyone, unless it was her.
Why? What was it that I'd done that had caused her to send me that one message and then refuse to communicate? I had gone through every conversation, thought about things from my past that she might've uncovered, searched on Google to check that what I liked in bed wasn't that weird and then I'd buried myself in the covers that still smelled of her and stared at her make-up on the chest of drawers that she'd decreed as being hers.
I didn't try to call her again and I didn't text. I stalked her on social media but there were no updates, no likes from her on anyone's posts. If I knew what I'd done I could put it right, but I was clueless.
My doorbell rang at seven-thirty on Sunday evening, just as I was about to read through an old dissertation on some obscure aspect of litigation that no one had thought about for at least thirty years. I shot out of my chair and practically fell down the stairs, hoping it would be Vanessa.
"Fuck, what do you want?"
It was Claire.
"To speak to my brother and find out what the hell's happened." She barged past me and walked upstairs, straight to the cabinet where I kept a decent stash of wine.
"I don't want to talk to you."
"Tough shit." She pulled out a glass and decanted nearly half the bottle. "Talk."
I sat down. There were worse people to have this conversation with and given I'd come up with absolutely nada about what had happened, Claire was perhaps the best person. And she was friends with Vanessa, so she might have insider info. "Vanessa's finished it."
"I know."
I stood up and refrained from murdering her, something I'd become efficient at through the years. "How. The. Fuck. Do. You. Know? Is she okay? What did I do? Is she back with Richard? For fuck's sake, Claire, talk to me."
"I will do when you stop pacing and when you're ready to listen."
I froze, bone still and stared at her.
"Now you're scaring me."
"Sorry." I sat down and rubbed my forehead with both hands.
"I haven't heard from Vanessa but Sophie messaged me on Facebook yesterday. I met her for a coffee this afternoon. I wasn't surprised you hadn't been in touch," Claire said, her words calm and specific.
"Is Vanessa okay?"
"Define okay? She's not hurt, physically, but she's gotten herself into a mess and I think you're going to need to give her some space."
"What did I do? I feel fucking horrific, Claire. I don't know what I did. I'm clearly shit at this relationship stuff. She's probably better off without me," I said, aware that I was starting to sound desperate.
Claire sat down next to me and tried to put her arm around my shoulders. "Okay. Who did you speak to last week and you recommended Vanessa's firm to them?"
"Two or three people. I showed the adverts to a couple of clients. It's what we usually do with businesses we like..." and then it dawned. "Roger Davies."
Claire nodded. "I think you hit a nerve."
I sat back and felt anger creep over me, clenching my fists. "All I was fucking trying to do was back up his decision to go with Van's firm, and I mentioned she was my girlfriend. He had asked if I was 'courting', as he put it. I'm not trying to undermine what she does – I would've recommended them anyway and, fuck. This is what Richard did, but he was trying to get the glory for himself. She's misunderstood."
Claire nodded. "Sophie thinks she's scared. She's been so set on making her own way and proving that she can do it that she won't accept any help or anything that looks like pity in the form of help. You haven't done anything wrong, Jackson, except maybe not mention it to her what you'd said to Roger."
I wanted to both throttle Vanessa and hold her. "What do I do?"
"Give her a few more days and then get back in touch with her. Text her. Send her flowers. Don't bombard her with communication though. If she's not worth waiting for while she sorts her head out then you need to let her go and move on," Claire said, rubbing my forearm.
"You think there's a chance she'll have me back?"
Claire glared at me, the look she usually reserved for Killian. "I think it should be. Does she have a chance of having you back?"
I looked at my hands and laughed. "I think I've made my mind up."
"I think she needs time. You know how dysfunctional her relationship with Richard was. And I think she feels like a fish out of water sometimes, given her background. I can see her point of view, Jacks. Is she going to be worth it?"
Yes. Every time.
I avoided people on Monday, including my brothers. As well as managing the practice, I still had a moderately sized caseload, one of which was about to go to court and required documents to be submitted. I put a note on my door to not be disturbed and buried myself in papers.
Two days.
I was giving her two more days. And then I would start to teach her that I wasn't like she thought my sort could be.