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“It’s more burnt than yours would be. Apologies. I’m not Superchef, but I slathered enough butter on to make up for it.”
“It’s delicious,” he says as he takes a bite, and I join him at the breakfast bar to eat mine. He puts his hand on my back. “Seriously, Ells. How are you feeling?”
“Numb but hopeful. Could be a whole lot worse.”
“Yes, it could. Hopefully it will be a whole lot better by the end of the day.”
I dare to imagine my ideal outcome. Courage of my convictions. In the perfect version of the universe, I’ll be making burnt slathered toast for my parents here tomorrow morning. I’d love to see them at the breakfast bar. Small steps though, right? Them not being on a plane will be enough. Christ, them even speaking to me will be enough.
It’s gone eleven when Mum messages with a ready when you are, sweetheart. x
“Shall I come?” Josh asks, but I shake my head.
“It’s an easy walk. Chill and eat the rest of the jam tarts. You’re only a ten-minute walk away if I need you.”
“Or a five-minute run.” He hugs me before I go. “You’ve got this, baby. Believe in yourself.”
I get to churn through another six million scenarios en route, but they all disappear in a puff of smoke when the driveway of Madon House appears in front of me. Play it by ear is my only option. I’ve got a posh fitted dress on, but my heels are lower than yesterday. More manageable. They make the walk to the elevators easier on my trademark unsteady legs.
Courage of my convictions.
I’m glad I have foundation on to hide my pallor as I reach the door of the top suite. It’s Mum that opens the door this time, and she pulls me in for a hug as though I’ve been gone a lifetime.
“It’s been a long night,” she says.
“Yeah, tell me about it.”
She takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. “Dad’s through here.”
I hold her back, just for a moment – because I know of his temper. I know of his morals, and his overwhelming concern for his little girl.
“How is he doing?”
She tips her head. “So so. He wants to tear Connor’s bollocks off, but that’s to be expected.”
“And how about Josh’s?”
Mum smiles. “Maybe not a question for right off. Let’s focus on you, ok?”
“Sure.”
Dad looks a bit better today than yesterday, sitting at the suite table with his arms folded and a cup of tea in front of him. He isn’t beetroot red, and he isn’t ghostly pale, so that’s a plus sign. Middle ground.
“Hey,” I say, and take a seat opposite him.
“Hey,” he says back, and his tone is much calmer today. He blows out a breath. “I thought we’d be on a plane back by now, all three of us.”
Mum goes to the kettle and flicks it on. “Things don’t always work out as planned, Ted. Ella’s here now, so there are three of us, we’re just at a table, not on a plane.”
Dad gestures at the window. “Is that where you live? Over there, in one of those towers?”
“Yeah.” I point. “The one on the right.”
Mum presents me with a mug of tea, and sits down next to Dad. “We couldn’t stop staring at it last night, knowing you were over there.”
Her words choke me up. “We must have been staring at each other then, because I couldn’t stop staring over here, either.” I struggle to take a breath, fuck the six million scenarios. “I just wished you were in our place with me. I’ve had the guest room made ready.”
Dad’s throat bobs, but he doesn’t break down. We sit in silence, the three of us, the air heavy with emotion. I don’t care who is going to speak first, or what they are going to say. Being with Mum and Dad is enough in itself, and I soak up every moment, no matter how painful it is.
