Page 33 of Tears of Gold

“I don’t know.”

“Eli said he was in court yesterday, listening to the opening statements.”

“Yeah, I guess. He’s not wanting to talk to me right now.” Her voice breaks a little and I sigh.

“Tabs, this is hard, what he’s going through. You remember what he was like in the summer when he first came to Bowsley. All that anger, it hasn’t just evaporated. You might have eased it for a while, but until this court case is done it’s never going to heal.”

“I know. I want to help him though.”

“And you will, when he’s ready.”

“Have you heard from the police in Brighton?”

My stomach tightens with her question. “No. I don’t know what happens or how long it will take.”

“Have you asked Eli? He will know about these things.”

“No,” I snap. Her responding silence turns me into queen bitch. “No, Tabs. I don’t want him taking this on, knowing all the little facts and details. It could ruin us forever.”

“What are you talking about? He knows the truth. You went to the police because you wanted to start afresh with Eli.”

“What if we can’t start afresh once he knows everything?”

“Rubbish. That's utter bollocks and you know it.” She sighs. “You can’t run.”

“I’m not running.”

“Not talking is still running. Still hiding.”

“You’re being fucking annoying today,” I grumble.

“Well I’m sorry. My boyfriend is going through hell, and I don’t even know if he is still my boyfriend; my brother just died, and my family are acting like it never happened. And everything is just shit.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well stop trying to fix the rest of us, and start fighting for yourself.” The line disconnects. That is not what I expected.

What does she mean? I am fighting. What do these people want? Blood from a stone? My guts bared for everyone to see?

I can’t be that woman.

Turning, I catch sight of myself in the ornate mirror sat on a French dresser. Ink and wild hair greet my gaze. Ink surrounded by gold and cream.

With a firm shake of my head, I button the shirt and dash along the upstairs hallway, down the stairs and into the kitchen to where Miss Beesley is already stood at the AGA boiling a kettle.

“Oh, shit.” I screech to a halt. “God, I’m so sorry. I left some clothes hanging in here yesterday because I didn’t know what room Eli wanted us to take.” I edge around the giant kitchen table. Her eyes are on my thighs covered with ink and there is no chance of her hiding her surprise.

“Wow.”

I smirk. “I’m guessing Jennifer didn’t warn you the new tenant used to be a tattoo artist.” Is a tattoo artist? I don’t even know.

Miss Beesley smiles ruefully and shakes her head. “No, she didn’t.”

“Maybe she thought you would walk out in disgust.”

“Well, she’d be wrong, my dear. I’ve worked through many hard times in this house; it’s going to take more than some Maori artworks to move me on.”

“You recognise this?” I glance down at my right thigh—my warrior strength that never quite seems to manifest itself into anything useful.