Chapter 41

Chapter Forty-One

K iera had loved Chrissie from the first moment they’d met, all those years ago. She tried to be cool and not give it away, but the truth was, it was written all over her face. Chrissie wasn’t far behind her, and they had rapidly become inseparable. They’d been together for several years by the time they got married, and everyone teased them for waiting so long to finally make it legal. They’d been married for four years when Kiera moved out.

Having Chrissie in the flat was strange in some ways, but in others, it was almost normal. After spending almost a decade together, they had a familiarity, in-jokes that resurfaced. Chrissie knew how Kiera liked her tea. Kiera knew Chrissie liked her toast cremated. There was a comfort in it. But perhaps not joy. Chrissie would sleep on the sofa at night and then fold away the blankets and pillows in the morning. There was a routine.

Chrissie had been put in touch with an organisation that supported cult survivors and was slowly beginning to think about rebuilding her life. It was hard seeing Chrissie struggle with e veryday tasks like shopping or going to a café. Although, of course, they never went to Seymour’s café.

Six weeks later, Chrissie had worked her way up to being able to leave the flat alone, thanks to the faithful support of Kiera and of the charitable organisation. It was that first time Kiera had been alone in the flat since Chrissie had arrived, and she suddenly realised she was lonely. Somehow, in the course of reintegrating Chrissie into regular society, she had cut herself off from her own friends. She had met Lou a couple of times for coffee, but it was obvious that Lou thought she shouldn’t have let Chrissie live with her again, and their conversation was stilted.

Kiera found herself remembering the vows she had made all those years ago, to love in sickness and health. She’d promised Chrissie she would be there for her. Could they really get all that back?

She picked up her phone to find a facetious message from Clodagh on it.

Clodagh: “How’s wedded bliss?”

Kiera: “Not wedded, not bliss. Just, you know, sorting things out.”

Clodagh: “Who are you sorting out? Her or you?”

Kiera started typing and then stopped, no doubt infuriating Clodagh with flashing dots of suspense. She sighed.

Kiera: “Her need is greater than mine.” Even as she pressed send, she knew it was a feeble response.

Clodagh: “Bollocks, is it.” Flashing dots. “You around this evening? I haven’t seen you in weeks. We’re going out.”

Kiera sighed. This felt a bit like an intervention.

Maybe she needed one.

Kiera: “Ok.”

They met in town, Kiera grateful for the distance from Kings Heath. They found a bar on the canal in Brindley Place and ordered drinks.

“Well, can I be honest?” said Clodagh.

“You usually are,” replied Kiera with a half-smile.

“You look miserable.” Clodagh took a swig from her drink. “Have you even called Seymour?”

“I told you, I need time. And that’s what I told her.”

“Time for what? To decide whether to remarry your cheating, thieving ex? Or to be brave enough to apologise for being a prat and running out on Seymour?”

Clodagh had a peculiar way of cutting to the truth of the matter. Kiera was torn between a promise she had made to Chrissie many years before, and the possibility of something new and different with Seymour.

“Chrissie thinks we could work if we tried again,” said Kiera. “She said it was all her fault and because of all the cult stuff. She said she’ll wait as long as I need, but that she loves me and wants to be with me.”

“And what do you want?”

The question scared Kiera. What did she want?

“I made promises to Chrissie.”

“Ones that she broke and that you both legally declared null and void when you got divorced,” said Clodagh quietly.

They both took a sip from their drinks.

“You owe her nothing, K,” Clodagh continued, who had taken to shortening her name in the last few months, following Charlie’s lead. “Even less now you’ve rescued her and rehabilitated her back into society.”

Kiera gave her a hard stare. “It’s been hard for her.”

“I don’t doubt it, K, but she’s not your problem. You’re not responsible for her. No one is. She’s responsible for herself.”

“You don’t know what she went through,” said Kiera, unable to keep the annoyance from her voice. She couldn’t work out if she was feeling defensive because she thought Clodagh was wrong or because she thought she was right.

“No, that’s very true. But I know what you went through. And, look, at the risk of really pissing you off, you look sad. Surely if you were meant to be with this woman, spending time with her would make you happy.”

Kiera could feel a lump in her throat and knew it was only a matter of time before hot angry tears began to flow. “You don’t know me. You haven’t any idea what’s going on in my head.” She stood up. “You can’t come here and tell me I’m unhappy. Only I know how I feel.”

Clodagh looked up at Kiera. “And how do you feel?”

Now the tears did begin to fall. Kiera opened her mouth to speak but didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know how she felt. But she knew it didn’t feel good. Suddenly she felt anger bubbling up. “It’s so easy for you, taking pot shots from where you are. You glide through life, sleeping with who you please and taking no responsibility. It’s not a grown-up way to live. And you can’t sit in judgement of me.”

Clodagh’s eyebrows shot up. “What? Really? Kiera, this really isn’t about me. And this is not you at all.”

“You barely know me,” said Kiera. “And I really don’t know why you bother.”

“Look, I get that you’re defensive, but you know what, I don’t need to sit here and listen to this.” Clodagh picked up her phone, put it in her pocket and stood to put her jacket on. “This is not ok. I’ll see you around.” And without another word, she left the bar.

Kiera knew immediately she’d been unfair, but didn’t have the energy to do anything about it. She got home to find Chrissie watching TV in the living room, drinking tea and ea ting the last of the custard creams. She tried to sneak past her into her bedroom.

“Kiera? You ok? I thought you were going to be later than this?”

“Yeah, fine,” said Kiera, her voice muffled. She scurried to her bedroom and quickly shut the door. She sat on her bed feeling more like a confused teenager than she had in decades. What she couldn’t work out was why she was crying. She’d been crying every day now for the last four weeks. Secretly. In her room after work. She’d say she needed a nap, or that she had a headache. But she’d go to her room, bury her head in her pillows and sob.