Blake
I slouch my way off the rough-edged wall, pulling my wool jumper away from the red bricks like Velcro. Matilda nudges my leg, applying a warm nuzzled sniff to my jeans. "Did you get the butter?"
Her face and throat blotch with embarrassment. Why she needs to blush when buying butter, I have no idea. Maybe she’s pissed I’ve come to check on her. I’m being insanely overprotective, but I truly could have killed my mam for sending her out like that five minutes after arriving. What a way to roll out the warm Welsh welcome.
"I got both types, your mum didn’t say what she wanted." Sophia proffers the blocks and I take them from her, Matilda’s lead hanging loose in my hand. The lead isn’t really necessary, but still, she can run for miles after a rabbit and I’m not in the mood for a workout of that intensity.
"I didn’t even know there were two types of butter," Sophia begins to babble, her cheeks still flushed. "Fancy being twenty-two and not knowing there’s salted and unsalted butter. I’m pretty useless, right?"
My eyes run over her face, checking her over. "Sure you’re okay, Sophia?" She steps closer and I think she’s going to slide her hand through my arm, but she doesn’t. Do I want her to? Who the hell knows! "I thought we could go for a walk along the beach and then do some yoga if you want." I nudge her with my arm. Anything for some physical contact—I’m pathetic.
"Okay, can I change into some jeans first?"
"Sure."
We head back to the farmhouse, Sophia clutching herself tight around the middle. She must surely be in pain, maybe it’s some after effects of the drugs. I curse. Why didn't I take her to the doctors, get her blood checked? I’ve been negligent because I’ve been too busy kissing her.
I’m a moron. End of.
At the house she slips into her room, Matilda trailing behind her despite me calling her back and offering her treats. I find Mam in the kitchen. "Here’s your butter," I thrust the blocks at her, "did she pass your little test, whatever that was about?"
The Mamster’s iron rule is suffocating at best. Some of us can’t cope with it, while others like Amanda relish in the cotton wool lining Mam provides.
Mam raises her eyebrow. "Glynis rang."
My stomach drops to somewhere around my toes and I groan—Glynis Jones: shopkeeper, one woman neighbourhood watch, and harpy of a gossip.
Mam’s hands reach for my face. "Blake, listen. I just don’t want you to get hurt. We’ve all been through enough. You know how this tale ends—in suffering and heartbreak."
I catch her hand easily, holding her touch away from my skin. "Mam, I’m not going to get hurt. I’m just looking after her." This is no longer true. I crossed that line in the shower when I kissed her. And all the times I’ve allowed us to tangle into one another since. It’s still pure, still contained, but how long I can maintain that for I don’t know.
I need her like I’ve never needed anything before.
"From what, herself?"
Frowning, I shake my head. "No, she’s been getting some vile mail again." I scrub a hand over my stubble. "Someone wants her to pay for the addiction she’s struggling with."
In this day and age wouldn’t social media sabotage be easier? Hacking? I don’t know. I’ve had enough time to think about it, yet I still can’t unravel the clues. Sending threatening mail covered in wank stains and photographs seems so old school. If those pictures were on the net, her career would be dead already. Destroyed in one fell swoop. But they aren’t, they are working their way through snail mail to her doorstep.
Mum’s questioning glance lands on my face, and I drag my thoughts back to the present. "Does she know? Is that why she’s struggling with her sobriety?"
I frown. "She’s clean, Mam. She had one blip, but she’s got it under control. Believe me, I haven’t let her out of my sight in weeks." Apart from those few terrible hours with Jonathan Fairweather when I let her walk away from me angry and dropped my guard.
A furious anger forces my hands into fists.
Mam gives a slow nod. "I know how you like to rescue broken things, Blake, I’ve seen it before."
Stiffening at her words, I push away from the kitchen table. "I don’t want to talk about it, not if you’re going to be all judgemental."
"Sure you don’t. Do you want to talk about Sophia and why you’ve really brought her to our home?"
Mam’s question takes the wind out of my sails. Why have I brought her here? Couldn’t we have gone anywhere, any holiday destination, where she could have hidden out of the public eye and gathered herself together once again.
It’s because I want our lives to be linked.
I know it. My need for her is etched on my soul with a tattooist’s ink.
It’s because I want to believe for one moment that this can work. That a sensational Hollywood actress could be something with someone like me.
Spinning on my heel I storm for the door. Mam’s always over involved with all of us. I’m thirty for goodness sake. I no longer need her to come sort out fights down back alleyways. Not that I ever needed her to anyway, especially as my opponent was usually Shayne.
My feet are already pulling me towards Sophia when she calls me back. "I hope she tells you everything."
I hesitate. "What do you mean?"
Mam gives a little cheer and fills in the remaining crossword space before her dark eyes find mine. "She’s got more to tell you than whatever went down at the local shop."
Mamster, as well as ruling the house like a disciplinarian correctional facility, also favours herself as some Welsh prophet—not that Darren would ever agree.
I scrub my hand through my hair. "I know."
Breathing a sigh, I focus on the mission at hand. The Save Sophia Jennings Mission.
She’s a lot to tell me and it’s time for her to start talking.
"Your mum hates me." Sophia’s leant against the hallway wall, Matilda sat on her feet, not by them, on them.
"She hates everyone, it’s what she does," I offer her a genuine shrug. I’m not even exaggerating for Sophia’s benefit. "She’s like the gestapo of friends. I don’t know how any of us survived childhood with friendships intact."
Sophia tries to move but Matilda doesn’t budge, and I scoot to Sophia’s side pulling Matilda by her collar. "Move, you giant doorstop."
Sophia giggles and it does something to the gloomy atmosphere of the hallway, it brightens like someone’s switched on a lamp. "Where are we walking to?"
I grin. "The beach."
"It’s cold though."
Chuckling, I grab Matilda’s lead and push Sophia for the front door. "Does Amanda not want to come?" she asks, reaching for her woolly hat I’d hung on one of the coat hooks.
Is she mad? Like I’m going to let Amanda trail us anywhere. Last thing I need is my sister wandering after us with her jabber lips going nineteen to the dozen. "She’s doing homework."
Sophia scrunches her face in confusion. "Homework?"
Sophia hasn’t ever lived through a normal day of school, not since she left England when she was just a child. "We can’t all have personal tutors like you, Sophia." I knock her playfully with my arm. "Amanda’s just finishing up her degree so I think she’s working on her dissertation or something."
"Oh." She pauses, fastening her knitted cardigan as high as it will go. I mourn the loss of seeing the pale skin of her throat. Still it’s chilly, I can hardly blame her for zipping up. "Can I?" She holds her hand expectantly for Matilda’s lead.
"Sure. Oh, we need to go get some boots from the garage."
She glances at her feet. "What sort of boots?"
"Wellies, you’ve worn a pair before, haven’t you?"
"Uh, of course I have." She lifts her chin.
I bite down on a smile. "Have you ever worn Wellington boots in the actual mud before?"
She laughs, linking her arm through mine. A protective burst blooms across my chest. "Don’t be ridiculous, Blake."
As we leave, the brush of cold air smacking us in our faces, I glance back at the closed kitchen door. Whatever has gone down at Glynis' shop I’m going to have to find out the hard way.