by Susie Tate
‘Yes, of course,’ Millie muttered as she closed her eyes and sank back into the sofa. Her hand, clamped around her phone, was starting to ache and she realised she’d been gripping it hard enough to cut off the circulation to her fingers. Beauty lumbered over to her and watched her tense face for a moment before heaving his great body up on the sofa and laying his huge head on her stomach. She started and let out a small bark of laughter.
‘Camilla?’ her mother’s shrill voice sounded into her ear. ‘What on earth is going on there? Are you listening to me?’
‘Yes, mother,’ Millie said, sinking her free hand into Beauty’s thick fur and letting out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. Seriously, this dog was like magic. He should be used as a therapy animal. The smell was something she needed to work on (Jamie had told Beauty earlier, quite accurately, that she ‘smelt of arse’), but anything that could make Millie feel even marginally better when she was speaking to her parents was a miracle.
‘Are you … are you with someone?’ Her mother’s tone was incredulous. Millie couldn’t exactly blame her: her whole life had been almost entirely devoid of social interactions. Her mother knew how bizarre it would be for her to be with a friend.
‘No,’ Millie sighed. ‘It’s just a dog.’
‘A dog?’ Her mother’s voice rose in horror. ‘Please don’t tell me you have gone and got yourself a bloody dog? What a ridicul–’
‘It’s not my dog, Mum. I’m … I’m at some else’s house.’
‘But … why?’
The assumption that Millie was not there in a social capacity, despite the fact that it was actually her birthday that day, for some reason made her chest tighten. She was surprised. Millie had become adept at letting her mother’s words wash over her for quite some time. They no longer had quite the power to inflict pain that they had when she was a child. She’d built up a tolerance to them. And anyway, compared to the poison her mother was capable of spouting, this was nothing. It was fair to assume Millie would be on her own on her birthday; she’d never spent any of her birthdays any other way.
‘I’m babysitting.’
‘You’re what? For Christ’s sake, Camilla. What is wrong with you? Why are you wasting your time babysitting? Is this purely to annoy me?’
Millie sighed again. Throughout her life her mother had constantly asked that question.
‘Have you made this purely to annoy me, Camilla?’ – in response to a card she made at school when she was six, which was covered in glitter and shed on her mother’s jumper.
‘Are these dolls on the floor purely to annoy me, darling?’ she’d said a year later, before scooping up the Barbies and dumping them in the rubbish whilst she muttered about gender stereotyping and pointless plastic crap (Gammy had given them to Millie and they were her favourite toys).
‘There’s dirt on the carpet, Camilla,’ she’d said once when Millie was eight, pointing to a tiny streak of black on the carpet. ‘Do you traipse through the house in your outdoor shoes purely to annoy me?’
Millie sometimes thought that perhaps she had been born purely to annoy her mother, because that was all she seemed to do. During her cognitive behavioural therapy the subject of her parents had come up as a source of stress. Various different methods of processing their comments were discussed, but after Millie had recounted a few examples Anwar’s mouth had got tight and he’d told Millie to just stay away her mother as much as possible. When Millie asked if that was avoidance, knowing that she was supposed to be facing her problems head on, Anwar broke from his usual casual, serene persona.
‘You stay away from those fucking people at all costs,’ he’d said, his voice firm and dictatorial instead of soft and non-confrontational. ‘You hear me Millie? Stay away.’
So over the last five years she had managed to stay away. She saw her parents once a year at Christmas (last year she hadn’t even had to see them then as her father had a conference in America), and for some reason her mother rang her every year on her birthday. This was ostensibly to wish her many happy returns, but normally the phone call had more to do with her mother wanting something.
Her parents never asked why Millie rarely took their calls; Millie suspected that their pride wouldn’t let them, but she also doubted that she was sorely missed. Her father barely knew her anyway, and her mother had repeatedly told her throughout her life how annoying she was. Her limits were not really tolerated by her parents, despite the fact that in recent years Millie had started to suspect that her mother had quite a bit to do with them being there in the first place. She had been a painfully shy child, which her parents had found intensely frustrating and embarrassing.
‘The bloody girl’s not right in the head,’ her father had moaned on the way back from a family political function he’d taken Millie and her mother to. Millie had been seven and had not spoken a word the entire afternoon. Her vocal cords had simply frozen up on her. ‘They thought she was retarded or something. What an embarrassment.’
Yet another thing Millie had done ‘purely to annoy’ her parents. Not that it ever crossed their minds that a shy child would find hordes of adults intimidating, or even that it was bizarre to expect your child to hold a conversation when all the attention they received at home was a series of barked orders. Or to expect your child to play seamlessly with the other children there, when at school Millie had very little social interaction with her peers, due to her already working with children four years older (something her mother had pushed for so that Millie wasn’t ‘held back’ by being with children her own age).
Millie heard the key in the front door and frowned. Jamie and Libby had only left an hour ago and she had told them to stay out as long as they wanted. To be honest she’d been hoping Rosie would stay up later with her, but halfway through the game of Junior Monopoly Millie had bought for her, Rosie’s yawns had become almost continuous. And she’d only lasted a minute into the story Millie read to her whilst they cuddled in bed before she’d been sound asleep.
Heavy footsteps echoed through the hallway and Millie turned to look over the back of the sofa.
‘I’ve got to go. I –’
‘Now you listen to me, young lady.’ Millie barely registered the sharp note in her mother’s voice; she was too busy staring at a scowling Pav, who was filling the doorway from the hall into the lounge. ‘I don’t care what excuse you think you can come up with. You will come to this function. We need to support your father in his campaign.’
‘Wh-what?’ Millie muttered. ‘I can’t …’
‘Camilla, you’ve been testing my patience for five bloody years and it’s about to run out. You know what, I’ve been thinking that it would be nice to see more of my mother-in-law. We’ve been discussing getting her moved to another, more convenient home out here in Hertfordshire. I don’t think it’s healthy for her to be stuck in the city; pollution and all that.’ Millie slowly turned away from Pav as all the colour drained from her face.
‘What?’ she whispered. ‘You can’t –’
‘Seeing as your father has power of attorney for her medical and financial needs, I think you’ll find that I can do exactly that. Moving out of all that smog is an eminently reasonable idea. And it’s not as though she has the capacity to make her own decisions anymore, is it?’
Millie squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her jaw, an uncharacteristic rage sweeping through her body, so strong it made her voice shake.
‘You can’t do that. She’s happy there. Disrupting her routine, the people she’s with, her carers. It would be … it would be cruel. Even you –’
‘Don’t be so melodramatic, darling, for goodness’ sake. She’s totally away with the fairies. She wouldn’t know if we stuck her on a rocket to the moon.’
‘She had a stroke, Mum,’ Millie said through gritted teeth. ‘She can’t walk very well. Her mind is –’
‘Spare me the sentimentality, Millie,’ her mother spat out. ‘What a load of tosh. Your grandmother is demented and
getting worse all the time. She didn’t speak a word to us last time we went to that godforsaken place.’
Millie took an unsteady breath and let it out slowly. Her parents hadn’t visited the home for over two years. It wasn’t godforsaken, in fact it was one of the best residential homes in the country. Gammy was happy there. She didn’t cope well with change. And the reason she wouldn’t have spoken to them is because she hated them both. It had nothing to do with dementia.
‘You don’t even pay for the home,’ Millie said; to her annoyance her voice broke at the end. She took another steadying breath to try and strengthen it: if there was one thing Valerie Morrison detested it was weakness. ‘Please.’ Another wave of bitterness attacked her at being reduced to begging this poisonous woman. ‘Please, don’t do this.’
‘Well, maybe if you come and talk to me and your father in person at the party conference I’ll reconsider. Maybe.’
Millie lowered the phone slowly into her lap and sat back on the sofa, staring forward into the middle distance and not even registering the sofa dip as a big body took up the space next to her.
‘Millie?’ her mother’s shout floated up from her lap. ‘I need an answer. Why can’t you just be normal for a change? Why are you always such a basket case?’ Pav stiffened by her side and with a jolt she realised how close he was and what he must have overheard. At lightning speed she snatched the phone to her ear again.
‘Okay, you win,’ she said, her voice devoid of emotion now. ‘I’ll come to the dinner.’
‘Good,’ her mother said, her tone back to cool and collected now that she had got her way. ‘And darling?’
‘Yes?’
‘At least try to be normal could you? For once.’
‘Right … normal.’ Millie ended the call before her mother could respond. She doubted Valerie wanted to stay on the line any longer anyway, and it was highly unlikely that she’d planned to wish her a happy birthday.
‘Who was that?’
She turned to look at Pav. His scowl from earlier had been replaced by concern. The last thing Millie needed now was Pav’s pity.
Over the week since the engagement party, Millie had done a very effective job of avoiding him. After she’d run away that night, luck had been on her side and she’d managed to jump straight into a black cab. By the time Pav had arrived at her house she’d double locked all the doors, turned off all the lights, and texted him to let him know she was home okay. She heard him knocking and calling her through her letterbox, saw the texts and missed calls on her phone, but decided that it was better if she ignored him. It was a coward’s way out, she was well aware of that. But Millie was a coward. She was weak and spineless and she did not fit into Pav’s world. Better he found that out now. If she was honest she’d thought that would be the end of it. That he would move straight on to pastures new. But over the weekend he’d texted her and rung her so many times she lost count. At first the tone of the messages he sent was concerned and slightly apologetic for his family, for putting her in that position. But after a day of them being ignored they’d become less concerned and more annoyed.
I’m sorry xxx
Millie. Come on. Stop being stubborn xx
Talk to me. You’re being ridiculous x
I don’t deserve this
That last text had been five days ago and was the final one she’d received. He’d tried to approach her twice at work, but luckily she’d had an excuse each time to get away. In the urology MDT, he’d glowered at her throughout the whole meeting and tried to block her exit at the end, but Barney, the head of her department, had come with her (since the disastrous MDT a couple of weeks ago they’d tightened up on her going to meetings alone) and when Pav tried to get in their way as they were leaving, Barney had propelled Millie out of the room in a rare show of protectiveness. And then she thought she’d caught him giving Pav a decidedly smug look as they passed him, which was … weird.
For the last two days Pav had given up trying to talk to her. When she snuck down to the cafeteria for a coffee to take back to her office yesterday, it was just her luck that he was there having a late lunch with the theatre team; his list must have overrun. She thought he was going to try and approach her again but he just spared her a quick scowl, rolled his eyes and went back to joking around with the rest of the table. Although she’d breathed a sigh of relief, her chest ached for the rest of the day. So much so that when she’d finished all the reporting for the whole department late that night, she’d found herself picking up her phone, pulling up his messages, and her fingers hovering over the screen to reply.
She’d just typed in I’m sor when an image of his mama’s face, complete with disgusted expression, flew into her brain, followed swiftly by that of Pav’s hurt face after she’d flinched away from him. It was no use – and if she was suffering this much heartache after such a short time with him she dreaded to think what she’d be like if she stayed with him any longer. She had limits; better she learn to live within them and stay sane with her heart intact.
‘I … What are you doing here?’ Millie said, staring down at her phone again. She heard him huff out a frustrated breath as he angled his body towards hers.
‘Millie,’ he said in a warning tone, ‘I want to know who that was you were talking to.’
‘Uh … ’
‘Millie, I’m not leaving until you –’
‘My mother.’
Chapter 20
‘When … when do we do that again?’
‘What?’ She chanced a look at Pav. His eyes were wide with surprise and his mouth had fallen open. ‘Why – ?’
Millie jumped up from the sofa in a sudden movement and rounded the coffee table to the other side. He was too close. The smell of the washing powder from his clothes, mixed with his own more woodsy but clean scent, was too much at that close range. The couple of glances she’d allowed herself of him were enough to add to the brain scramble: his dark hair, slightly ruffled and just a week or so past needing a haircut; one of those T-shirts that pulled tight across his chest; dark stubble, a testament to his ‘no shaving unless I have to go to the private hospital’ rule – he looked like a scruffy GQ model. He was almost too beautiful to be real.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked again, forcing herself to make eye contact because, seriously, she needed to know why. Why was he doing this? What possible interest could she hold for him?
The concerned expression was replaced again by one of annoyance as he gritted his teeth.
‘Jamie told me you’d be here, okay? I have a key anyway so I can take this beast out on my days off, and I thought, seeing as you have to be here if you’re looking after Rosie, that you might talk to me.’ His hard voice, softened. ‘I deserve some sort of explanation, Millie. You can’t just shut me out of your life and expect me to accept it. That’s not how relationships work.’
Millie bit her lip and looked away. Her distinct lack of even friendships was a testament to the fact that she had no idea how relationships worked, but the fact that Pav felt the need to explain that to her felt humiliating. She owed him something.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said finally after a full minute of silence. ‘I just don’t think we suit each other and … I … ’ She shrugged helplessly. ‘Look, Pav, your family were nothing but nice to me and I snubbed them. I clammed up and I hurt their feelings. You should be with someone like you, someone that lights up a room, who can cope with meeting a perfectly nice family for the first time without becoming a mute freak.’
When she glanced back up at him the annoyance in his expression had morphed into a soft, slightly frustrated look.
He sighed. ‘You’re not a freak.’
A huff of air left Millie as she rolled her eyes to the ceiling and then back at the big man sitting on the sofa. ‘I go silent when I’m stressed. I can’t cope with people I don’t know touching me. I pass out from panic attacks. I … ’ She paused and then rolled back her sleeves. Her forearms were scattered wi
th bruises from the stress she’d taken out on them over the last week. ‘I hurt myself to distract from my anxiety. That is weird, Pav. It’s freakish. I don’t know what you see in me and I –’ She broke off when she realised Pav was no longer sitting on the sofa; he was right in front of her and he’d taken her hands in his.
‘Jesus,’ he muttered as he pushed her sleeves up further and lifted her arms up, tilting them to one side, then the other. ‘Baby, this is way worse than before. What have you been doing to yourself?’
Millie frowned. They were getting off topic and she wanted to go back to the point. ‘I –’
‘I knew I should have made you see me earlier. Bloody hell. I’m such a thin-skinned selfish arsehole.’
‘For goodness’ sake,’ Millie said, tugging on her arms, but Pav held onto them in a gentle but firm grip. ‘What are you on about?’
‘I took you to that party. I pushed you too fast and then I let you deal with it on your own for a week because of my own poxy ego and pride. That’s what I’m talking about. You wouldn’t have hurt yourself like this if I’d have come to you sooner.’
‘It’s not your responsibility, Pav. I’m not your responsibility. And I’d like to remind you that I was avoiding you. Not the other way around. You tried to talk to me.’
‘Clearly I didn’t try hard enough.’
She shook her head and he let her pull her arms away. This conversation was confusing her. As always after a phone call with her mother, Millie felt like a small piece of her soul had been chipped away; she felt drained. She couldn’t deal with a randomly-angry-with-himself Pav who was taking her mental health problems on as his own.
‘Look, I don’t think I’m up to arguing with you at the moment, okay?’ she said, her voice sounding weak, even to her own ears.
‘Right, yes. I totally agree,’ Pav told her, and she breathed out a sigh of relief, ignoring the empty feeling of loss at the knowledge he was going to leave. But instead of walking out, Pav stepped into her personal space, forcing her to shuffle backwards to the sofa, then he sat himself down, pulled her next to him and tucked her under his arm so her head was resting on his chest.