Page 43 of Tears of Gold

“He is the best.” Jeremy looks between us. “Peter always said he’s the best.”

“No. It’s not happening.” I throw back the rest of my wine to end the conversation.

“It’s getting late, I’d better be going.” Jeremy stands and I try and hold him back.

“Ignore me. Peter warned you I’m stroppy.”

He chuckles and ruffles my hair. “He did, but it is late, and I should go. Eli says you are decorating tomorrow.”

“Are we?” I raise a questioning eyebrow.

“God yeah, got to get rid of Peter’s bad taste somehow.”

We all laugh, but I know my heart is a little heavy, and I hate seeing Jeremy step out into the cold London air by himself when he leaves.

“See you guys soon.”

“Dinner in the week with Tabitha?” I call after him as he walks down the steps.

“Sure. My diary is surprisingly free.”

We both give him a small wave and then turn back in. Eli’s hands catch hold of my shoulders, turning me towards him. “Are you okay, Faith? Answer me honestly.”

“I’m fine.” I slide my fingers around his neck. “I’m more than fine. We are together and that’s all that matters.” I pull his mouth down to mine and show him with a kiss just how true that is.

Eleven

Monday rolls around too fast. Sunday was strangely domestic, for me anyway. We did grown-up things like look at paint selections and pick up small tester pots from the local and outrageously overpriced DIY shop.

Now he’s gone back to work. Back to battling for Melanie Duncan’s name, and I’m here. I need to get to class but I can’t find any enthusiasm. I’m suspended in this stagnant place and I can’t fight it off. No art. No drive. No energy.

“What is that awful smell?” I walk into the kitchen and find Miss Beesley at the AGA. I’m reconciling myself to the fact I’ll never be able to walk in and have the place to myself.

“Toast?” She casts a glance at me. “Are you still off it?”

“Apparently.” Jeez, I’m like a tiger with a bloody splinter in its paw. Someone give me a bitch slap. I know what I need. I need Abi to come and shake me the fuck up.

“You know it’s funny, with all three of my pregnancies the first thing I hated was toast. I used to tell Graham it was the devil’s food.”

“Well, it’s not that.” I shoot her a frown. “It must be the AGA. Maybe we should get a toaster in.”

“Would you like a coffee?” Quite rightly she seems scared to ask me any questions.

I gag a little bit in my mouth. “No, thank you.”

“Coffee, too. Toast and coffee; it’s always the same first trigger foods.”

Placing my hands on my hips I glare at her. “Listen, Miss Beesley, I appreciate your concern but…” I trail off.

My brain is utterly blank.

Blank.

Nothing.

I want to tell her I had my last period just a couple of weeks ago, but I can’t. I can’t remember when it was before Peter died, and that was weeks ago now. Everything was such a mess… time got warped and lost.

I can’t move. I’m stuck, suspended in the kitchen.