31. Mabel

" H ow are you feeling?"

I had to ask, but to be honest, my head was such a mush I could barely form the words, and I sounded sloshed.

I was still wearing the bra, even though I'd lost the trunks somewhere in our wild love-making. I'd ended up flipping him over and taking him from behind, standing up at the edge of the bed, bruising his hips as I gave him my all.

It had been so long since I'd done this, let myself go completely and floating in this weird haze of arousal where nothing mattered yet everything did. Where his muffled roars into the pillow had driven me to madness.

Madness. What a great destination that was.

His fingers were still playing with my bra strap, his mouth having deposited a small trail of drool on my chest.

"I think I have a lot of kinks. I never knew."

"It takes a lot of practice to figure things out. Sometimes things I think will turn me on turn out to be total turn-offs."

"I love lace. Especially black lace."

"Good to know, because I like it too."

"And I love you."

I would never tire of hearing those words. I'd had them said to me before, of course, but hearing them from a man like Jonny?

He was still plastered to my front, like a needy child. He was, in a way, and it was my job to mother him, something I did gladly. An honour and…

Good grief, Mabel. I really had it bad. Luckily, so did he.

"I really love what we have here," I whispered into his hair. "All this honesty. It makes things so easy. No games. No power struggles. No stupid chest-puffing ridiculous trying to woo each other. We're just us."

"I told you." His voice was gravelly, forcing him to swallow gently between sentences. "I'm not someone you have to fight for, because I'm yours. I was yours from the first time I saw those orange trousers."

"You have a thing for those too, don't you?"

"Can you wear them to the Christmas party? Please say you'll come. I want to walk in holding your hand. I never have anyone with me. For once, I could, and I would… God, please, Mabel. Come with me to my awfully dreary Christmas party and save me from standing around getting drunk on bad wine and mishearing people and making a complete fool out of myself. We only have to stay an hour, show our faces. Then afterwards, I will take you anywhere you want to go to make up for it. A treat."

"A date? You're taking me on a date?"

"A proper one." He got up on his elbow, grimacing.

"Darling, you need to go shower, clean yourself up. Otherwise, you'll wake up all sticky and uncomfortable."

"And sore. I can still feel you."

"The joys of rampant bunny-fucking sex."

That made him laugh—huskily.

"I'll go clean up. But first, tell me. Where do you want to go? Dinner? Drinks?"

"Jonny, I have no money. Zero."

"I have money. And I owe you."

"You don't owe me anything."

"I want to spoil you. I want to take you out and show you off. For me. For us. I want to try it. Jump off another of our cliffs. Go out. Be proud—be me, with you on my arm."

"So now I am arm candy?"

"You're beautiful. I would be a fool not to take advantage of having you on my arm."

"Dick." I smiled. "I want to go for dinner, of course I do. No idea where, though. Everywhere I've been, I've been with work, but it's actually really hard to relax when I go out because all I do is look for things. Is the cutlery clean? How are the staff handling it? Are the plates too hot? Not warm enough? Is the menu wiped between each customer? How long has that salt sat in that pot?"

"Shush. You're not at work now."

"No. I'm currently unemployed."

"Not for long, my darling," he half slurred.

He shifted, snuggled up to me again, then…promptly fell asleep. A weird thing for the Jonny I knew, but I had put him through something that took a lot out of you. Sex, when good, did just that. When bad, it could be even worse, and I had had a lot of bad sex. Mostly in my youth when I hadn't been strong enough to voice my preferences. I'd let people take advantage, do whatever they wanted to me, thinking that was what I deserved.

I shivered, lying there stark naked with this man across my chest. My man.

Just thinking the words made me smile.

At the same time, I shouldn't be smiling. The realisation hit me like a bucket of ice, every time. The shame. I should be with my parents. I should be a better child. I should be there to hold my mother's hand.

Why the hell was I here, anyway? My life had gone from one extreme to another in mere months, and for a brief second, my eyes were wet, and I had to bite my lip.

I was better than this. Stronger. We'd made plans. We'd talked about this, all three of us. What my mother wanted. What my father wanted. What I wanted?

I had no idea.

I got up, paced the living room, not daring to check my phone. I didn't want to know. I didn't want to read another message about resting peacefully or vitals or anything.

I wanted things to stop. For my life to just pause for a while so I could get my head around it all.

Control. I craved it, and not in a bad way. I just wanted a routine. To know where I was at. Who my friends were and who were not. Where my heart lay. Where my future was heading.

I was Mabel Donovan, a messy, weird kid from Newbury with no friends and no future who'd then suddenly had a future and fucked it all up.

I couldn't even make sense of that massive generalisation myself. That future was a place where I'd buried my head in the sand and not bothered to change anything. Even when karma had pulled at me, I'd held back. I'd had opportunities that I'd swiftly turned down because I thought I was better where I was. Where Mark had my back and I knew what I was doing and I had some kind of control.

In the end, I'd had none. Zero. I'd thrown it all away, caught up in a childish tantrum over what? All those things that had weighed me down suddenly seemed so trivial. Did it matter?

More importantly, why was I even contemplating that frightening word, forgiveness ?

I was who I was. I knew better than this, and once again I refused to put myself through my own therapy plan, instead wanting to throw that part of myself straight out the window.

Carefully letting the glass door slide open, I halted from a moment as a terrifying gust of ice-cold wind hit my skin. What had Jonny said earlier—that he felt like he'd finally woken up? That was how I felt, stepping out on the wet wooden slats, the world below me glittering under dark clouds, a sliver of moon visible in the far distance.

I was Mabel Donovan. I had skills. Degrees. Failures.

I didn't mind the failures. They were good for remembering that no one is invincible. I certainly wasn't. I'd failed, at so many things.

Could I do this? Take on that role and not fall flat on my face? What had they called it? Head of the club slash buyer? Curator of London's finest wine cellar?

Bullshit , my consciousness heckled me. What? Me? In that role?

It was almost like Mark was sitting on my shoulder, whispering in my ear. Safe. You're safer here. Just stay. You know things here. You know what you're doing. Everything is fine here.

I'd believed him. I'd believed everyone around me. I'd only tried so hard to get that Master of Wine title so Mark would be pleased, so I could elevate his restaurant. So he would be…happier.

I hadn't been happy. Not at all, and fuck him and his bloody restaurant and fuck the world.

I wanted to scream, my face now wet from droplets of rain.

What was I doing?

I was awake all right, as I took myself back inside, hoping Jonny was still asleep and not standing there watching my disgraceful frozen self leave wet footprints on his pretty flooring.

I showered, like a sensible human, got warm and wrapped up in a towel that I found on the floor. Then I curled up on the sofa, still too frazzled to even attempt to sleep. I understood Jonny, God knew I did. When your brain was so chaotic, there was no way to slow it down.

I picked up my phone and dutifully took a deep breath. Tapped on the icon.

In the end, my child, it was nothing to worry about. She fell asleep about an hour ago. I'm going to stay here and sit with her for a while longer. I don't want her to be alone. We can sort out everything tomorrow if you fancy coming round.

I love you. Dad.

I felt like I'd done a lot of crying, far too much of it already, but it didn't matter whatever we'd said. Agreed on. Planned. I still sat on that sofa, tears falling, my body convulsing in spasms I had no control over. I hurt, and I hurt bad, trying to hug myself with that towel, reaching for the blanket on the floor, wanting anything but this, the absolute crippling fear of what was to become of me.

All these things that seemed within reach, only to be snatched away from me, like the world was laughing behind my back.

I wanted my mum back. I wanted the world to stop being so cruel. I wanted to hear my dad's laughter again as he danced my mum around the room. I wanted her to stroke my hair the way she always had and tell me I was beautiful.

I felt nothing but ugly sitting here, snot running down my face.

"Oh, Pickle."

If anyone was beautiful, it was Jonathan Templar, in his imperfectly perfect self, covered in dark hairs, that messy mop on his head, and in the way he slid under the blanket beside me and held me as I howled into his shoulder.

"Sweetheart," he said gently.

"I'm sorry I woke you up," I snuffled out, still not able to fully form my words. My face…God. I probably looked a mess.

"I wish you had. Please don't ever hesitate to wake me up if you need me."

"I think I need to go home," I said, my brain finally kicking in. "Mum has passed." I didn't know how I got those words out without falling apart again.

"I figured that might have been the case. I'm so sorry."

"I don't know what to do. I've spent the last ten years preparing, grieving, trying to get used to the idea. I thought I had. Now, though…"

"Nobody can prepare for something like it. And if you give me a second, I will make a phone call and get my driver ready. Anywhere you need to go."

"I'm really scared."

"Of course you are. As would anyone be in your situation. It's nothing you can ever know how it will play out. How you will feel. What will happen. How your body will react."

I was shaking, every muscle failing me as he wrapped his arms around me and gently rocked me, his lips in my hair. I was probably leaving nail marks all over, the way I was clutching at him.

"Mabel, my darling. You're not on your own here. Whenever you feel ready, we will get dressed and we will go wherever you need to be right now."

"I can't do this," I whimpered. "Any of this, but I have no choice."

"Whatever needs doing, I will be here, right beside you. Remember that. It's you and me now."

"You'll come?"

"Of course I will. Not leaving your side."

I had to laugh, which was the weirdest feeling ever.

"I still sleep in my single bed in a box room with the world's smallest window. I have a poster of Jason Donovan on my wall. I don't know why. I should really take it down."

"You and I fit perfectly on this sofa. I'm pretty sure we can share a single bed, Jason Donovan on the wall or not."

"Are you sure? You haven't even met my dad, and he'll be a mess."

"I'd anything for you."

"Then can you just hold me for a while and tell me everything will be all right?"

"Everything will be all right," he whispered.

And strangely enough, I believed him.