Chapter 38

Twenty-five hoursof pure misery as I wait for my parents to arrive from Sydney. There is no solace from the ultimate confrontation. I pace, and fidget, staring at myself like a hollow zombie whenever I pass a mirror.

I know Dad's tone. I heard the anger and frustration in his words, not to mention the shame. I heard Mum's frantic tears and it broke my heart.

I know just what a lying cunt Connor must have been when he threw me to the wolves.

I attempt call after call to both Mum and Dad, but there is no response. I don't know which airport they'll be arriving at, or when, only that they are on their way.

All I get is a screenshot of the hotel they'll be checking into.

Suite One at the Mavilla Grand Hotel. Mayfair. What a fucking surprise.

I hate Connor so much I want to tear his spleen out with my fucking teeth.

Josh doesn't sleep or leave my side – not for a single second. He is ghostly pale along with me, offering his best assurances that things will be ok, and trying to keep me fed, but we both know it's surface level optimism. This kind of revelation could tear my family apart. For ever.

I clench my fists so hard that my nails dig like talons into my palm every time I picture my parents racing across the world to rescue me, condemning my choices every step of the way.

I wonder if they hate me. It's Dad's shame that stabs me the most, how disgusted he sounded.

I'm out of my mind when a message finally arrives.

We're at the hotel. Get here as soon as you can.

As if I'd do anything else.

I rely on makeup to hide the terror, taking deep breaths between brush strokes with shaking fingers. Josh helps me pin my hair up in classy burlesque style, and I dress smartly, like I did for Kingsgate Lettings – black blouse, tailored jacket, black pencil skirt. I'm going to show my parents my best, regardless of how chewed up my insides are.

"You're sure you don't want me to come?" Josh asks as I wait for the cab.

"Dad would probably get arrested for punching your lights out."

Josh knows I'm telling him the truth. He likely would.

"I'm here whenever you need me, just say the word and I'll be there in a flash."

I rest my head on his chest before I leave. "I know. Thank you."

The journey to the hotel is the absolute antithesis of how I dreamt my parents' arrival back in the UK would be. I was dreaming of hugs and handshakes as they met Josh and realised how incredible a guy I'd landed for myself. I was planning on cooking with Mum in the high-tech kitchen, and hanging out watching TV with Dad, and browsing the London streets in shops beyond my wildest dreams. And theirs.

That's the saddest thing of all.

All the things I wanted to share with them. All the things I wanted to give them, they've never had the chance to have before.

I wipe away a tear. Fuck this shit. I've cried enough for two lifetimes over Connor's dickhead behaviour. Josh has seen me bawling so many times it's ridiculous, and I'm not going to be bawling now. Not for the sake of a dipshit of an ex who has well and truly crossed the line.

I'm not the girl he knew.

I'm not the girl my parents knew on his arm, doting on his every word and hiding in the shadows like a shrinking violet.

I straighten myself up when I arrive in the hotel lobby, my shoulders back, tall and proud. Through the abject pain, I remind myself that I'm not a child anymore. I'm a twenty-four-year-old woman who knows her own path, and I'm going to make sure Mum and Dad hear it from me.

I don't know how I'm going to get through this, but I do know it's going to involve a torrent of anger and pain.

Disbelief, disappointment, concern. Rage.

Shame.

I'd have been open mouthed at the grandiosity of the Suite One doorway a few months ago, but I'm plenty accustomed to affluence by now. I rap on the door, and wait, like a criminal on trial.

I actually gasp when the door opens and Connor smiles back at me.

I want to launch myself and claw his eyes out. The prick's dressed in a suit like Josh's. Yeah, right. So much for tattered leather. I look into the eyes of the man I loved, and the venom hits me, because he's a fake victim, wringing his fucking hands as he lets me in.

"Come on in, Ells. We've been waiting. Thank fuck you're ok."

I stare in disbelief.

"Thank fuck I'm ok?! Of course I'm fucking ok." I barge past him. "Fuck off, Connor, get the fuck out of here."

"I can't. I love you too much to see you destroy yourself. I'm sorry, but I had to do it."

I spin in the suite hallway to face him.

"Destroy myself?!" I shake my head. "You pulled the trigger in the first place, you stupid, selfish prick." I meet his eyes. "And you know what? I'm happier than I've ever been." My rage is ice cold. "Get the fuck out of here. I never want to see you again. Not once. Ever."

I pace on through to the suite living room, and my heart stops dead at the sight of my parents. Mum is sitting at the table, with tear streaks right down her face, and Dad is so fucked up, he's not even beetroot red, he's ashen. They both are.

"Why didn't you tell us?!" Dad says. "You could have reached out at any time, ANY time, and we'd have been right here to save you. I can't believe you got yourself in this state. Shacked up with a fucking pimp."

Time for self control. Fuck, it's hard.

"Josh isn't my pimp, he's my boyfriend. We just happen to work for the same agency, that's how I met him."

It sets Dad's fuse alight.

"THE SAME AGENCY? What the fuck?! You're a prostitute, Ella! A fucking whore!" He grips his hair in his hands, pacing, and Mum starts crying again.

I feel Connor's presence behind me.

"Get out!" I yell. "Get the holy fuck away from me!"

"HE'S HERE BECAUSE HE GIVES A SHIT!" Dad yells, "UNLIKE THAT OTHER FUCKING TOSSER!"

"You think?" I feel the tears straining, but no. NO. "Connor is the tosser who ditched me for someone else in the first place. He's the tosser who destroyed my life, partying like a stud while I was working my ass off for nothing. NOTHING. We HAD nothing, and THAT'S when he didn't give a shit. When he SHOULD have given a shit." I laugh an icy laugh at him over my shoulder. "And this was your last resort, wasn't it? To fuck my life up over again."

"HE WANTED TO HELP YOU!" Dad yells, but I shake my head.

"Sure he did. Yeah."

"Of course I want to help you, Ells," Connor says, with his sad mewling voice. "I love you, babe."

"GET OUT!" I shout. "FUCK OFF! NOW!"

"No way!" he says. "I'm here for you."

Jesus fucking Christ almighty.

Mum and Dad are looking at him like he's some kind of fucking angel, risen from the ashes of them thinking he was a prick, too. They really believe his bullshit. They fucking believe him.

Connor has the audacity to brush past me and squeeze my mum's shoulder in solidarity, and it's a step too far. I jab a thumb over my shoulder towards the hall.

"He leaves or I do. I'm not joking."

Dad points a trembling finger at me. "You aren't going anywhere. Sit down, now!"

But I shake my head. I'm too old for this.

"I mean it, Dad. He leaves or I do."

It's a standoff, the three of them staring at me as though I'm the fucking idiot, without so much as a fair hearing, and screw it. Screw this.

"Call me when you want to talk. Without that traitorous, lying piece of shit in the room with us."

"ELLA!" Dad shouts, and Mum wails again, but I'm off on a mission, my heels like lightning on the carpet as I walk away. Every step is hell. Every scrap of distance between me and my parents cuts like a knife, but I'm not being destroyed again, not for anything. Or anyone. Connor deserves to burn, not me.

"ELLA!" Dad shouts again, and I turn around.

I'm fiercer than I expect when I point straight at Connor. "THAT LYING PRICK OR ME, WHICH IS IT GOING TO BE?"

My parents aren't used to seeing the flames in me, both of them wide-eyed.

"CLOCK'S TICKING!" I say. "Or I'll love you and leave you. I swear to God, it's love you, but I'm not doing this. Not with him here."

Another standoff, and Connor holds his hands out, like he's imploring me not to leave. He stands between my parents like a saviour. He may as well have a fake plastic halo on his smarmy head.

"Go, Connor. Please," Dad says, and Connor looks like he's been slapped.

"Sorry? What? We were going to address this together, the three of us."

"We'll talk later," Dad says to him. "Go to the lobby or something."

Connor stands still, so Dad takes his elbow and shunts him.

"Please, Connor, go. We'll call you."

Connor's eyebrows are sky high.

"Alright, I'll be in the lobby. Waiting." He gives me pathetic puppy dog eyes on his way past, his jaw gritted. "I'm not leaving you, Ells. No way."

"You already did, when it actually counted," I tell him.

I wait until the door is closed behind him before I finally take a seat at the table opposite my mum. It feels insane not to be holding her tight as she cries, or grabbing Dad for a happy hug, but there is neither, just me sitting down at a table in Connor's opulent suite.

Dad keeps pacing, his hands back in his hair.

"Go on," I say. "Let rip. Tell me whatever you want to tell me."

"I DON'T WANT TO TELL YOU ANYTHING! I WANT TO GET YOU OUT OF THIS AND GET YOU HOME!"

"I have a home. I love my home. I love my boyfriend."

"HE'S NOT YOUR FUCKING BOYFRIEND, ELLA!"

I take a breath. "Like I said, let rip. Say whatever you want to say. Like you always used to. Everyone always fucking judging without giving a shit for what is really going on. Be judgemental, be scathing, I don't blame you." I look at him. "But once you're done, at least give me the chance to speak for myself, will you?"

Mum breaks down again. "Ella, please. We want to take you home!"

"Then take me to Belgravia, Mum. SEE my home. Make up your mind for yourself when you get there."

"AS IF WE'RE GOING ANYWHERE NEAR THAT SHIT HOLE!" Dad butts in, and I have to shake my head at that. Seriously. A shit hole? If only he knew what kind of shithole I really came from.

He launches into the rage I predicted, trying to shout reason into me, repeating the same bullshit Connor must have fed him, about how he left me because he needed to for our future, only to find out I'd resorted to selling myself, picked up by a sicko pimp called Josh. Josh the tosser. Right, yeah.

I let Dad rage, and I let Mum chime in, and every word jabs. Every. Single. One. But slowly, I feel myself hardening. Their assumptions are so off, it's embarrassing. The way they think I'm such a na?ve little idiot. The way they think I'm being exploited, even though the woman – their daughter – listening to them has pushed the broken shell of herself into the past, where it belongs.

"Finished?" I say, when Dad finally takes a breath, and he waves a hand. He's out of insults. Monologue impressive, but over.

"You're coming back with us," he says. "No arguments. You're coming home with us."

It takes all of my strength to look him in the eye.

"No. I'm not."

He takes a breath, shakes his head. "Of course you're coming home with us. We need to keep you safe."

"Sorry, Dad, but I'm not. I'm happier – and safer, than I've ever been, and if you'd just give me a single second to speak, maybe you'd get another side of the fucking bullshit story."

"ELLA!"

I point to the chair next to Mum across the table.

"Sit down, please."

"NO! LISTEN!"

I'm not having another rant, so I get up from my chair, and pick up my bag.

"WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU GOING?" he yells, yet again.

"Home," I say. "Call me when you're ready to speak and I'll come straight back, but I don't want that jackass Connor anywhere in sight."

The pair of them look horrified, and it breaks my heart, but I can't play the shrinking violet game anymore. I'm not being dragged backwards while I'm striding ahead.

"Ella!" Mum says, and I wish I could give her a hug.

"I love you both so much," I say to them. "And I'm sorry Connor did this to you. I was going to tell you myself. I hope you call."

I'm on my way, praying my legs are able to carry me to the door before I break down. I ignore the shouts of ELLA and hold up a hand. I don't want to hear it.

Dad tries to charge after me, but I hear Mum intervene, with a TED! NO!

"ELLA, WAIT!" she screams. "DON'T WALK OUT! PLEASE! WE'LL LISTEN!"

I turn and look her right in the eyes. "You'll listen?"

She nods, and wipes a fresh round of tears from her cheeks. I feel like the biggest bitch on the planet, my own tears springing up, but the first sign of weakness will only give them fuel, and I don't want that.

I want to show them pride, not despair.

Not shame.

I take a seat back at the table, and Mum pulls Dad down into the chair next to her.

I thought I had my speech laid out, but it disappears into nothing. I shrug, with a wistful smile on my face.

"Yes, I'm a sex worker. Connor told the truth on that score." Dad looks like he's going to kick off again, but I hold a finger up. "BUT, I love my job. I'm happy with my job. I CHOOSE to do my job, I'm not FORCED, or coerced, or holed up in a shitty brothel somewhere like a cheap slut. I take the proposals I want, and I turn down the ones I don't."

I pull my phone from my handbag and call up my banking app. I log in, so the balance is showing clear on screen, and then I scoot it over to them.

"Does that look like a desperate, exploited girl's bank account to you?"

My parents are in shock. Mum takes hold of my phone with trembling fingers, her other hand over her mouth.

"This isn't about the money!" Dad says. "You're still a prostitute!"

"Yeah, I am, but if I wasn't, I'd likely be doing the same kind of stuff for free." He glares, but I shrug. "I'm telling the truth. Connor would back it up, if he wasn't such a lying piece of shit. Did you think I was an innocent virgin or something? Of course I wasn't. I never wanted to be."

"That's none of our business," Dad says, and I have to laugh.

"Yeah? Well, that should apply to the rest of it then, shouldn't it?"

"HAVE YOU ANY IDEA HOW FUCKING WORRIED WE ARE?"

"Yeah, and I thank you for that, but it's true."

Mum is still staring at my phone in shock.

"Scroll back through the statements if you like," I tell her. "Go on. Scroll back to last October, before I took my job. The job I WANTED. You want to see a desperate girl, scrawl through the balance, you'll see how many times I had less than five quid in my account, cooking me and Connor crappy pasta and out of date tins of tomatoes for days on end. THAT'S when I should have asked for your help. THEN. And you know why I didn't? PRIDE. Pride and Connor spewing bullshit and making me believe we were in it together. THAT'S when I was being used by a tosser. Not now. Definitely not now."

Both of my parents stare at me, mute.

"Want my old postcode? Check it out on Streetview. Want to see the shithole we were living in?"

Mum shakes her head.

"I feel sick," she says. "I just… I feel sick."

"You're not the only one," I reply. "But I feel sick because I've hurt you, not because I'm ashamed, or embarrassed, or in danger. I'm more confident than I've ever been in my life. I'm more MYSELF than I ever thought I could be. And I fuck people for money. People WITH money. So what? Really, when it comes down to it, so what?"

"So A LOT!" Dad says, but his words are weaker now. He puts his head in his hands, and his armour breaks. He wraps an arm around Mum's shoulder and he cries along with her, and it's too much for me. I let silent tears of my own roll free.

"I was going to tell you," I say again. "I was going to tell you all about my life now, and share the truth. I hoped you'd be happy for me. I wanted to tell you the truth in person, and I wanted to give you the chance to understand." I clear my throat, fighting back sobs. "But you know what? Pictures speak louder than words. Call up my photo gallery, Mum."

She's still gripping my phone.

"Mum, call up my photo gallery. Scroll through and see how much of a broken, exploited whore I look, holed up with my pimp, if that's what you think he is."

She does it, and thank God she does.

They've seen pictures of me with Josh before, but not many of them, and definitely not such a natural stream of the day to day.

I watch as she stares at the first picture, one of me in my PJs on the sofa, laughing as Josh took a snap of me in silly fluffy cat socks. Dad looks too, and they scroll. So many pictures of happiness. Selfies where I'm glowing, Josh grinning next to me. Snaps of us in London, travelling proud. Me posing before nights out, and capturing pictures of Josh smiling at me in pure adoration. Him in the kitchen making us coffees. Him cooking. Us eating a string of spaghetti between us like in Lady and the Tramp. Videos of us laughing. Joking. Me holding my sides, tears in my eyes because he's set me off in crazy giggles.

Love.

Laughter.

Pride.

Happiness.

"Keep going," I say. "See what life was like before."

I know what will be coming.

Me, emaciated. Miserable. Pictures of Connor playing guitar on our bed in the shithole shared room we could barely afford. Me, a weak little thing, trying my best to smile happily at his side at gigs. Failing.

I look like a broken shell on every single one. I just didn't see it back then.

"That's enough, I can't look through anymore," Mum says, and puts my phone down. I know what she's seen. It's there on the screen. The pictures speak for themselves.

Dad is shaking his head, and for once he's lost for words himself.

I take advantage of it. I speak the words I wanted to say.

"I'm an entertainer, otherwise known as a high-end prostitute, and my boyfriend is one, too. I love my job. I love my life, and I love Josh. And you will too, if you're ever willing to give him a chance, but if you're not…" I choke as I take my phone. "If it's too much, I understand. If you're too disappointed in me to accept my life now, then I understand. It's a lot to take in, and some parents can never accept it. I know. I never meant to hurt you. I'm sorry for that, but I'm not sorry for who I am."

They are deadly silent, which is so unnerving, it's untrue. I want to hug them so bad, but I can't cross the distance. It's too fragile.

"I'm going now," I say to Mum and Dad. "Call me, ok. Let me show you my life. At least see my side of the story before you make your decision."

Mum and Dad are still silent, but they both nod, and part of me hates myself. But I'm not the one who smashed our world apart. It didn't need to be done like this.

I drop Josh a message, choking back a fresh round of sobs.

Done here, nearly. Connor is waiting in the lobby like a prick. I just hope I can avoid assault charges on my way out.

I really do hope I can get through the lobby without jabbing Connor straight in the jaw.

I get a ping on my way to the door.

I know Connor is waiting in the lobby like a prick, baby. I can see him.

I smile at my phone.

You're here?

Another ping.

Of course I am.

It will be such a relief to feel his arms around me, even if my heart is torn in two – desperate for the same from Mum and Dad.

I wipe my tears on my sleeve before I leave, and I'm nearly to the doorway when I pause. I'm considering turning around and dashing back, desperate for one hug and a final I'm sorry I disappointed you before I leave, but I don't get the chance.

Mum reaches me first and throws her arms around me.

I can't stop crying now. It's too much.

"Please don't believe Connor," I wail. "Please, Mum. Let me show you for myself."

She nods against my shoulder.

"We will, darling."

I pull away to check she's telling the truth, and she's managing to smile, just a touch. She's telling the truth.

Dad joins us, and pulls me to his side.

"Just not today, alright?" he says, and his chuckle is the greatest thing I've ever heard, even though it's practically mute. "Your mum and I need to, uh, get our heads a bit clear first."

"Thanks." That's all I can say. That and I love you which comes out in sobs.

I'm ready to go. I need to give them space, and I need to collapse for myself.

They nod as I go, struggling themselves.

I reach the door, and force a laugh.

"Want me to send Connor back up?"

"No," Dad says. "I'd rather he rots in hell. We'll be checking in somewhere else tonight."

I guess my photos really did speak for themselves.

"I'll book you a hotel in Belgravia," I tell them. "Pack your cases and drop me a message when you're ready. I'll get a cab over."

"We can get a cheap place," Mum says, but I smile.

"You've seen my bank balance, haven't you? A hotel in Belgravia, ok? You'll be close by if you do decide to visit or meet up. I'll blow you a goodnight kiss from my window."

"We love you, sweetheart," Mum says, and Dad actually bear hugs me, just like he always does.

Love.

So fragile.

But I feel it right then.