You’d be surprised what people will believe
‘Camilla, you get out of there this instant.’
Millie pressed her head against the cool wall of the cubicle and tried to block out her mother’s voice. The very little she had managed to eat that day had made a dramatic reappearance a moment ago, and she was still shaking from the effort of all the retching. She concentrated on slowing her breathing and employing her cognitive behavioural therapy techniques.
‘Stop,’ she whispered into the small space. Thought-stopping was something that was normally fairly effective when she was with Anwar or alone in her house and able to shout it out loud without fear of being overheard. The idea was that when you went into a negative thought spiral that was out of your control, actually vocalising a command for it to stop would work. In the past she’d pinched her forearm at the same time to help, and more recently flicked the elastic band on her wrist; but she’d had to forgo that tonight with her outfit. So just whispering ‘stop’ whilst you were on your knees of a posh toilet cubicle with your hostile mother only feet away was not the best circumstance for maximal efficacy.
‘I told you what the consequences would be if you were stubborn about this,’ Valerie hissed.
‘You …’ Millie’s voice was unsteady and she hated that show of weakness; she took a deep breath in through her mouth and let it out through her nose. ‘You said one night. One. Not a whole campaign.’
She forced herself to her feet and pushed open the door. Valerie moved back to let her through, her face flushed red with anger.
‘We don’t ask much of you, young lady,’ she said, her voice trembling with rage. Millie moved to the sink and turned on the tap before bracing both hands either side of it and letting her head drop down for a moment. The hotel they were in was fairly lavish and the bathrooms were huge: there was an actual sofa in one corner. She absently noticed that one of the cubicles was occupied – a pair of stilettos were visible under the stall door. ‘We let you do your own thing, go your own way, demanding nothing. But if you refuse to stand by your father’s side in this, you will regret it.’
Millie held one of her hands under the cool water and then brought it up to the back of her neck before splashing her cheeks and rinsing her mouth out. She would deal with her mother in a moment. In the background she heard the main door to the ladies open; her mother was too far-gone in her rant to notice.
‘I’ll have your precious grandmother out of that home and living with your father and me before you can say “dementia”.’
‘You’d have to prove that that was in her best interests,’ Millie said, hating her weakness and the fact her voice was still shaking.
Valerie scoffed. ‘You know these homes, darling,’ she said. ‘All sorts of abuse scandals going on. I’m sure nobody would bat an eyelid if I was to decide it was safer to keep my precious mother-in-law with me full time.’
Millie closed her eyes and leaned heavily against the sink. ‘She’s happy there, Mother. You can’t –’
‘Try me, you little bitch,’ spat Valerie, her eyes flashing with fury as she gripped Millie’s shoulder, giving her a shake. ‘You just try me.’
One second she had a bruising grip on Millie’s shoulder, the next Valerie was propelled across the plush cloakroom into one of the overstuffed chaise longues.
‘I warned you,’ Pav growled, ‘not to put your hands on her.’
Millie stared at over six feet of furious Greek male and her mouth dropped open. He looked so completely out of place in the overdone ladies toilets it would have been funny had Millie not been dealing with a panic attack induced by the Mother from Hell.
‘How dare you,’ Valerie said, pushing herself up unsteadily from the chaise longue and then dusting her dress off with sufficient drama.
‘Come on, Millie,’ Pav murmured as he took her hand where she was gripping the sink and gently prised her fingers away from the porcelain. ‘Time to go home now, sweetheart.’
‘Camilla,’ Valerie said in a low, dangerous voice, the sound of which would make Millie cower with fear as a little girl. ‘You leave now and –’
‘Just what brand of evil bitch threatens her daughter with her grandmother’s well being?’ Pav interrupted, his tone almost conversational. ‘I’m guessing that if the press were to get hold of that little nugget of information, Daddy Dearest wouldn’t be seen in nearly the same positive light.’
‘Nobody would ever believe that –’
‘You’d be surprised what people will believe,’ Pav told her; then his tone darkened and his eyes narrowed. ‘Come near her again, contact her again, and you might just find out.’ With that he pulled Millie to him, tucked her under his arm and walked them both out of the loos and straight to the exit.
*****
Rachel Mulholland stepped out from behind the cubicle door as she heard the clicking of Valerie Morrison’s heels retreat over the marble and out of the large, ridiculously decadent bathroom. Gossip had always gravitated naturally Rachel’s way. It wasn’t just that she was an observant person, or that she was skilled in the art of active listening; it was almost as if she attracted the information: it was a gift. So her choice of career made sense. In truth journalism had seemed to choose her. But even by Rachel’s standards, the last fifteen minutes had been beyond lucky.
She looked down at her phone and suppressed a small smile. The image of Valerie Morrison gripping her tearful daughter’s elbow, her face twisted in an ugly scowl, was journalism gold. Dirt on David Morrison was not easy to come by. A hard-working philanthropist with a perfect family – his character was very difficult to smear. Rachel herself had always thought there was something off about the guy: his eyes seemed … cold, and his policies as Secretary of State for Energy and Climate Change were pretty despicable. He was about the only climate change sceptic out there and a real barrier to the cold fusion energy revolution. Yes, it was safe to say Rachel despised David Morrison. That was why this story could wait. She would wait and watch. When the time was right and with all the information, she would take that fascist bastard down, permanently.
*****
When Mille and Pav made it outside Michael was waiting for them. He didn’t seem to blink an eye that they were without her parents, and proceeded to usher them into the back seat.
Once settled and on the road Millie looked across at Pav and her heart sank. His jaw was so tense that there was a muscle ticking in his cheek and he was taking sharp, angry breaths through his nose. The atmosphere in the car felt thick and Millie’s hand snuck up under her coat to her forearm as if acting of its own accord.
‘Um …’ she started; her voice came out as a croak so she cleared her throat. ‘I …’
‘Why didn’t you tell me about them, Millie?’ Pav asked in a tightly controlled voice. For once it was him not affording her the eye contact, and she felt the ball of worry in her stomach rise up to her throat.
How could she explain to him, with his loving, warm, messy but beautiful family, how her parents treated her? In truth she was ashamed of the non-relationship she had with the two people who were supposed to love her more than anyone else in the world. Anwar told her it was their fault that they were unable to give her unconditional love; that it was their shortcoming. But still, after all this time and even knowing it wasn’t rational, Millie still had the underlying worry that she just wasn’t good enough. How could she explain to this man, brimming with self-confidence and self-belief, that she’d been scared of him knowing the truth about her parents, scared that he might start to wonder what he saw that was so special in her; that he would start to see what her parents saw… somebody hopelessly weak.
‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered, looking away from his angry expression and out of the window instead.
‘Hey,’ his voice was softer now, ‘I know you’re stressed, but don’t do that, okay?’
His body shifted closer to hers across the back seat and his warm hands settled on her cold ones, separating them, then pushing her sleeve up to see the red mark she had left. He brought her wrist up to his mouth and gave it a soft kiss.
‘And don’t say sorry. You don’t have to apologise. I just … ’, he caught her chin and brought her face closer so that his eyes were burning down into hers, ‘I just want you to trust me. Can you give me that?’
‘I …’ Millie took a deep breath. If this thing with Pav was ever going to work she had to push past her limits, she had to let him in. ‘I was ashamed. They …’ She looked up at him, meeting his dark, concerned eyes still burning with anger, anger she knew he felt on her behalf, anger for her … because he cared about her, because she was worth caring about. She sucked in a steadying breath and let it out. ‘They hate me.’ She felt his hands tighten in hers and saw that muscle tick in his cheek. ‘Well, maybe hate’s too strong a word, too strong an emotion for what they feel for me. I think irritate is better. I irritate them. I was always a quiet child: shy, not interested or even able to impress their friends. They thought that with my intelligence I should be more … competent. But they were … disappointed.’
‘They made your childhood a misery.’ Pav stated the truth.
‘In some ways, yes. But … they didn’t abuse me. Not really. They never hurt me. Mother gripping my elbow is about as physical as they ever let it get with me. I –’
‘There are other ways to hurt a child.’ Michael’s angry voice cut Millie off and she turned surprised eyes to catch his in the rear-view mirror. ‘Ways that hurt more than a few bruises. The way they spoke to you, Miss Morrison, for years. It was … shameful. They’re not human.’
‘Please, Michael, please call me Millie,’ she told him – something she’d wanted to say for decades. She saw his eyes crinkle in a smile and he gave a short nod.
‘All right, Miss Millie.’ Millie didn’t bother to try to get him to drop the Miss, she would be fighting a losing battle. ‘All I’m saying is that nobody should have to take those sort of relentless ugly words. I wish …’ He blinked a couple of times and then cleared his throat. When he spoke again his voice was quieter and a little hoarse. ‘I wish I had been able to do more, Miss Millie. I should have said something or –’
‘You would have lost your job if you’d said anything to either of them. We both know that. And then I wouldn’t have had you at all.’ Michael’s encouraging smiles, his kind eyes in the rear-view mirror, the funny faces he pulled behind her parents’ back: over the years they had meant more to her than he probably realised.
‘Yes, well,’ Michael said, his voice gruff with emotion as he pulled up in front of Millie’s house to park, ‘it’s not right is all I’m saying. You’ll not convince me otherwise.’
He exited the car before Millie could answer and came around to her side to open her door. As she came out she was surprised to be swept up in a brief but fierce hug. After a moment her arms came up to squeeze him back. When he finally let her go, he held her away from him with his hands on her shoulders and searched her face. Pav had left the car via the other passenger door and came to stand beside them. Michael was staring at her and his eyes looked suspiciously wet.
‘I’m okay,’ she whispered, and managed a small smile. ‘Well, at least, I’m going to be okay. I think.’
Michael’s eyes flicked over to Pav who was hovering in wait to claim Millie. When he looked back at her, his eyes crinkled in another smile. ‘I know you will,’ he said, before giving her brief kiss on her cheek and stepping back. He gave Pav a subtle chin-lift, which Pav returned, and something passed between the two men that Millie didn’t quite understand; then he shook Pav’s hand and turned back to the car.