Resisting Mr. Kane (London Mister #2)(91)

His lip stills and he nods.

“Now go put some clothes on. Granny is looking forward to seeing you.”

I walk downstairs so Daniel can't see how angry I am as I process what he's said. So many thoughts race through my head. What the fuck? The pills were Gemina’s? Is everyone on these bloody pills except for me? Is Gemina taking these pills while looking after our son? Sure, she’s looked dazed and scatty recently, but she always looks like that.

The hairs on my neck rise. She made my son lie to me.

She’s gone too far this time. The woman is going to ruin me.

There’s a noise coming from the kitchen, an incessant low beeping that I can’t locate. For a second I wonder if it’s my heart about to give in. The noise seems to be coming from between the fridge and the microwave. I open the fridge, the microwave, the cooker, fiddle with the smart water purifier, check the sensor trash can and turn off the coffee machine.

Nothing. What’s the source? What’s this thing that is intended to torture me?

Jack! I bellow to the roof even though he can’t hear me.

Between my deceiving ex-wife, my criminal son, my girlfriend that never wants to see me again and this apartment with its smart gadgets talking to me, I’ve had better weeks.

Elly

I gaze out the window of the riverside apartment from my comfy armchair. We are in Waterloo, in the heart of central London, with a birds-eye view of the London Eye, Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament.

I feel as if I am living in a hotel.

There is a gym, swimming pool, sauna, steam room, spa and a communal roof terrace. If you asked me one year ago where I thought I would be living in London, I would have never imagined this place.

Megan hung one of her paintings in the hallway to see if anyone noticed. She hopes Jack Mathews walks in, sees the painting, and decides he needs them all throughout the world. I can’t fault her ambition.

It's a dream, but it's tainted.

We can’t stay long-term, no matter how much Megan begs. The steroids are working and my inflammation is reducing so there is no reason for us not to move back into our house.

I’m making use of Madison’s free counselling service. Since the flare-up I’ve been so anxious. Anxious for what could have happened and what could happen in the future. I had my first counselling session yesterday. I was so nervous I actually prepared answers to the questions I thought she would ask.

The speech went out the window with the first question. I can’t even remember what it was. Her way of phrasing innocent questions seemed to pull the strongest of emotions from me. She had me crying within minutes. She didn’t focus solely on my IBD either, she strayed into more dangerous territory like my relationship with my mum and what happened with Tristan.

But I came out feeling a little lighter and more optimistic and I’m trying to apply some of the techniques she has taught me for dealing with stressful situations.

I’m not good company anyway right now. Ironically besides the lack of housemates, I’m still not sleeping well. As I lie in bed, unwelcome visions of Gemina and Tristan flood my head. If I take him back, what happens the next time she threatens to take Daniel away? Will he sleep with her? She will always have a hold over him.

“There’s another delivery,” Megan calls as she comes through the front door. Poor Megan’s mothering me like Florence Nightingale.

As I turn, I see an enormous bouquet of dark violet flowers.

She sniffs them. “They smell nice. What are they? Doesn’t Tristan know that roses are sexy? These look like something I would put on my granny’s grave.”

I laugh. “They’re the bearded iris, the national flower of Croatia.”

Her mouth forms an O shape. “Sweet. There’s a card. Here.” She passes over the white envelope.

I tear it open, my heart in my mouth. It’s in Croatian. It's pretty badly written with amusing typos but I get the gist.

Elly, It’s taking all my willpower not to come across London and beg your forgiveness. It goes against my character to not go after what I care about most. But I want to give you the space that you need. I’m here, waiting, when you are ready. Tristan x

Something else is in the envelope. I stare down confused at the decorative wooden spoon then smile when I realise what it is. It's an old Welsh tradition to give your loved one a love-spoon as a token of your affection.

“He’s really trying,” Megan looks at me, hopeful. “He’s hitting all the nationalities there. I mean it’s soppy, but God loves a trier.”

“He is that.” I nod sadly. I’m just not sure he can give me what I need.

My phone vibrates loudly on the countertop. I look at the number lighting up the screen. “It’s him.”

“Stop!” Megan hisses. “Does he know we’re talking about him? He just happens to call when I deliver the flowers to you? Is he watching us?” She flaps her arms in a panic. “These smart apartments are just a way to monitor us, like Big Brother!”

I roll my eyes. “Calm down, Megan. No one is watching us. And if they were, they’d soon get bored of watching us watching telly.”

“Although if Jack Mathews wants to watch me, I’m down with that.” She lifts her top up flashing her breasts. “Hi, Jack! If you want a closer look, feel free to come over.”

I roll my eyes. “I think everyone on the London Eye saw that.”