Page 9
Oh, hell. The last person in the world I wanted to worry was Doctor Dyl. “I’m sorry. I lost track of time.”
He heaved a loud exasperated sigh. “I tried your phone and didn’t get an answer, just your voicemail, which is full by the way so I couldn’t leave a message.”
“I’m sorry. I forgot it.”
He pressed his lips together. “Well, you’re back now. But we’re going to need to set some ground rules.”
“Okay.”
“You’ve had a long day, it’s late, and I’ve just had two very long hours. For now, I think we should try to get some sleep. Come on.” He opened the front door, and I trailed behind him into the hall wrestling with my guilt.
“I really am sorry,” I whispered. “I didn’t mean to make you anxious.”
He rubbed his forehead and frowned, as if at a loss of what to do. He probably wanted to shout and rip into me, but, as usual, he restrained himself and just blew out a breath.
“Do you want anything to help you sleep again?”
“Please.”
“You’ve had these since the funeral. One more night, then perhaps tomorrow try without. They lose their efficacy if you take them every night.”
I nodded. I still needed them, especially for my first night in this strange house.
He gave me a cautious smile that transformed into a scowl when we were interrupted by his mobile phone vibrating. He yanked it out of his pocket and headed into the kitchen, while I stared after him.
He returned a few moments later holding a glass of water and two tablets while talking on the phone. “No, Lulu, not tonight. Maybe tomorrow… Look, I’ll call you, okay?” His voice was strained with tension. Handing me the water and tablets, he wandered back into the kitchen to continue his conversation. “No… It’s not possible. Baby, I’m sorry… I know. I miss you too… Good night.”
The conversation was about me. I knew it. Lulu was his girlfriend, though I’ve never met her and we’d never spoken about her. In fact, we hadn’t spoken much at all… Well, I hadn’t. He’d talked about some things, practicalities mainly, but until this moment, I hadn’t thought about the sacrifices he’d made when he came to Kent to rescue me.
Thinking of him with a girlfriend was weird. Over the years, whenever we’d seen him at the occasional family gathering, he was on his own. It was Mum who told me about her.
Mum. Mummy. Stop it, Emily.
I swallowed the tablets and took the tumbler into the kitchen where Dylan was pouring himself a glass of red wine. As I placed mine in the dishwasher, I became aware he was watching my every move. It was unnerving.
Is he still angry with me?
“Good night,” I said.
“Good night, Emily. Sleep well.”
The spare room was too white, even at night. I closed the slats of the shutters, blocking out the dark, and switched on the bedside light. I rescued the phone charger from my bag and plugged it into the USB port on the socket beside my bed.
The sockets here have USB ports. My father would have been impressed.
My phone lit up with the drained battery icon, and I ran my finger down the small crack in the screen—another casualty from the accident. Every time I held my phone, and every time I scrolled through my photos, the crack was there. The flaw illuminated across each precious photograph and video—a physical reminder and a metaphor for what had happened.
How my life had been irrevocably altered and scarred.
How I’d lost everyone.
Emily. Stop. Don’t think about that.
I put my phone face down on the bedside table, and my gaze shifted to my parents, smiling at me from the framed photo. Taking off my trainers, I sank down onto the bed, staring at my happy family. I caught another trace of the strange smell. It was back but slightly stronger this time, a delicious, tantalizing scent that was oddly familiar.
What on earth is it?
Where the hell is it coming from?
