There’s a herd of elephants running wild in my head. I’m totally against poaching—but truth, if I had a rifle I’d probably be willing to take off my own head just to shut them up.

I clang a mug out of the cupboard and then bash a spoon against the china as I stir in some instant coffee. Three teaspoons make their way into the mug and about half a pint of milk. It’s either going to cure me or make me sick.

I’m having trouble gluing parts of last night together.

First there was Angela. Then there was Elijah. Followed by sore feet and then Elijah again.

I can’t believe it was real. What did he mean he isn’t getting married? I remember it... he stood there on that stage at Bowsley and waved at everyone, his big gorgeous smile telling everyone how happy he was to be uniting himself with that skinny stick insect.

I remember it like it was yesterday. I remember the way it felt when I packed my bag and discovered Al had gone.

That shattered ache is still in my chest, still stinging and digging in deep. Automatically, my eyes rise to my reflection in the steel fittings of my small kitchen and drop to the sight of Dan’s ink still fresh on my skin.

I mustn’t lose sight of that sharp shard of glass digging into my soul. The last break of trust.

I pull the shattered pieces into my heart and hold them tight even if they make me bleed.

No, Elijah Fairclough made his choice. He played a game with my heart and it’s the only choice he will ever get with me.

There is no second chance for him to change his mind.

I stare at the ink one more time before a spurt of stomach acid makes its way from my knotted stomach up my throat and I run to the bathroom gagging into my hand the whole way. I make it just as sick hits my palm and I lean into the toilet.

Damn Elijah Fairclough.

I was doing perfectly well without him.

“You okay in there?” A gentle rap knocks against the door.

“Yes.”

Gah, I’m not alright. I need to go and sleep for a million years, but then I also need to talk to Angela. I can barely remember a single thing from my meeting with her last night. There are two clear phases of the evening. Pre-Elijah in the navy suit. Then after.

With a tug on the door handle I walk caveman style back to the lounge and flop on the sofa. Dying a white wine death would be so much easier if I was in my own bed and not camping out on the sofa. The covers of the sofa smell musty and my stomach rolls.

Tabitha tiptoes in—she’s actually on her tiptoes—so why is it thudding so loud?

“Feeling pretty rotten, hey?”

I try to move an eyebrow but the loud banging inside my temple has my face frozen like I’ve fallen into a vat of Botox.

“Yep.”

She perches near me. She’s breathing at a thousand decibels. “Do you want to talk now? I mean, about Elijah? You spoke to him last night, right? You know he was just trying to help you?”

I hold my hand up. Someone please excavate my brain.

“Tabs, nothing has changed. He can’t just rock up here and tell me that everything wasn’t what I thought.” Fuck my head. I’m going to puke again. It’s building and growing, ready to rupture like a volcano of spew. Somehow, I manage to force my focus onto her face. “I don’t give second chances.”

Her head shakes from side to side and trying to hold my focus on her makes me seasick. “That’s crap and you know it. Why do you have all these stupid rules? What’s the point of them?”

“That way I don’t get hurt.” I glare. Okay, I don’t glare—but inside I totally am.

“And you aren’t hurting now?” Her pretty little face is flushed. I’m a bad person for arguing with her when she’s going through so much—but then it’s not my fault her brother is I’m-a-twat-Elijah.

“Go away, Tabs.” It’s like tossing a kitten out with the trash, but I truthfully can’t be dealing with this right now. My head won’t allow me.

She gets up without a word and walks away and I fling my arm across my face and try very hard not to think about anything at all.

When I next come around, I wait a moment to check my head hasn’t been hacked off and maybe that’s why it doesn’t hurt so much. I sit up slowly. It’s better. Phew. Someone remind me to never drink wine again. Unfortunately, the sleep has brought back some startlingly clear memories that earlier were blissfully blurry. Elijah following me in his car... trying to give me his ring back...was he off his head on drugs? It’s the only conclusion I can come to.

I remember how I was with Tabitha earlier. I wince a bit as I recall how cruddy I acted towards her this morning—although admittedly I was puking at the time, so I think I can be excused.

I groan when my phone vibrates, the ringtone loud enough for a hard of hearing person to know I’m getting a call.

“Hi.” I try to sound upbeat but it’s not easy. I’m at the point of flatlining on a monitor.

“How was your meeting?” Abi is sprightly, if sounding puffed. I glance at the clock on the wall. Holy crap it’s two in the afternoon. I’ve wasted an entire day.

“Hard to say.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well it was all good for about three minutes until the financial backer turned up.”

“What’s wrong with that? I guess all TV shows need backing, don’t they? Or advertising? Something to make them viable.”

I grimace, not that she can see me. Who made her so bloody sensible. “Yeah.”

“What?” She’s almost panting.

“Seriously Abs, what are you doing?”

“I’m on the treadmill.”

“Okay. So when did this start; you’ve never exercised in your life.”

She tuts and huffs at the same time. “We can’t all be skinny like you. I’ve had two kids.”

“Yeah and you’re gorgeous for it. I can’t imagine ever having a child and being able to fit it inside me.”

“Believe me, they stretch their way in. Anyway, don’t change the subject. What was wrong with the backer, or the money—whatever it is that’s got your back up?”

“Am I that obvious?”

“Yes, and you know it.”

“It was Elijah.” Gah, even saying his name hurts.

There’s a long stretch of silence. “So the man who three weeks ago broke your heart because he was marrying someone else, is going to back your TV show?” I can almost hear the cogs turning her brain. “That doesn’t sound right to me.”

She’s puffing a bit, so I give her a chance to catch her breath while I go and seek out my cigarettes—I’ve no idea where they are and search and rummage until I finally locate them in the clutch I’d forgotten I had with me when I went for my meeting last night.

“Have you got yourself together yet?” I ask after I’ve sparked up.

“Yeah, so let me get this straight. You went to a meeting and he was there?”

“Yes...”

“Then what?”

I scrub at my face. My skin feels like it should belong to a ninety-year-old woman and I’ve no memory of taking my make up off. Although saying that, I don’t have much memory of putting any on.

“Then we had words, he stomped off, and then I got hideously drunk.”

“Whoa, back up.” I wince. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sneak anything past her. “What do you mean you had words? I’m assuming you mean because he stuffed you over and is marrying someone else after promising you unicorns and rainbows.”

I have to snort at her words. That’s exactly what he did. “Well, he seemed like he was upset with me.” I strain through my misty memory, sifting through what actually happened and what the wine has put there.

“How fucking rude. I’m going to punch him the next time I see him.”

Laughing, I shake my head and drag on my smoke. “You won’t need to worry about that. You won’t be seeing him again.”

“Good. I hope you punched him.”

“Mm-mm.”

“What aren’t you telling me? You didn’t screw him, did you, Faith? Come on.”

“No! Give me some credit. I got really drunk and then when I got home...” I decide if I say the words as quick as I can, I won’t need to try to decipher what they mean. “I found out he’s not engaged at all.”

“Say what?” Some banging comes from the other side of the phone.

“What are you doing?”

A confused pause meets my question and then Abi says, “Oh, I was jumping up and down. I knew it, Faith, I just knew it!”

“Knew what?” I lean back on my sofa and pinch my fingers over the bridge of my nose.

“That he loves you. That this all must have been some awful mistake, a misunderstanding.”

I shake my head. “At what point did you say that?”

There’s a beat of a pause. “I said it in my head.”

“You speak total bollocks.” I light another cigarette; this conversation warrants two, and my stomach is gurgling as I haven’t eaten a damn thing all day.

“So what happened?”

I stare at the ceiling for a long moment. “Then I walked about London, he found me, and then we sat in the street.”

“None of that makes sense.” She sighs. “So what did he say?”

“That he loves me.”

I can remember that—why-oh-why do I remember that, but large chunks of the rest of the evening are missing, if not killed-in-action?

She sighs and it’s a little too whimsical for my liking. “What are you going to do?”

I stub out my smoke, grinding it into my ashtray. I’ll need to air the place before Tabitha comes back. “Nothing. I’m going to do nothing. It’s over.”

“Another one of your rules.”

“Don’t start, Abi. This is the exact reason why I have rules in the first place.”

“He broke the last one.”

“Yeah, well, I won’t give him a chance to even try this time. If he wants to bank roll a TV show, then that’s just bloody fine. But that’s it. I want nothing to do with the Faircloughs. Not now and not ever.”

“Okay, Faith.” She sounds sincere, but that means nothing. Abi always agrees with me no matter what. “Listen, Dan was here yesterday, drunk.” My stomach drops.

“He’s going to take it hard, Abs.”

“Yeaaah, I don’t know. It seemed like there was something else eating him. He told us that Aiden came past the shop and was giving you attitude.”

A tight band wiggles its way around my chest. “Yeah, don’t worry about it.”

“Well I do. I don’t want that asshole coming anywhere near my girl. Shall I stab him to death for you? I could be discreet.”

“Abi.” I laugh. “You are ridiculous. Listen, he can’t hurt me anymore and I’m fine with that.”

There’s another brief lapse of silence. “You make me proud.”

I chuckle. “Don’t get all sentimental on me. Listen, I’ll come back next weekend to check on Dan.”

“Don’t tell him I told you he was day drunk.”

My heart plummets. “I won’t.”

“How’s Tabitha?”

“Loud.”

“She’s going to need you, Faith.”

I nod, even though Abi can’t see me. “I know. Listen I’ve got to go, I look minging and smell even worse.”

“Delightful.”

We end the call and I grin for a moment as I sit there and come down from the chatting high that a phone call from Abi always creates. I’ve been known not to talk to anyone for a week if I’ve been working on a project, and then one half-hour call with Abi gives me all the verbal exercise I’ve missed out on.

I stare at my blank phone screen while I think of all the things I’ve got to do.

I can’t imagine spending a week locked up in a studio designing anything. I haven’t mentioned it to anyone, especially not Angela last night, but inside my head there is a giant pile of nothing very useful. No ideas. No thoughts. There’s just a whole lot of random emptiness. I know who put that emptiness there and it makes me hate him even more.

I’ve got things I need to deal with. I’ve got to find a desire for art again, and I’ve got to work out what I’m going to do with Tabitha, because truth is, I don’t really know, but she’s got a big brother who can help as well. Actually, she’s got two brothers and a family who can afford everything she needs.

It’s time for her to stop running and go home.

Says the girl who always runs.