Page 21 of Tears of Glass

I won’t let them down though.

“So, Lewis, you’re going to your dad’s, correct?” Lewis hasn’t been home since he was arrested for graffitiing the office building where his mother was sexually abused. For obvious reasons, I haven’t spoken to Elijah to find out the state of his mother’s case, or whether the charges have been dropped against Lewis.

What a mess.

He nods, but a muscle twitches in his neck.

“It will be fine,” I assure him. “I’m sure Elijah has been working hard for you.” Tabitha’s blue gaze skims over my face as I swallow and say his name, but I glare at her.

“Of course. The last I spoke to him, he’d had a massive breakthrough.” Tabitha nods.

My heart—will it just stop with the jumping and aching crap it’s got going on? I don’t answer her. I don’t want to talk about him. Though I’m glad he’s still seeking justice for Lewis’ mum and not just enjoying sexy time with his fiancé.

Bile rises up my throat, but I swallow it back down as we come into London Bridge. A familiar tingle pinches my stomach as we get up to grab our bags. Both Lewis and I wrestle everything from Tabitha so she doesn’t carry anything. We don’t have much—they turned up with hardly anything and I’ve never been the kind of woman to over-pack.

When we get to the tube, I stand back and stare at my feet while they say a farewell that involves tears, like one of them is about to set sail across the ocean on a liner destined to never return.

“Come the fuck along.” I sigh and grab Tab’s arm. “We’ve got to get the Tube now, and it’s nearly rush hour. I hate people getting their armpits in my face.”

She laughs and brushes at her damp cheeks, and I pretend not to look as she pulls herself together. “I bet most people stay away from you, don’t they?” She smiles, and I don’t take her words as rude.

“Because of these?” I motion with my free hand to the ink that smothers my skin. “There’s always some twat who wants to know where the ink ends.” I motion my head like I’m peering down someone’s top and she giggles. That’s better. She’s only herself when giggling and flushing. Bless her.

“Where do you live?”

“Islington.”

“And you own your own place?” She side-eyes me as I march us at high speed for the Tube Subway.

“Yes, I earned lots of money, making people as pretty as me.” I grin. “And we can’t all have rich families who pay for everything.”

She goes to shake her head “E—” falling out of her mouth.

“I don’t want to hear about him. Remember?”

Her lips clamp shut for a tiny millisecond until she opens them again. “Bu—”

“No buts, Tabs, I’m sorry.” My voice does this annoying thing where it pitches high and wobbles a little. “It just hurts, you know?”

She eyes me and bites her lip before she shrugs. “Okay.”

“Anyway.” I go to the machine to top up my travel card and tow her along by the elbow. “We’ve got more important things to worry about. Like what on earth we are going to do with you.”

It pisses me off, because the one person I really feel the urge to talk to, is the very last person I can call.

The heartbreaker and the art thief.

The flat seems almost alien when we walk in. It’s been weeks since I last walked through the door. Honestly, I’m just happy not to find a squatter eating out of my fridge and sleeping on my bed.

It’s stuffy, the stale summer air trapped for too long without the windows open. Tabitha glances about as I slide up the sash windows, which is hard work and causes trickles of sweat to slip down my skin.

“This place is nice.” She perches on the small sofa squeezed in one corner of the living room. I say living room. There is only one room.

I snort, my shoulder shaking. “You should see your face.”

“What? I didn’t say anything?”

“Listen I know it’s not Bowsley, but hey it’s all mine. It’s got one room and a bathroom. The kitchen is passable although I reckon Elaine would be unimpressed.” Elaine the Bowsley cook had an enormous fully-fitted kitchen at her disposal. I’ve got a hob and a single oven. The microwave didn’t fit.