Page 109 of Tears of Gold

“Rachel.”

“Sorry?” She’s making me talk and I hate her for it.

“I’m Rachel. You never asked before, but I much prefer being Rachel to being Miss Beesley.”

A small tear trickles down my face. Haven’t I run out of tears yet? I must have used a lifetime supply today.

“Rachel, I won’t be staying. I can’t stay here without him and I don’t think he’s coming back.”

She sighs and brushes at my hair. “No.”

“You heard?”

“I wouldn’t have done if your friend hadn’t banged the door so loud on his way out. I came through to check what was happening and then I heard.”

“You know about the papers today though?”

“Yes.” Again, her expression doesn’t give anything away. “Who do you want to be, Faith?”

“Pardon?”

“Who do you want to be? Since you’ve been here, I haven’t seen you do one thing for yourself. You’ve been to meetings about a TV show, but you don’t talk about it with any excitement at all. You’ve been dragging yourself to lectures but with no enthusiasm. These last weeks, you’ve been attending the functions for the Faircloughs, but you haven’t enjoyed them, haven't engaged in them.”

I scowl. “You can’t blame me. They were as boring as fuck.” I sigh. “At least I won’t have to worry about them anymore now I’m no longer going to be a Fairclough.”

“Really? That’s all you have to say?” Bloody hell, why won’t she just go away and let me wallow? I want to wallow. Me and the bump together, wallowing in our doom.

“No. What are you, a housekeeper or a counsellor?”

"Have you ever had you counselling, Faith?”

“No, I bloody haven’t. And I’m not going to start now.” I fling back the duvet. “I’m not going to sit here listening to this shit. You don’t even know what you are talking about.”

Without a word, she takes a folded piece of newspaper out of the pocket of her cardigan. Smoothing it out, she spreads it for me to see.

Aristocracy rocked by abuse scandal.

“That’s ridiculous. I’m not even a member of their bloody family, or the aristocracy for that matter.”

“And does,” she leans closer, “Terry Dean from The Sun care about that?”

“Listen, Miss Beesley, Rachel. I know you are trying to help but you can’t. No one can.”

Her face falls and she pats my hand and gets up. “That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Welcome to my life.”

She walks out and leaves me to my pity parade. It’s only when she’s shut the door with a soft click that I notice the Manilla file on the duvet. It’s the file Sienna turned up with yesterday.

What a fucking cheek. I can’t believe he had the gall to try to find my mother. I haven’t gone strutting about trying to fix him by getting him back in contact with his father. It’s just another example of why I will always be the broken little doll he feels the need to fix.

Fucking bastard.

I kick at the file to fling it off the bed.

I can’t even do that right. It opens and half the paperwork slides off. I sob as I kick harder. How dare he? How fucking dare he?

His familiar writing stares back at me from a single scrap of A5.