Page 59 of Tears of Ink

He’s not there, and my stomach lurches. Some support on my first morning.

Bloody great.

C H A P T E R S E V E N T E E N

Seriously, I can’t believe it. Elijah didn’t come back. Tabitha and I did the whole morning session by ourselves. We then went and had an awkward-as-fuck lunch—which I couldn’t eat, because nerves were eating my stomach instead—with six teenagers, before taking Maisie and Dylan and that crew back in to make even more of a mess.

Fair to say we have a lot of glass sheets.

Fair to say Elijah Fairclough is in my black book of hell.

I’m exhausted and lying on my bed. I can’t move. I haven’t put in a day of work that hard since my last day in Al’s shop.

Thinking of Al, I reach over into the ornate shabby chic bedside table and pull out my phone. I haven’t had a chance to look at it all day.

Eli Jones: I’m sorry, I’ll explain later.

I scowl at my phone. He can kiss my damn arse later.

Ignoring my growing agitation, I tap on my contacts and dial Al. He answers after a few rings, but I struggle to hear him.

“Are you down a wind tunnel?” I ask.

There’s a vague chuckle, but it chills my stomach. “Cheeky cow. How’s Bowsley?”

I glower at the ceiling. “It was a good first day. We made glass. I think it’s going to look good.”

There’s a pause filled with some heavy breathing. “Of course it will. You did it.”

“How are you?”

“Cartwheeling in the garden.” He starts to cough, and irrepressible tears slide out of my eyes, running down my face. “Hey, you better not be crying there, Faith. You know how I feel about soggy displays of emotion.”

I chuckle and wipe my hand across my face. “No tears.”

“That’s a good girl.” He pauses, and I wait for the familiar sound of him lighting a cigarette. It doesn’t come, and it makes me want to cry even more. “So, tell me all about it.”

I settle back on my pillows and stare at the ceiling as I hold myself together and tell him about the kids and the hot glass, and how I was lucky I didn’t get someone burned, and myself sued. He laughs occasionally but is largely silent.

“You still awake?” I ask when I draw my day to a close.

“Yeah, who pissed you off?”

“What?”

“Who pissed you off?” I can hear the weak amusement in his voice.

“The Faircloughs are strange.”

“Of course they are…” He pauses for a wheeze… “Stranger than the Hitchins?”

I hesitate. No one is stranger than my fucked-up family. “Elijah said he wanted to be friends, but friends don’t just leave one another in the lurch like that.”

“Maybe something came up. You can’t keep judging people by your exacting high levels of trust.”

I scrunch my face, not that he can see it.

“I mean, come on, Faith, you need to have more than just Dan and Abi as friends. What sort of life is that going to be if it’s always just you?”