Page 126 of Tears of Ink

The second thing I notice is the empty pillow next to mine and the sheet of folded paper. Gone to London to sort some things. I’ll be back for the ball, Sunshine. xo

My heart rate escalates just reading a handwritten note from him. I’m doomed to erratic behaviour forever it seems.

This enormous swell of emotion threatens to engulf me when I think that tonight isn’t the end. It’s the beginning. And for the first time in my life I’m not scared, not running.

My phone beeps, I reach for the bedside table and peer at the screen. Dan.

A stab of deep guilt burns when I think how bloody happy I am when he’s going through shit.

Dan: Dad’s not doing good, Faith. Sorry to break bad news over message but he’s not going to make it past the weekend.

Struggling up from under the duvet, I hit dial.

“Hey,” he sounds exhausted as he answers on the second ring.

“Dan, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. He’s been asking after you, wants to know what you created.”

I smile, but it’s watery and weak. “Tell him I made my heart whole.”

There’s a pause. “You and Eli then, hey, Faithy?”

I nod even though he can’t see me and stare at my ring. “Yeah, I guess. Odd, right?”

“Not really.”

I drag in a deep breath. “Listen, I’ve got the ball today, all the kids are going to be here, it’s a big thing. I’ll be back tomorrow, tell Al I’m expecting to see him.”

I should go now, I know I should. But I don’t want to let Elijah down when he’s gambling everything he knows on me.

“Sure, Faith, I’ll tell him.” There’s another panful pause. “Abi’s been here, I think she’s coming by again.”

“I guess her and Adam aren’t coming to the ball?”

Guilt washes over me until it’s as though it’s pouring into my mouth and drowning me as I sit on my bed. “Screw it, I’m coming now.”

“No.” Dan cuts me off. “Don’t. Dad would be cross, this ball’s important, right?”

“Yeah, but…”

“Come tomorrow. Then you won’t get a bollocking from the old man.”

I laugh, but it’s pathetic and small.

“See you tomorrow, Dan.”

“Good luck, Faith.”

I hang up the phone and send Eli a quick message.

Faith Hitchin: Al’s not doing good. I’ll have to go tomorrow.

I wait a moment to see if I get a response. When one doesn’t instantly vibrate my phone, I leave it behind on the side and get up to slip on some clothes. I’ve got to finish my centrepiece and I have to move the rest of the exhibition. It’s going to be a busy day.

Damien calls me at about three. “Where do you want this frame? It weighs a fucking ton.”

“You need to grow some muscles. I’ll meet you on the drive and we can carry it together. I’ll bring the brawn.” He swears at me as I hang up, which I’m sure isn’t a professional way to talk to a client.