Love You Better (21 page)

‘You’re fucking disgusting.’

He’d made her wet herself. He’d beaten her like an unwa
nted dog
.

‘I love you.’

Even through the glass, she could hear what he’d said.

‘You’re fucking disgusting.’

She remembered how he’d spat on her, feeling the warm fluid trickle down her cheek in her mind. Where was
that
Oliver now? Why was the good version of her husband standing in front of her, looking at her like she was the oxygen he needed to survive instead of the uncontrollable monster she’d thrown out? Why was he
getting
into her head, making the good memories of their
marriage
play out in her mind like a montage, making her wonder if she’d been
hasty in
telling him to leave. She shook her head as she
found he
rself wondering what would happen if she talked back or opened the door, and whether everyone deserved a second chance.

Effie opened her eyes and slowly, Oliver raised his fingers to his mouth and pressed them against his lips before touching the window in front of him.

‘I’m sorry.’

He looked at her again with those sad blue eyes, turned around and walked away. She heard him walk around to the front of the house and open and close the front gate. When she heard the BMW drive away, she slumped to the floor, hugged her knees to her chest and cried.

20.

E
ffie put her head in her hands. Her eyes were aching. She hated spreadsheets at the best of times, but this felt like torture. After a week off, she’d returned to work, but all she wanted was to go straight back home again.

‘Are you alright?’ Nikki asked.

Effie nodded and rubbed her eyes. ‘Yeah, fine. Just this thing is making my eyes hurt.’

‘I know it’s a bit of a mess. I tried, but I suck at Excel.’

‘Don’t worry about it. Thanks for taking care of it while I was off.’

She threw Nikki a smile, but the spreadsheet she’d carefully constructed no longer made sense. Something had happened to the formulas, and she couldn’t see what it was.

‘No worries.’ Nikki smiled back. ‘Are you sure you’re better, though? You look a bit peaky.’

‘It’ll take a while to get my strength back, but I’ll be fine.’ Effie turned back to her screen and squinted her watery eyes.

‘My flatmate had salmonella poisoning too once. I’ve never seen someone so sick before. It can really knock you for six. You shouldn’t have rushed back; I could’ve covered for you for longer.’

Salmonella poisoning. That was her excuse for being off, and thanks to the lack of sleep, her body really did look like it had been through the wars.

‘I had to come back sometime.’ Effie shrugged. It was true. As tempting as it was to hide away from the world, she’d had to leave the house.

Since Oliver had turned up, she’d felt trapped, even though he hadn’t threatened her in any way. He’d come back once more, left flowers and called through the letterbox, telling her how much he loved her, how much he needed her, how much he’d changed. Afterwards, she’d lain wide awake in bed, already unsettled by the noises of the house, convinced that he was standing outside watching the house, and it was messing with her mind. It didn’t make her feel worried or scared. It was worse than that. It made her feel sorry that their marriage had deteriorated in such a bad way and that the person she’d thought was her rock was sleeping somewhere else, in an unfamiliar room in an unfamiliar bed, instead of the one they’d once shared.

Her mind was a whirlwind of confusion, and she was so tired that even her teeth ached. All she wanted to do was sleep, and
looking
at a screen full of numbers wasn’t helping.

‘Did you hear about Sketch yet?’

Effie shook her head. ‘No. Why? What’s happened?’

‘XFM have profiled them and are championing their single this week. They’ve been booked for an interview on Friday and everything. How cool is that?’

‘That’s amazing,’ Effie replied. ‘Doug must be over the moon.’

‘I’ll say. Smith too.’

Effie sighed at the mention of his name. Smith was supposed to be the one with the messed-up life – surrounded by drugs, sleeping with another guy’s girlfriend while cheating on his own and getting beaten up to the point of hospitalisation. When had it all changed? Ever since he’d come back, her life had started to spiral out of control while his was steadying out. He had a girlfriend, a nice flat and a good job – a job where he was proving himself. Would he have been like this if they’d stayed together?

Effie pressed her fingers into her eyes. The truth was, it didn’t matter. She’d screwed everything up. She’d married someone she thought she knew and ended up on her own, and even if she hadn’t, it was too late. Smith was taken, pinned down into a relationship with Mile-High Claire.

She looked at the spreadsheet again and shook her head with a sigh. ‘Everything’s fucked.’

‘Okay, okay, shush.’ Doug called for quiet in the office and turned up the volume on his computer. The excitement was palpable as the Archive family huddled around his desk.

It had been the longest workweek of her life. Oliver hadn’t turned up again, but all the sleepless nights listening out for him had taken their toll, not to mention trying to appear normal in the office. She was struggling, but at five thirty on Friday
afternoon
, she’d stayed behind with everyone else to listen to Sketch’s
interview
. There was no doubt as to what this opportunity meant. Rush-hour drive time was one of two peaks for listenership, and all week long Archive’s collective energy had been ploughed into advertising and making sure the whole world knew about it.

Effie leaned against the wall and fanned her face with her hand. The blazing sunshine and heat outside would be perfect if she were sitting in her garden, but being in the office was a different story. She looked at her colleagues, all so engrossed by the radio that they barely seemed to notice the sweltering heat.

‘This is it.’ Doug grinned as Sketch’s debut single played through the speakers, and Effie smiled as everyone applauded,
clapping
their hands and slapping each other on the back. The long hours, the preparations for the launch – even the mind-numbing process of mailing out CDs – it had paid off. She looked at Doug, who was positively glowing. After twenty-odd years, Archive had a band that had made the transition from being an underground success to being on the cusp of a mainstream breakthrough. Next to him, Smith stood with his back to her and his arms folded, his T-shirt pulled taut against his broad shoulders. Even with his back to her, she could sense his pride.

Once the song had finished and the radio DJ introduced the band, the chatter in the office stopped, but Effie felt like she was on the outside, looking in. Her head was thick and fuzzy. When had she last slept for more than a couple of hours at a time? She blinked and pressed a hand to her forehead as the ground gently swayed under her feet. Jesus, it was hot. Her nostrils felt like they’d shrunk as she tried to take a deep breath.

Smith turned his head a fraction, and she moved her hand, pressing the backs of her fingers against the nape of her neck to try to cool herself down, but they felt as hot as the air around her.

‘You okay?’ Smith whispered, leaning back to look at her.

She nodded. ‘Yeah, I’m fine. Just hot.’

He turned back to listen to the radio, and Effie tried to concentrate. What were they talking about? She could hear them speaking, but the words were jumbling up, meshing with the buzzing in her ears like static. She took another deep breath, and Smith turned around again.

‘Are you sure you’re alright?’

‘Yeah,’ she whispered back, but she didn’t feel alright. Her pulse was loud in her ears, and her head was getting lighter by the second.

‘You don’t look it.’ Smith frowned.

She was about to answer back, but her vision swam, and for a second there were two Smiths standing in front of her instead
of one.

‘Come on, you need some air.’ He turned and put his hand on her arm.

‘The interview . . .’ she mumbled. Why couldn’t she speak properly?

Smith opened his mouth, but she didn’t hear a single word of what he said. The inside of her head turned to wool as her legs gave way beneath her, and everything went black.

‘Effie?’

Effie slowly opened her eyes, blinking against the bright
sunlight
. Her head felt oddly disconnected from her body.

‘Don’t worry – you’re alright.’ Smith was crouching in front of her, looking into her eyes. ‘You fainted.’

‘I feel sick,’ she replied shakily.

‘Here.’

He handed her a glass of water and kept his fingers at the base, steadying it as she took a sip with trembling hands. Slowly, the
buzzing
in her ears receded, and the brightness in her vision dimmed. She felt the heat of the sun on her arms and looked around. They were outside on the balcony.

‘How is she?’ Doug asked, stepping through the door.

Smith nodded. ‘She’s alright.’

‘Oh, god. The interview,’ Effie groaned.

She’d fainted right in the middle of it. She’d missed it and
probably
caused a commotion at the same time.

‘Don’t worry about that,’ Doug replied softly. ‘All you need to worry about right now is getting better.’

‘I’m fine, really. It just got too hot in there.’

Doug frowned. ‘The air conditioning is on full blast.’

It was? She hadn’t felt it at all. If anything, she’d felt like she was in a sauna, wearing winter clothes.

‘Effie, you’re not ready to be back at work. You need to go home and rest.’

She opened her mouth to reply, but he put his hand up to
stop her
.

‘No arguments. Rest. We’ll make sure you get home okay once you’re feeling a bit steadier, and you’re not to come back until you’re fit and healthy. Understood?’

He sounded like her dad. Or how she imagined her dad might sound anyway. She looked from Doug to Smith, both mirroring the same concerned but firm expressions. Clearly, they weren’t going to take no for an answer, despite knowing how stubborn she could be. She sighed and nodded.

‘But what about—’

‘Nikki can cover you, and we’ll pull together. It’s what we do.’ Doug looked at Smith. ‘Take care of her until she’s ready to go.’

‘Don’t worry, I will,’ Smith replied with a nod as Doug patted her on the shoulder. They both watched him go back inside.

‘Talk about embarrassing,’ Effie said and took another sip of water.

Smith shrugged. ‘You’re sick. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. How are you feeling now?’

Her insides were still trembling, but the disjointed light-
headedness
was all but gone. ‘Better. I just need to sleep.’

‘You look like shit.’ He grinned.

‘Thanks. You know how to kick a girl when she’s down.’

‘I didn’t know salmonella messed with your brain too. You know you always look gorgeous. Even with those massive bags under your eyes.’

She laughed nervously as he brushed the delicate skin under her eyes and swatted his hand away. He’d called her gorgeous, and she drank in the backhanded compliment, even though she knew it was an outright lie. She
did
have massive bags under her eyes, and she knew for a fact that she looked like she’d been dragged up from the bottom of the Thames.

‘Come on.’ Smith stood up and held his hands out to help her up. ‘Let’s get you home.’

‘If you feel faint, you tell me. If you feel sick, you tell me. If you want me to slow down—’

‘I tell you.’ Effie nodded. ‘I’ve got it.’

She took the helmet from him and looked at the bike, remembering the urge she’d had to kick it just before she’d argued with Smith. Was she mad? Surely it made more sense to go home in something more suitable, something with a proper seat and
doors? So
mething like, say, a cab? But Smith had offered, and she couldn’t say no. It had been so long since she’d been on it, and
she di
dn’t want to face a journey home with a chatty cab driver. Smith sat on the bike and put his helmet on before nodding at
her to g
et on behind him.

‘Ready?’

Effie nodded and wrapped her arms around him as he set off. With her thighs straddling his, she couldn’t ignore the real reason she’d accepted his offer of a ride home. She hadn’t been this close to him since before he’d left to go travelling. Flesh on flesh, skin on skin. As he slowly navigated the streets of London, she let herself melt into his back. The taut abs she’d seen in Ireland were right under her hands, and she splayed her hands out holding him as close to her as possible. It wasn’t just about attraction. She felt safe. Even though she was probably too fragile to be on the back of a bike and even though the last time she’d been on one had ended in disaster, she felt safe with him. He seemed to be on high alert, watching out for her as he rode along. At every red light, he put his hand on her thigh and turned his head, asking if she was alright.