Chapter Twenty-Three
The rest of that day in the office, I kept replaying Beck's words. And got more and more pissed off with him. I'd done what anyone in my position should have done—if you thought something was suspicious, you reported it.
So, maybe he didn't think it was suspicious behaviour. That didn't mean he had to act that way.
At five o'clock on the dot, I grabbed my coat off the back of my chair, slung my handbag over my shoulder, and shot Jaz a quick wave as I hurried past his desk. The journey home was spent toying with the idea of quitting or not. It was only supposed to have been a one-month contract anyway. I'd be no worse off.
Once home, I curled up on the sofa, laptop on my knee and logged into the agency's website. Maybe I could find another company to work for. That would solve Beck's problem of me being at the office.
And right then, my problem too. Because seeing Beck again at the office was the last thing I wanted.
Scrolling through the current contract listings, I got distracted when my mobile buzzed, vibrating against the coffee table. Beck's name flashed across the screen, and I hesitated before grabbing the phone.
Hey. Still really busy at work but thought maybe we could do something this weekend?
Chewing the inside of my cheek, I read the message again. No, “Sorry for disappearing on you.” No, “Sorry I was an arse at the office.” Nothing. I dropped the phone on the cushion next to me and thought about answering him later. Maybe.
Eventually, I did reply. Told him I wasn't sure of my plans for the weekend but I'd let him know.
I hadn't heard from him since. And it was Friday already. Hadn't seen him in the office either.
My plans for the weekend currently consisted of nothing. And I kind of regretted sending that text. I should have spoken to him and told him I wasn't happy. Instead, my texts were being ignored and I felt frustrated.
Wishing Jaz a happy weekend, I trudged out of the office. Friday night. Alone. The prospect was depressing. The thought of cooking for one even more so.
As I crossed the street, there was a wooden sign pointing passers-by down towards the cobbled courtyard and the restaurant Beck had taken me to. They did takeout meals to reheat at home. That would solve one of my problems for the night.
So I headed down the alley that led to the courtyard, and through the open door of the restaurant. Even though it was only early the place was still busy. Joining the queue at the takeout counter I glanced around the few tables that were occupied.
Then did what would have been a comical double take if the blood hadn't rushed from my head so swiftly that a wave of dizziness had me grabbing hold of the nearest thing I could wrap my hands around. Which happened to be the chair of a diner who looked up at me eyebrows raised in question.
“S-sorry.” I managed to mumble out before staggering towards the door. Leaning against the wall I dragged in a deep breath. Then another.
Busy with work. Well, he'd certainly looked busy. With something. With someone. From the smile plastered across his face, it looked like anything but work.
Didn't help that she was gorgeous. Midnight dark hair in a pixie cut that I could never pull off. A piercing at the top of her ear had glinted when it caught the light. Dark eyes emphasised by black eye liner and the jut of her pointy chin gave her a don't-fuck-with-me vibe when she glanced in my direction.
Then her slender fingers had wrapped around his arm where it rested on the table. Their dark heads bent close together, candlelight casting shadows over their faces. It had looked intimate. And who the hell was she?
Once again, I found myself questioning the trust I had placed in Beck. How many times would I wonder the same thing? But the weekend we'd spent together…
You couldn't fake a connection like that, could you? It had been about more than just great sex. Beck had intimated it was. Or maybe it had only been that way for me.
“Kimberly?”
Lifting my head from where it rested against the wall, I stared straight into Beck's chocolate coloured eyes. They were tight, little lines creasing the edges with some emotion. Guilt? Worry? I wasn't sure.
“Why didn't you come over when you saw me?”
That wasn't what I'd expected him to say, and my mind went blank. I'd expected an excuse, and I dropped my gaze from his. “I…er…didn't want to interrupt.” His hand grazed mine then twisted our fingers together.
“You wouldn't have been. She's a client. It's a business meeting. I would have introduced you if you'd stuck around long enough.”
Flicking my gaze back to his he looked sincere. “Sorry. You seemed busy and I…forgot my wallet at the office.” Oh, a total lie, but I felt stupid. My brain automatically going for the obvious conclusion.
“I'll call you tonight, okay?”
I nodded and he brushed a chaste kiss across my lips before disappearing back into the restaurant. Leaning my head back against the wall, I closed my eyes briefly. With a deep breath, I pushed myself off the wall and headed in the direction of home.
With too much time and nothing to occupy myself with on the train, thoughts kept swirling through my head. How many times had I doubted Beck? Every time there was an innocent explanation. The more I thought about it the more the conclusion that it was my problem seemed like the answer. At some point, I had to trust him. Because if I didn't? What chance did our relationship stand?
The sprawl of the city blurred past me as I stared blindly out of the train window. When had I lost the ability to trust? With a sigh, the answer came easily enough. If my own mum could keep the truth from me…why wouldn't everyone else?
I leaned my forehead against the cold glass of the window, breath fogging up the patch in front of my mouth. In a weird way—if I took myself out of the equation—I could rationalise the reasons my mum might have done it. To stop me from being hurt. Stop me from knowing that maybe my biological dad didn't want me. There could be a million good reasons she never told me the truth. Including that my dad—Vinnie—had, for all intents and purposes, been my dad even if we didn't share DNA. So why rock the boat?
Even understanding all that, I kept circling back to the same point. Regardless, she should have told me, and it hurt that she hadn't.
“Next stop Marsdon. The train is now approaching Marsdon station.”
The announcement drew me out of my own thoughts, and I grabbed my handbag from between my feet. Made my way to the doors.
From the train station, it was only a short stroll along the canal side to home. The murky brown water hiding its own secrets. Someone had abandoned a shopping trolley, the handle still poking out above the surface.
Wound my way through the gap in the trees, the branches bare and lonely-looking. Down the pot-holed dirt back lane towards the four cottages at the end. My parents' house—mine now—was the last of the row. As I passed Jean's cottage I hoped she wasn't curtain twitching, not in the mood for idle chit chat.
I jumped at a blur of movement along the wall. Then let out a shaky laugh as Penny swished her tail at me as she strutted past me on top of the wall.
Letting myself inside the house, the quiet was overwhelming. I closed the door and slowly climbed the stairs. Standing in front of the closed bedroom door I wrapped my fingers around the handle. I hadn't stepped foot inside my parents' room since I'd got back from Malta. Only once before then, after they'd died, and Leo had been there.
Twisting the knob, the door opened a few inches and I took a deep breath. Took a step inside and glanced around. My mum's hair products and make-up were still out on the dressing table where she'd left them. Pyjamas still folded neatly on the pillows. It looked like they could come home at any moment. Like they were still alive. My eyes stung at the thought, and I sank down onto the edge of their bed, stroking my hand across the duvet cover.
But they weren't coming home ever again. And maybe it was time I came to terms with that.
Because no matter why they had kept the truth from me, or what answers I tried to find, it wouldn't change reality—they were never coming back.