“I still don’t understand why you had to bring him here! You could have taken him to a hospital.”
“For a Christian, you’re incredibly uncharitable. And single-minded. He needed my help! He was on a bunch of blankets and old curtains, and was wet through. If I hadn’t gotten him out of his wet clothes and into a warm bed, he could have died, for Christ’s sake!”
“I think you’re being a little melodramatic. I’m sure he would have been just fine where he was.” Carrie’s mum lets out a noise of frustration which I can’t quite describe. “He’s a tramp, after all, so he’s obviously used to living outside in all weathers.”
I’m really beginning to see why Carrie doesn’t have the highest regard for her mother.
Carrie lets out a growl. I wish I could see the expression on her face. Or perhaps I don’t, because even the tone of her voice is terrifying. “Mother,” she says, icy cool now. “We’re going around in circles here, wasting our breath. I’m not continuing this conversation. He needed my help, our help, and I had no choice but to bring him here. So you’ll just have to get over it. It’s not like he’s moving in.”
“I should think not, young lady! It’s bad enough you treating this place like one of your hotels, without bringing home every waif and stray—”
The older woman’s words are cut off by Carrie’s venomous reply. Apparently the cool she had for a moment has been well and truly lost. “Waif and stray? He’s a fucking human being, Mother! One that fought for this fucking country, which is more than can be said for either of us. He’s had a really tough time ever since, and he needs help and support to get back on his feet, not spiteful bigots like you deciding he’s not good enough to be in your precious house!”
“Right! That’s it! I’ve had enough. Get. Out. Both of you.”
I begin to creep down the stairs, ready to step in if things get violent. With the venom that’s currently spewing between them, I won’t rule it out.
Carrie laughs, which is somehow more terrifying than her cool and collected voice. “I will be more than happy to get out. More than happy. But until Flynn is well and back on his feet, I’m going nowhere. Unless you’d like me to leave you alone with him?”
“I’ll phone the police!”
“And say what?”
My heart thumps. I don’t want the police involved. Not that I’ve done anything wrong, not really, but they’d ask for details, for names, and that would put me firmly back on the grid. And then my transgressions would come to light.
The thought spurs me on, and I reach the bottom of the staircase intact, then step into the living room, where the mother-daughter fight is taking place. Mrs. Rogers lets out a squeak, and as much as I think she’s a hateful, spiteful woman who’s doing more harm to her daughter than helping her, I summon all the diplomacy I can muster.
“Mrs. Rogers,” I say, my voice saccharine, dripping with so much sugar I think I’ve given myself diabetes, “that won’t be necessary, really. Thank you so much for your hospitality. It’s very much appreciated. Now, if you’ll just let me gather my belongings, I’ll be out of your way as soon as possible.”
Carrie, her expression morphing from surprise at seeing me standing there to fiercely determined, crosses the room and puts her hand on my arm, glaring at her mother. “That won’t be necessary, Flynn. Not just yet, anyway. You’re still not well. You can’t go back to Newhaven.”
Opening and closing her mouth a couple of times, Mrs. Rogers looks me up and down, taking in my size and no doubt unkempt appearance, and visibly deflates. “Quite right,” she says, the smile she gives me more of a grimace. “You can stay here until you’re better. I’ll just go and stay with Mabel down the road. I’m sure she’ll put me up for a couple of nights.”
She has to know I heard every nasty word she said, but faced with me, she can’t seem to hold onto that side of her nature. Either she’s frightened of me, or she’s so concerned about what other people think of her that she can’t continue being a bitch to her daughter while there’s someone else there. Regardless of her reasons, I resolve to get out of there as soon as humanly possible, and find a way to make Carrie come with me. Clearly we can’t live in a damn squat together, but I want her away from her bullying witch of a mother, and fast.
“Carrie,” I say, looking down at her. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine. If your mother would be so kind as to let me use her bathroom for a shower, then I’ll be on my way.” I give her a look that I hope conveys to her that I have a plan.
She opens her mouth to reply, and I twitch my head, discouraging her.
“Okay,” she finally says, all the anger seeping out of her, “go and get cleaned up, and I’ll get you something to eat.” She doesn’t ask her mother’s permission, doesn’t even look at the older woman. I don’t blame her, to be honest. I didn’t even hear the first part of the argument that had been blazing for God knows how long, so I don’t know what else passed between them. But whatever it was, it was bad. Their already fractured relationship could well be beyond repair now, and I’m responsible. Or at least partly responsible.
“Thank you,” I say. My smile, for Carrie alone, is genuine. She softens further, returns my smile, then squeezes my hand before heading towards the kitchen.
“I’ll bring some food up to the bedroom in twenty minutes or so.”
A strangled sound comes from Carrie’s mother. I don’t know if it’s because of the look that passed between us, Carrie squeezing my hand, or the fact that she’ll be coming up to the bedroom I’ve been inhabiting after I’ve just showered, but Mrs. Rogers is not a happy bunny.
Honestly, I can’t say that I care. I’ll play nice for the sake of Carrie—they’re still family, after all—and to prevent any phone calls to the police or any more mentions of the hospital, but I’m afraid I have no sympathy for the woman. It’s clear to me, even without the snippets that Carrie has given me during the time we’ve known each other, that Mrs. Rogers drove her daughter away. Carrie’s own troubles could have been the ideal way for them to get past their differences, to grow closer, but the older woman is obviously such a narrow-minded control freak that it’s impossible to even tolerate her, never mind have a close relationship with her.
I head upstairs and into the bathroom, all the while continuing to turn thoughts over and over in my mind.
It’s little wonder that Carrie’s so successful. Not because of her mother, but in spite of her.
I realize just how incredible Carrie is. She’s been downtrodden, pretty much bullied, for her entire childhood. Understandably, she wanted out of her mother’s house as soon as was legally possible. But instead of turning to booze and drugs, and other much worse things, to drown her sorrows, she forged a path all her own and is now a super-successful businesswoman.
Mrs. Rogers’ current attitude, I suspect, is more down to jealousy than anything else. She knows, has to know, that her parenting skills leave a lot to be desired, and yet her daughter turned out brilliantly. Sure, she’s got issues, but then who the hell hasn’t? I certainly have.
Switching on the shower, I strip off, then use the loo while I wait for the water to reach temperature. I can’t shave or brush my teeth as all my stuff’s back at the Old Newhaven Hotel, but I know a good scrub of my hair and body will make me feel miles better. I’m still none the wiser as to what time or day it is or how long I’ve been sleeping in Mrs. Rogers’ spare room, but for now, it’s not important.
My immediate priority is to figure out how to get Carrie away from her mother’s poisonous presence without seeming as though I’m interfering. She’s effectively been thrown out of the house, but from what I’ve gathered in past conversations, Carrie won’t be allowed back to work until the doctor has signed her off, or something. So that probably means she can’t leave the area. I have no idea of the legal implications, whether anyone can actually stop Carrie doing any of those things, but I just want to help her without appearing to be telling her what to do. She’s had more than h
er fill of that, and it’ll only turn her against me. And I’m on her side. I want to be by her side, through thick and thin. I have no idea how the hell that is going to work, so I grab a couple of bottles of smelly stuff from the bathroom cabinet and step beneath the spray. I have my best ideas in the shower. Which is a shame, really, as in recent years there’s been a distinct lack of showering in my life. Probably explains a lot.
I simply stand under the shower head for a couple of minutes, letting the hot water pummel my aching muscles. It feels damn good, and although it’s far from a miracle cure, I do start to feel more human as the water massages me, and the building steam works its way into my blocked sinuses. I’d quite like to stand here until the hot water runs out, but me hiding in here isn’t going to solve any problems, so I snap out of it.
Squeezing a liberal blob of some minty shower stuff into my hand, I start scrubbing my hair. I’m filthy, of course, so it takes a couple of goes before I’m satisfied it’s clean. Repeating the process all over my body, I let my mind go blank and hope a solution presents itself.
Sadly, all I’m left with is a squeaky clean physique and an epic yearning to grab Carrie and run away together. It’s tempting, but unfortunately, not a viable option. She’s got a business to run, a life to lead. And what have I got?
A fuck load of baggage which hides away with me in an abandoned hotel. Baggage that hasn’t diminished any with time or distance.
It hits me right between the eyes with a force that makes me think I’ve taken a round. Christ. What the fuck am I doing? Who am I to be helping Carrie, to be there for her as she gets back on her feet? I’m not exactly a stable, well-rounded person myself. I’m a fucking useless coward. I’ve run away from my problems, hoping they’ll go away. But they won’t. I know that now.
I need to face them head on, work through them, and eventually overcome them. Maybe then I can be someone that Carrie deserves in her life. She needs someone strong, not someone so laden down with their own issues that they can’t move on with their life.
I know what I have to do. It’s the polar opposite of what I want to do. The trouble is, either of those things could lose me Carrie, but unfortunately, I have to take the risk.
I want to snog her face off, tell her I’m crazy about her and that I want to be with her. Instead, I have to walk away for now, get back on the grid, face what I did, the resultant fallout. Get counseling. Get a job, find somewhere to live. Providing I don’t end up in prison, that is.
Before I do any of that, though, I’ve got to tell Carrie what I plan to do.
Chapter Ten
“I’ll bring some food up to the bedroom in twenty minutes or so.”
Flynn turns to go upstairs, and I walk to the kitchen without even looking at my mother. I’m still trying to work out what the plan is. Clearly Flynn has one. He didn’t want me to fight to keep him here any longer, but what is he going to do?
Once I’m standing in front of the cooker I realize I don’t have a clue what to cook for him. I look in the pantry for soup, but I must have used the last tin the other night. The man needs a hot meal. He needs his bloody brains checked, too. Why couldn’t he have just stayed in bed? I could have had the whole thing sorted by now if he had.
Giving up on the pantry, I check the fridge and hit the jackpot. A bowl of last night’s stew. I can manage to heat that up, and I know it’ll be nutritious and filling. Least he’ll have a good meal in his stomach before he disappears out into the world.
If only I had my bank cards, my phone, my car, and my wits about me. I could get us to a hotel and we’d be fine. But Mother has all those things. Well, except for the wits, obviously. “For your own good,” she’d said, and Doctor frigging Sherrington had agreed.
I pour the stew into a pan and turn on the heat.
My mind races. It’s impossible for me to stay here and keep Flynn safe. I can’t let him go back to the rundown hotel. People die in such conditions, and I won’t let that happen to him. I’m going to have to do something drastic.
“I was going to give that to the vicar.” Mother’s voice behind my shoulder makes me jump.
“Well, I’m sure he won’t mind donating it to someone who’s actually sick and in need,” I snap.
“I’m not unreasonable, Caroline, but you always push me to the edge.”
I take a deep breath. I’m not going to be manipulated by her again. “Yes, as always, it’s all my fault. Well, you’ll be glad to know I’m not going to be your problem anymore.”
“You’re not going to go with him, are you?”
I’m stirring the pot and not looking at her, but I can tell from the tone of her voice she’s going the whole nine yards.
“I’m going, Mum. I want my cards, my phone, my car keys.”
“But Doctor Sherrington—”
“Is just a doctor I employ—no, correction—I employed. I’m taking control of my life again because this just isn’t working.”
The breakdown made me vulnerable, forced me to rely on others. Well, the control is coming back to me now. I’m not going to play my mother’s twisted game anymore.
“But you can’t go back to work. You need the doctor to sign you off.”
“No.” The contents of the pot are bubbling as I stir now, so I turn to the cupboard and take out a bowl. “I need a doctor to sign me off. So I’m going to go and find one.”
“I’ve done so much for you.” Mum sighs.
I pour out the stew and turn to the cutlery drawer. I look briefly at her. “Yes, and I thank you for taking me in and looking after me, but now I have to go. This is toxic, and I can’t cope with it any longer.”
On my way back to the cooker I pick up a flower-emblazoned tray.
“But you’ll go with him, a tramp?”
“Flynn isn’t a tramp, Mum. He’s a good guy who’s done more good for my mental health than anyone else, and right now he needs my help. So I’m going to give it to him.”
“Fine, fine, I’ll go and get your stuff. But don’t think you can just come back when you want to. This is it. I’m not going to let you trample all over my heart again.”
Picking up the tray, I walk past her, throwing her the dirtiest look in my arsenal. “Oh, don’t worry, I won’t be back. Clearly there’s nothing here for me.”
Tears irritate the back of my eyes. It hurts to have your mother disown you, even if it’s not the first time it’s happened. I flicker my eyelashes and take a deep breath. I haven’t got time to dwell on the fuck up that is the relationship with my mother. I’ve got to get Flynn to somewhere warm, comfy, and safe first. That’s my priority.
I carefully mount the stairs and head to the second best bedroom, the one covered in so many flowers it sets off my hay fever if I’m in there too long. I put the tray down on the top of the chest of drawers and sit down on the end of the bed as my knees are shaking pretty badly and I feel somewhat queasy.
“Hey, Carrie, are you all right?” Flynn’s at the door, clothes on, but hair still dark and damp from the shower.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” My smile is too big, and I nod a little too hard. I’m not going to tell him my mother’s just disowned me though. He’s got enough on his plate. “I brought you some stew, to get your strength up.”
“That’s great, thanks.” He picks up the tray and brings it with him. He sits beside me.
“I’m going to get all my stuff back, so I need to go and pack. We’ll drive off to somewhere a little less in the back of beyond and book into a hotel, and then we can move from there.”
“You’re really going, then?”
“Oh yeah, I’m going. Are you coming with me?”
He doesn’t answer straight away, but he’s just taken a spoonful of stew, so I guess he’s being polite. Just in case he’s not I babble on for a bit. “I know you’re all independent, don’t worry. I’m not buying you off, I’m not going to make you change, I just want to make sure you’re somewhere safe and comfy while you get over this flu thing.
Once you’re well you can go right back to what you were doing.”
He nods, gulps and takes a deep breath. “Okay, I’ll come with you, for now.” Flynn’s reply isn’t exactly enthusiastic. I put it down to him still being ill.
“Right, well, I’ll let you eat and I’ll go pack. Won’t take me long. Then we can go.”
“Yeah, sure, cool.”
It isn’t cool. Nothing is cool. Flynn is ill and cagey, and I’m moments away from completely falling apart, but I carry on regardless. I don’t think about the implications, don’t contemplate the future. I just fill my bag with my things and head back into Flynn’s room. “Ready?”
He nods.
“Come on, then.”
I turn to leave, and Flynn calls my name. I look round and he’s directly in front of me.
“I really appreciate what you’re doing for me. I just want you to know that.”
I smile up at him. The water pooling in the back of my eyes decides to drip freely at just that moment.
He reaches out, cups my face and wipes away the tears with the pads of his thumbs. Then his lips are on mine. He’s hot and fevered, I can taste the sweat beaded on his upper lip, and there’s something disturbing about the intensity of the experience. Flynn is holding something back from me, and I don’t know what it is. I don’t think I want to know.
He pulls back, and we both sigh.
“Okay, let’s go.” Flynn takes my bag from my hand, and I lead the way downstairs. My cards, keys, and phone are on the coffee table. There’s no sign of my mum. Not a surprise, she knows she can’t win so now she’s sulking. Ah, no wonder I’m screwed up. My adult role model is a complete baby.
It takes a moment to back my car out of the garage, pick up Flynn and get on the road. It’s so good to drive my little red, shiny baby again. Thank God I got Mum to drive us up here from London in it. Though the sporty BMW Z3 isn’t exactly practical for a man of Flynn’s size.
“Where are we going?” Flynn asks, weakly.
“I dunno, gonna head towards something with buildings and roads and shit and hope there’s a halfway to decent hotel there.”
The Billionaire and the Wild Man Page 9