Gregory passes me first, then Nan, and when Miller approaches my motionless form, he slowly drags disturbed eyes to my traumatised ones and stops in front of me. He’s a dishevelled wreck, his shirt and waistcoat all askew and ripped at the shoulder, his hair wild and tangled.
‘I apologise,’ he says quietly, and then turns and strides down the pathway, his long legs eating up the distance to his car in no time.
‘Miller!’ I shout, panicked as I go in pursuit of him. My unsteady legs are of no assistance and tyres screech away from the kerb before I make it to the end of the path. My hand instinctively reaches for my chest, like a bit of pressure might calm the erratic thumping. It doesn’t and I’m not sure there is anything that will.
‘Livy?’ George’s low husk brings my eyes away from Miller’s disappearing Mercedes to his confused form approaching the house. ‘Sweetheart, what’s going on?’
I give in to my emotions again and fall apart, letting him wrap me in a bear hug and hold my weak body up. ‘It’s all gone horribly wrong,’ I cry into his cable-knit jumper, letting his squidgy chest mould around my diminutive frame.
‘Oh dearie me,’ he soothes, rubbing calming circles into my back. ‘Let’s get you inside.’
George takes a firm hold of my shoulders and guides me up the path, shutting the door gently behind us. Then he steers me to the kitchen, where we find Nan dabbing Gregory’s nose with a damp compress. I can smell the TCP and hear Gregory’s continued hisses, proof that it’s Nan’s treatment of choice. ‘Hold still,’ she chastises him, annoyance still rife in her tone.
Gregory eyes me as George pushes me into a chair and hands me his clean hanky, and Nan swings around, clocking the loss of one person and the gain of another. ‘You’re late!’ she yells at poor, innocent George. ‘Dinner’s ruined and I’ve had a wrestling match in my front garden!’
‘Now hold on one minute, Josephine Taylor!’ George’s back straightens and mine tenses. She’s in no mood to take any backchat, and George should note this from the annoyance pouring from her short, plump body. It doesn’t deter him, though. ‘I’ve just arrived and I can see that dinner being ruined is the least of our worries, so why don’t you put a lid on it and let me help sort out these two sorry states.’
She dabs the compress over Gregory’s lip on a few stutters of shock. ‘Where’s Miller?’ she blurts, her fury now directed at me.
‘He left,’ I admit, wiping at my eyes with the hanky and stealing a risky glance at Gregory. His eyes are narrowed and it isn’t because they’re closing up from the swelling. He’s going to have a shiner on one eye for sure, the opposite eye to the one Miller blackened during their last clash.
My battered friend grumbles something on a sardonic laugh, but I don’t ask him to repeat himself because I know for certain I won’t want to hear whatever he’s said, and neither will Nan or George.
‘What’s happened?’ George asks, taking up the seat next to me.
‘Damned if I know.’ Nan covers Gregory’s split lip with a padded plaster and presses around the edges to ensure it’s stuck tight, ignoring the hisses of protest coming from her patient. ‘All I know is that Gregory and Miller seem to dislike each other, yet no one is willing to enlighten me as to why.’ She turns her expectant eyes towards me, making me drop my gaze to the table, evading her.
Truth is, Miller and Gregory hated each other before Gregory found out about Miller’s tainted past. Now I can only surmise that they categorically despise each other. There’s nothing that’ll fix this. I can have one man or the other. Guilt rips through me as I watch my oldest friend, my only friend, being taped up – guilt for being the root cause of his pain and injuries, and guilt because I know that I won’t pick him.
I stand and pull every set of eyes in the room to me, each body stilling to gauge my next move.
Rounding the table calmly, I lean down to kiss Gregory’s cheek. ‘When you love someone, you love them because of who they are and how they came to be that person,’ I whisper into his ear, and immediately appreciate that Nan’s acute hearing might have caught my declaration. I pray Gregory keeps this information to himself – not for me or Miller, but for Nan. It’ll stir too many ghosts. ‘I didn’t give up on him and I’m not about to now.’ I straighten up and walk calmly out of the kitchen, leaving my family behind to go and comfort my someone.
Chapter Sixteen
The masses of sparkling mirrors lining the lobby of Miller’s apartment block bounce my reflection everywhere, the image of me, tear-stained and hopeless, unavoidable. The doorman tips his hat politely, and I force a meagre smile in return, choosing to ride up to Miller’s in the lift rather than take the few hundred stairs that I’ve almost become unaffected by. I keep my eyes forward when the doors meet and I’m confronted with more mirrors, looking through myself and avoiding the ugly sight of the waif-like woman that I’m faced with.
Once I’ve been in the lift for what seems like for ever, the doors slide open and I force my legs to carry me to the shiny black front door. It takes even more mental encouragement to knock. I would question whether he’s even here . . . if it weren’t for the heavy air surrounding me. Miller’s anger is lingering in the space, closing me in and suffocating me. I can feel it spreading over my skin and settling deep.
I jump back when the door flies open on a harsh yank and I’m met by Miller, looking no better than he did when he stalked away nearly an hour ago. There’s been no attempt to restore his perfect self, his hair still messy, his shirt and waistcoat still ripped, and his eyes still reflecting rage. A glass of whisky sits in his hand, his fingers coated in Gregory’s blood. White fingertips indicate the unforgiving grip he has of the glass as he brings it to his mouth and tips the rest of the contents down his throat, keeping steely eyes on me. I’m fidgeting, my eyes now darting across the floor at my feet, but they fly up when I catch an almost undetectable shift of his shoes. Or stagger. He’s drunk, and when I look harder, focus on those eyes that never fail to capture my attention, I see something more – something unfamiliar – and it catapults my unease to a place beyond anything I’ve ever experienced while in Miller’s presence. I’ve felt vulnerable before, hopeless and helpless, but always on an unsure level. I’ve never felt frightened like this, not even during his psychotic displays of madness. This is a different fear. It’s snaking up my spine and wrapping itself around my neck, making words impossible and breathing challenging. It’s my nightmare. The one where he leaves me.
‘Go home, Livy.’ His tongue is heavy in his mouth, making his words slur slowly, but it’s not his usual, purposeful lazy rasp. The door slams in my face, echoing around me, and I jump back, startled at his maliciousness. I’m pounding the wood with my fist before I can decide if it’s a wise move, fear sailing through me.
‘Open the door, Miller!’ I yell, not relenting with my hammering of the black, shiny wood, ignoring the fast numbing sensation spreading across the side of my balled hand. ‘Open!’
Bang, bang, bang!
I’m going nowhere. I’ll hammer all night long if I have to. He doesn’t get to shut me out of his apartment or his life.
Bang, bang, bang!
‘Miller!’
I’m suddenly attempting to hit thin air, and it sends me on a few disorientated staggers forward. I just manage to steady my flailing body before it collides with Miller’s.
‘I said go home.’ He’s restocked on dark liquid, the tumbler near to overflowing.
‘No.’ I raise my chin in a brave act of defiance.
‘I don’t want you to see me like this.’ He steps forward hostilely, an attempt to make me retreat, but I stand firm, unwilling to be frightened off. We’re closer because of my tenacity, nearly chest to chest, and he’s breathing liquor vapours all over my heated cheeks. ‘I won’t ask again.’
I inwardly wither on the spot, yet sheer determination is refusing to allow him to see it. ‘No,’ I fire simply and confidently. He’s trying to repel me. ‘Why are you doing this?’
In obvious uncertainty, he polishes off the tumbler of dark liquid, a slight wince and gasp spilling from his mouth, accompanied by potent liquor fumes. They make my nose wrinkle in distaste, both at the sight of Miller and the smell of the alcohol.
‘I won’t ask again.’ I push the words through my clenched jaw, playing him at his own game.
He looks me up and down, musing quietly, mumbling incoherent words under his breath as he does. Then his heavy gaze lazily climbs back up the length of my body, apparently in its usual manner, but drunkenness is the cause this time, not Miller’s customary sultry way. He begins to sway. ‘I’m f**ked up.’
‘I know.’ I don’t disagree with him. He’s speaking the cold, hard truth.
‘I’m dangerous.’
‘I know.’
‘But not to you.’
My heart shows signs of life again. I knew that. Deep down, I knew that. ‘I know.’
His head performs something between a nod of satisfaction and an uncontrolled bob upon his wide shoulders. ‘Good.’ He turns and wobbles through his apartment, leaving me to shut the door and follow behind. I know where he’s headed before he momentarily stops and changes course, going to the drinks cabinet. He’s drunk enough, at least to me. However, Miller has other ideas. He clangs the bottle against the glass and tips more on the cabinet than into his glass. ‘Bollocks!’ he curses, dropping the empty bottle haphazardly between the masses of other bottles, causing a loud clattering of glass. ‘Fucking mess!’
On an exasperated sigh, I wander up behind him and set about rearranging the bottles and wiping down the mess he’s made, hoping that restoring part of his perfect world might inject some peace into him.
‘Thank you,’ he murmurs, so quietly I almost don’t hear.
‘You’re welcome.’ I can feel his stare burning through my profile as I mess with the bottles, taking my time . . . or biding it.
Bang!
I fly around quickly towards the sound, Miller a little slower.
Bang, bang, bang!
My previously settling heart rate ramps up a few gears, and I look to Miller, who’s staring in the direction of the door, too. But he doesn’t seem in a rush to go and find out what the commotion is, so I make for the entrance hall and circle the table, just as another harsh knock rings out through Miller’s apartment.
‘Wait,’ Miller snaps, grabbing my upper arm and pulling me to a stop. ‘Stay here.’ He passes me, his usually easy strides challenged by alcohol. I remain still, my mind racing as I watch him glance through the peephole. I can virtually see his hackles rise, and it prompts me to step forward, cautious but too curious to stop myself. He pulls the door open a fraction and makes to step out into the corridor, but his obvious plan to hide our visitor is totally defeated when they push their way into the apartment with ease, no doubt due to Miller’s less-than-stable frame.
Now my hackles jump up, too, and my jaw instantly tightens when William presents himself to me, his body oozing authority. He regards me closely for a few moments before dragging his grey gaze over to Miller’s wrecked form. This isn’t ideal. Miller looks shocking, and now William is going to want to know why.
‘What have you been up to?’ William asks, flat and even, like it’s no surprise and maybe he already knows.
‘That’s not your concern,’ Miller slurs, slamming the door. ‘You’re not welcome here.’
I feel the need to back Miller up, but that curious part of me has multiplied, as has the caution. So I remain with my lips sealed, soaking up the animosity batting back and forth between these two men.