The front door swings open before I’ve even made it halfway up the garden path, and Nan’s standing looking petrified in her nightie. ‘Olivia! Oh my goodness.’ She rushes down the path to collect me, taking my elbow and leading me into the house. ‘Oh my word, whatever has happened? Oh my goodness!’
‘I’m okay,’ I mumble, exhaustion taking hold, rendering me incapable of proper speech. I should make the effort, though, because Nan looks truly beside herself, her usually fixed hair in disarray and her face looking older. She needs reassurance.
‘I’ll make a cup of tea.’ She pushes me towards the kitchen, but I freeze on the threshold when I feel the hairs on the back of my neck rise.
‘Where is he?’ I ask, jolting forward a little when Nan bumps into my back.
She doesn’t answer, instead overtaking me and pulling me into the kitchen. ‘Come, I’ll make tea,’ she repeats in an attempt to avoid answering my question.
‘Nan, where?’ I ask, stopping her from pulling me further into the room.
‘Olivia, he’s been out of his mind.’ She tugs me harder until I stumble into the kitchen and he comes into view. Miller’s sitting at the table, looking a mighty mess and really pissed off. Yet his evident displeasure and the irritation it spikes in me doesn’t prevent the simmering want from our train kiss to reignite.
Defeated.
He slowly stands, giving me warning eyes. I couldn’t care less. He has no scruples, dragging in an old lady as a tool to get his way. She’s oblivious to the horror that is our dead relationship and, subsequently, my dead heart. I’m about to scream in his face in a desperate attempt to show him my rage at his underhanded tactics, but before I can muster the energy, a sharp pain stabs at my temple, making me clench my head on a hiss and a stumble of my heels.
‘Jesus, Olivia.’ He’s in front of me in a second, stroking my face, putting his lips everywhere and mumbling incoherent words, mostly quiet curses.
I’m too tired to fight him off, so I wait until he’s finished smothering me before pulling away. I penetrate him with cold eyes. ‘Nan, please see Miller out.’
‘Olivia,’ she rebukes me gently. ‘Miller has been terribly worried. I told you, you need to replace your telephone.’
‘I won’t because I don’t want to speak to him.’ My voice is as cold as my eyes surely are. ‘Have you forgotten what the last few weeks have been like, Nan?’ I can’t believe I’ve been cornered like this again. He has no morals.
‘Of course, but Miller has explained. He’s very sorry, said it’s all a misunderstanding.’ She hastily gets three mugs from the cupboard, set on making tea quickly, like it will pacify me. Or maybe the consumption of some good English tea will make everything better.
‘A misunderstanding?’ I look at him, finding the usual impassive blue gaze. Ironically, it’s comforting after the maniac I’ve encountered tonight. It’s familiar, which I conclude to be a bad thing. ‘Tell me. What out of everything have I misunderstood?’
Miller steps forward, but on instinct I step away again. ‘Livy.’ He rakes a frustrated hand through his dark waves and attempts to straighten his wrecked suit. ‘Can we talk?’ he tries, his jaw ticking.
‘Come on, Livy. Be reasonable,’ Nan pipes up. ‘Give him a chance to explain.’
I let slip a little laugh, making Nan frown and Miller’s jaw tense further. ‘Never.’ I turn away, leaving two despairing souls in the kitchen. No one is more desolate than I am, though. I’m crumbling, disintegrating.
My head is thumping as I take the stairs, my mind crippled with too much to absorb. I’ve never felt more confused and helpless, or angry and frustrated.
‘Livy.’ His voice halts me halfway up and I muster the strength I need to face my heart’s nemesis. His eyes are glazed, his shoulders visibly slumped, but that air of confidence still surrounds him. ‘You’ve underestimated my determination to fix us.’
‘We can’t be fixed.’
‘Wrong.’
I take the banister for support. His one-word counter is seething with determination and confidence. ‘I’ve already told you, I can’t fix you. And I can’t risk you breaking me beyond repair . . .’ My voice trails off as I reach the end of my declaration. I’m furious that I can’t finish as bravely as I started. I’m already ruined. Not broken, but ruined. Broken is fixable. Ruined is not. Ruined is beyond hope. ‘Good night.’
‘You’re mistaking me for a man who gives up easily.’
‘No, I mistook you for a man who I could trust.’ I find my way to my room and strip down before collapsing onto my bed and hiding under the sheets. While I know I’m being sensible, the willpower to maintain my strength is crushing me. He’s crushing me.