Gravitate (27 page)

I opened my eyes, feeling a
throbbing ache in my forehead.
I could see a familiar pattern in front o
f me – the cushion of the sofa.
I blinked a couple of times, trying to
work out what had happened.
I touched my forehead, and felt a sticky, hot liqui
d.
I looked at my
fingers, seeing blood on them.
I glanced around to see what I had hurt myself on and realised I’d hit my head on the
corner of the hearth as I fell.
I lay on my back for a few minutes, half on the cushions, half on the floor, and though
t about what had just happened. The feeling was bittersweet.
I was amazed that my plan had worked and so pleased to have
been able to talk about Marty.
I was also distraught, to have gone through all that and not have been able to speak to him myself. My heart ached to know he wasn’t OK, but it was a relief to know I wasn’t
the only one feeling the pain.

I carefully sat up and waited
for the room to stop spinning.
I stood up and walked to the kitchen, usi
ng the wall to support myself.
Going straight to the fridge, I found myself a square of chocolate and drank some milk straight from the bottle, trying to make myself feel a bit better, before I attempted to
sort out the injury on my head.
I wasn’t keen on the sight of blood and I didn’t relish having to examine the cause of the pain I could feel.

My mum had always kept a first aid kit in the downstairs cloakroom and, as I went to get it, I saw my reflecti
on in the mirror. I gasped.
I had blood trickling down my face and a huge, purple brui
se sticking out of my forehead.
I also had tearstained cheeks and my face wa
s the palest I’d ever seen it.

I tried to wipe away the blood without hurting my
self, but it still stung a lot.
I wished Marty was here to look after me, but then again, if he’d been here I wouldn’t hav
e been hurt in the first place.
Unable to look at the blood on my head any longer, I stuck the biggest plaster I could find o
ver the injury and went to bed.
I had nothing worth staying awake for.

Chapter 19

The next morning came too soon, the lonely day st
retching out on in front of me.
My head ached terribly; a streak of blood on my pillow told me that I hadn’t patched myself up as well
as I’d hoped the night before.
I lay in bed, debating what I could do to avoid the emptiness of a day spe
nt snowed in the house, alone.

I checked my mobile phone, seeing that it was st
ill quite early in the morning.
I was exhausted, yet I couldn’t fo
rce myself to go back to sleep.
I allowed myself a snort of laughter – now I had nothing to get up for, I was waking up early and feeling unable to sleep: yet before my parents had died I’d always been late for school in the mornings and would have quite happily been fused to my duvet on cold,
winter mornings, like this one.
I tried not to think about wanting to stay in bed with
Marty on cold, winter mornings.
It ached more than my head.

My phone also revealed one message from
Sofia
and a separate one from Ben.
Sofia
’s was sent this morning and Ben’s last night, so I chose to read them in chronological order.

Ben:
Thanks for today.
Sofia
is awesome.
Just drop
ped her back at the halls.
Is it too soon to call her?

My plan appeared to be working.
I read the other message, from
Sofia
.

Sofia
:
Ho
pe your head feels better, hon.
I didn’t text you last night as i
t was so late when we got back.
I really like Ben, bu
t he hasn’t called me yet.
Do I have to wait the three days before I can call him like it says in all those books? Xxx

I smiled.
T
he plan was definitely working.
I felt a sense of achievement, the tiniest ray of sunshine poking through the dark clouds that hung over me
.
If I couldn’t make myself happy, at l
east I could make others happy.
I replied to
Sofia
first:

I’m sur
e he will call you really soon.
My head is hurting, but that’s because I fell over last night (no I wasn’t dr
inking) and bruised my head! X

Then to Ben, I wrote:
Call her now, I’m sure she’ll be happy to hear from you!

I took a shower and then decided to check my emails, hoping for mo
re distractions to fill my day.
A sense of relief washed over me when I read an email from my English lecturer, setting us an assignment to complete over the Christmas break
– I could focus on that today.
I shook my head
at the change in my attitude.
In my school days, I would have left the assignment until the last minute, spending all my time having fun with my family and f
riends.
It felt like that had been another life.

I also had an email from Callie, one of my old school friends, who I’d been really close to before my parents had died – she’d stayed over with me for some o
f the nights after it happened.
She was really e
njoying her time at university.
Callie wanted to see me over the Christmas break, but she
was only popping back briefly.
The dates she was at home were the dates
I was visiting my Aunt Sandra.
I sighed; it would have been nice to see her, but it wasn’t g
oing to happen over this break.
I sent a quick reply to her.

My inbox also contained an email fr
om another school friend, Jade.
She was coming back from university for longer
and would arrive back tomorrow.
She’d just broken up with her boyfriend and wondered if I would like to go out drinking and dancing one evening in the run up to Christmas – two single g
irls, out on the town together. Inwardly, I cringed. I didn’t feel single.
I fel
t like I’d been ripped in half.
I didn’t fancy a trip out to a nightclub, where I would, no doubt, be
groped by drunk, lecherous men. I just wanted Marty.
Mentally, I slapped myself – there was no point being negative abou
t a night out, it might be fun. Marty wasn’t coming back.
This was my life now.

A final email sat waiting to be
read. I’d been putting it off.
My
solicitor had sent a message.
I had nothing against her, she had been brilliant following the deaths of my parents, explaining all the legal jargon with patience, providing tissues and cups of tea when
things became too much for me.
Messages from her always upset me though,
reminding me that I was alone.
We’d agreed early on during the long-winded process of dealing with my parents’ estate that she would email me rather than call, allowing me time to talk to my aunt befo
re I had to make big decisions.
I closed my eyes, summoning up
the strength to read the email.
It wasn’t going away, so I’d better face it head on:

Dear Miss Lee,

Just a quick email re
garding your father’s business.
The day-to-day running of the firm has been administered by Mr Samuel Acton, on a temporary ba
sis, since your father’s death.
Your father was the senior partner in the business, therefore Mr Acton does not have the legal right to impl
ement changes to the company.

As your father’s sole benefactor, you must be consulted on important decision
s.
You have the right to take over your father’s role, or you can sign some forms to allow Mr Acton, or any other suitable person, to make t
hose decisions on your behalf.

Mr Acton wishes to address some issues that have arisen in the company since your father’s death and this cannot go
ahead without your permission.
Please contact me to arrange a discussion of your options.

Yours sincerely,

Melissa Talbot

The weight of the world felt
like it was upon my shoulders.
I d
idn’t want this responsibility.
My dad had built the business up f
rom scratch, it was his dream.
I didn’t know what to do – part of me wanted to sign away my rights, to give the business away to a responsible grown up, yet the other part of me hated letting go of somethin
g that meant so much to my dad.
He’d started the firm in his twenties, buying a small house, renovating it,
and selling it on for a profit.
Within five years, the business had grown and was making enough money that
he took on an apprentice, Sam.
Sam had been as dedicated as my dad, treating the busine
ss as an extension of himself.
Within the next few years, they had created one of the top property development companies in the region and had twenty employees working directly for them, plus contractors that
were used for certain projects.
My dad had been a bit of a workaholic and it did start to upset mum: I recollected seeing her crying when I came home early from a friend’s house once, her and my dad having arguments tha
t they thought I couldn’t hear.
After they had a blazing row one
night, the situation improved.
Dad had made Sam a junior partner in the firm, giving him more responsibility and leaving him in c
harge when we went on holidays.
Dad began to work sensible hours, spe
nding more time with Mum and I.
He ignored his phone when it ra
ng after hours and at weekends.
I smiled, thinking of him shouting “I’m off the clock!” at the screen when it lit up with ‘incoming call’, leaving the caller
to his voicemail.

I called Melissa’s assistant to arrange a meeting for the next day, hoping Melissa would be able to offe
r some advice on the situation.
She’d been so helpful and efficient, I hadn’t really appreciated just how much she’d done for me at the time, my grief had been too raw.

I printed off the assignment details from my English lecturer, before heading down t
o the kitchen to make a coffee.
Whilst waiting for the kettle to boil, I stared out of the French doors into the garden, the snow sti
ll sparkling on the ground.
It was the very same spot whe
re I’d watched Marty fade away.
I couldn’t believe I’d only been on my own for two full days since he’d left, it
felt like a lifetime, already.
I read through the task for the assignment – we had to compare two poems from a pre-twenti
eth century poet of our choice.
I immediately decided to use poems by William Blake, knowing, all too well, where there was a boo
k containing some of his poems.
I’d begin the assignment after having my coffee, no poi
nt rushing into it.

I sat in the silent house, listening to the constant ticking of the clock, w
ondering what Marty was doing.
Had
Alfie told him about my visit? Had he seen me hurt myself?
I touched my forehead gently, the tender bump feeling less pr
onounced than it had yesterday.
Perhaps, when it was healed, I’d try
forcing myself to faint again.
I couldn’t live without him.

The beep of
my phone cut into my thoughts.
A message from
Sofia
:

He called!
He’s asked m
e out on a date – Friday night!
What should I wear? xxx

I just finished reading it when my phone beeped again – this time with a message from Ben:

I asked her out – she said yes! Where should I take her?

Whilst I was pleased with the distraction of their blossoming romance, a part of me wante
d to bang their heads together.
I messaged
Sofia
first, asking her where she thought they were going, and when she replied that she hoped he would be taking her to dinner and a stroll by the river, I then suggested to Ben that he took her for dinner
and a stroll by the river.
I then replied to
Sofia
to suggest that she wore a little black dress, shoes she co
uld walk in, and a winter coat.
They could have worked it all out themselves, no wonder angels
had to have so much patience.