“Well, uh, there's a lot more I haven't shown you yet, and of course there will be room for flexibility...”
“I was told you were full of unique and creative ideas. That you think outside the box. Do you expect me to pay you a fortune just to come in here and paint my walls white? I could have come up with that myself.”
I placed a protective hand on the open page of the folder as if I could shield my designs from her criticism. I sucked in a steadying breath and met her stern gaze. “There's actually a lot more to it than that. If you'll let me explain, the secret to good design is all in the detail. I've got some really special things planned. But why don't you sit down and we can discuss what you've got in mind? I'm sure we can work this out between us,” I said with a smile, inwardly sighing as I realised I would be going back to the drawing board.
Sandra nodded with a tight smile, taking the seat opposite me. “Good.” She pulled a folded piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to me. It was a page ripped from a magazine. I unfolded it and stared wide eyed at the image she'd presented to me. It looked like an old people's home. Chintzy, floral curtains, dark burgundy carpet. Lace tablecloths covering poorly made circular coffee tables. “I want it to be cosy,” she said. “Not one of those modern, cold, sterile boxes everyone seems to have these days. I want it to be like this.”
“Well... uh...well...” I forced my eyes away from the picture to meet hers. “We can certainly incorporate... some of these ideas into the design. I had planned for wooden floors – a light beech, sanded smooth. Perhaps...” I swallowed hard, “we might consider a cream carpet, if that's what you'd prefer?”
She shook her head fiercely. “No, not cream. I don't want aspects of this,” she said, jabbing her finger to the paper in my hand. “I want exactly this. I want you to go and find the pieces, the lighting, everything I need to bring this here.”
I sat frozen, the hideous image filling my vision, my heartbeat thumping loudly in my ears. Then slowly, I placed it flat on the table and rose to my feet. “I'm sorry,” I said, ignoring the wobble in my voice. “It appears we've come to the end of our journey. This isn't a style I can work with. I'm afraid you'll have to find a new designer.”
“What?” Sandra spluttered, standing to face me. “I'm paying you to do a job, and you're going to leave halfway through it?”
“Sadly, yes.” I picked up my folder, resisting the urge to take a last look around the room. I couldn't bear to think what it would become now, but I knew I had no choice but to walk away. If I did what she was asking, my reputation and my integrity would be in tatters. I couldn't put my name to a project like this. Without creativity, there would be no joy in it for me. And I needed to have that. I needed that creative buzz, that feeling of satisfaction as I stood back and admired what I'd created.
I walked out of the grand house in a daze. Pulling my phone from my bag, I checked it again. No missed calls. No messages. Dropping it back in my bag alongside the thick folder, I walked slowly back to my flat, past the tourists, the girls meeting for lunch, the couples strolling hand in hand. I unlocked the front door to my block of flats, walked up the stairs to my door and stepped inside, dropping my bag to the ground and heading purposefully to the living room. I rifled through the boxes stacked in one corner, those I hadn't yet got around to unpacking and on finding the one I was searching for, I slid it loose, heaving its weight towards me. I ripped the masking tape from the top and flipped the lid to reveal a heavy wooden easel, shoe boxes filled with thick tubes of oil paint, guoache, acrylics. Brushes of every shape and size. I lifted the easel from the box and I smiled.
Hours later, I squinted at the canvas, realising the world had grown dark as I'd painted. I looked at the clock on the mantelpiece and with a jolt of surprise, realised it was gone nine p.m. I'd missed lunch and dinner too, lost in a world of my own as I'd let the brush and the colours lead me. It had been exactly what I'd needed. I placed the brush down, massaging my aching wrist as I went to turn on a lamp. The whole time I'd been painting, I hadn't thought of Liam. But now, I couldn't stop my mind from wandering back to him.
My bag was still by the front door where I'd dropped it, and I went to it now searching for my phone, half excited, half filled with dread. He would have called by now. He'd had all day to reflect. To work up the courage to admit he'd been in the wrong. My hand closed around the hard, smooth surface of my phone and with tension in my gut I pulled it from the bag, staring at the screen. Nothing. Not even a half-hearted text. I let myself lower to the floor, my back slumping against the wall. That was it then. If he hadn't apologised by now, he wasn't going to. And that could only mean one thing. That he'd meant what he'd said last night. He wasn't sorry because it was true. He'd had his fun, got what he wanted from me and now he planned to leave me firmly in his past with all his other conquests and one night stands.
Well, I thought, gripping the phone tightly. This certainly made things a lot simpler all round. I shoved the phone back in my bag and forced myself up to my feet, holding my head high. I'd never wanted to keep him anyway. I didn't want him. And I certainly didn't need his friendship if he thought so little of me. Liam Mulligan was nothing to me. And I was clearly nothing to him.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Liam
My head was banging, my eyes dry and stinging as I dragged myself to a sitting position from the low leather sofa. In the corner of the living room the TV flashed, some action movie playing on mute. As I raised myself up, the head-rush kicked in immediately and I leaned back against the soft cushions waiting for it to pass. It had been three days since Jared's party. Since I'd learned that my mother was dead and I'd severed my ties with Mia. I'd come back home, downed a bottle of vodka and hadn't set foot outside the house since then. I'd drunk myself into oblivion, woken up on the kitchen floor or the sofa or halfway down the hallway and when the memories began to trickle back in, I'd picked up another bottle and repeated it all over again.
My stomach growled in nauseated protest. I couldn't remember when I'd last eaten. With an exaggerated groan, I got to my feet and walked slowly to the kitchen, downing a pint of water. It hit my stomach and I grabbed the edge of the sink, retching painfully until I'd vomited it all back up again. Fuck. Breathing hard, I poured another glass, and this time I took small sips, waiting anxiously between each one to make sure it stayed down.
It wasn't like me to get blind drunk. Certainly not as a way to escape my problems. I knew why I'd done it. I was avoiding what came next. What kind of messed up cruelty was it that I'd been given the task of telling Kai that our mother was dead? As much as both of us pretended not to care, I knew this was going to hurt him, and that was something I couldn't stand to do. I felt an overwhelming need to run away. To escape London, my family responsibilities and just disappear. It would be so much easier than facing up to what I had to do, and right now, easy sounded fucking good to me.
When I'd managed to drink the whole glass of water without bringing it back up, I gingerly forced down a slice of dry toast and went to stand under a cool shower until I felt more human again. I drank some more water, avoiding the pack of cigarettes on the table, knowing even a whiff of smoke would have me hanging over the sink again, and finally when I couldn't put it off any longer, I picked up my phone.
The TV was still flashing silently as I walked into the living room, the action film replaced by some talk show, the panel of women laughing as they talked over each other, desperate to be heard, validated. I was glad it was muted. Flicking it off, I perched on the edge of the sofa, my fingers moving slowly as I scrolled down my contacts list to Kai's number and pressed the call button.
It seemed to ring forever and I had a sudden burst of hope. Maybe he wouldn't answer and I'd be let off the hook this time. I could always do it later. I was just about to cut the call when his voice came over the line. “Liam! How's it going, man?”
“Not good. You got a minute?”
“Uh, yeah... what's wrong?”
“No. Olivia's here. Liam, you're scaring me, what's wrong?”
I sighed and gripped the phone harder, the nausea building in my stomach again. “Dad called.” I didn't bother to mention that it had been three days ago and I'd been too chicken shit to let him know. “About mum.” I took a deep breath. Kai was waiting wordlessly. I could feel the tension in the silence. “She... uh, she died, man.”
The silence continued and I wondered if he'd even heard me. “Kai? You still there?”
“I'm here. I heard what you said.” He took a breath. “Why the hell did dad make you tell me the news?”
“He said he couldn't get hold of you.”
“He hasn't tried. He's knows my fucking number.” He took another deep breath and I got the impression he was on the verge of losing control. Finally he spoke again. “Are you okay?”
“Course. What do I care about her?” I answered quickly, but my voice sounded broken and insincere, even to me.
“I'll come home. We can get a flight this afternoon.”
“No, don't. I'm not going to be here.” I'd made up my mind in the shower. I couldn't stay in London. “I need to get away. I'm going to head to LA and check on the business there. It's new, you know. I shouldn't neglect the place or it will crumble.”
“You and I both know that's a lie. The place is running like clockwork. You're running away. Why?”
“Fuck, Kai... I don't know. I just... I need to get away from this town. I feel like I'm losing myself here. I'm changing into someone I don't even recognise and I don't like him. You've thrown everything up in the air, getting married, settling down. You're making me think things I never wanted to think.”
“Liam?” Olivia's soft came over the line.
“Oh.”
“Kai thought it might be a good time for us to talk. I've been wanting to for a while.” I rolled my eyes. “I hope you don't mind?” she asked sweetly.
“No. It's fine.”
“I heard what you said. About losing yourself. You're talking about Mia, aren't you?”
“No,” I answered a shade too fast. “Not at all.”
She ignored this and carried on. “I wonder if, maybe it's not that you're losing yourself, but in fact, finding yourself? Everyone changes, Liam. Your goals. Dreams. They aren't stagnant. They adapt and grow, but the process can be painful. It can be scary when you realise your future doesn't look how you expected, it can make you cling on to what's familiar. Not because it's what you really want, but because it's safe.”
“Olivia,” I interrupted. “It's a good theory. You should have gone into therapy or something. But it's not what's happening for me. I was happy with my life before. I just want everything to go back to the way it was. Carefree. Fun. So I'll go to LA, party, drink, have fun and get everything out of my head.”
“You mean Mia,” she said again.
“Fine. You want me to say it? Yes, Mia. I don't want her in my head anymore. It can't lead anywhere good, it just can't. So I need to forget about her.”
“You can't run away forever, Liam.”
“No. But I can do it for long enough that the problems disappear by themselves.”
“You'll still want her in LA.”
I had to hold back a laugh at that. As if I didn't know. I would still want Mia on the fucking moon. It didn't change a thing.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Mia
Since I'd arrived home after my meeting with Sandra three days ago, I hadn't even bothered to get dressed. I'd lived in my pink fluffy pj's, eaten nothing but muesli, toast and scrambled eggs and painted like a woman possessed. I was already on my third canvas. I'd barely slept – I couldn't. Every time I put the brush down, my head would be filled with a thousand uncomfortable thoughts and worries. It was deafening and painting was the only thing that seemed to silence the roar.
I stepped back to look at my canvas now, almost surprised at what I saw. It was a landscape, bright bolts of lightening cracking across the midnight sky, a bleak, sparse abyss of empty moors stretching on as far as the eye could see. With a hollow laugh I touched a finger to the tip of a lightening bolt and realised what I'd done. I'd heard of art therapy before, but this was ridiculous. I'd painted my life. The storm raging in my heart, the numb, empty landscape that was my future.
Before Liam had come into my life, I'd been fine. Life had been fine. Everything had been entirely acceptable. I could have gone on forever in my comfortable, safe little world. But he'd turned everything upside down. Given me a taste of what it could be like. I'd been shown that everything could be brighter, sweeter, more passionate and brilliant. And now, the brief friendship, flirtation – whatever the fuck that mess had been – was over, and three days had passed without so much as a text. It was finished.
With Liam gone, life should have gone back to the way it was before, but it was different now. Bleak. I couldn't pretend it was all going to be okay. I'd walked out on my highest paying client and I had no idea what to do about it or how to summon enough energy to start over on a new interior design project with a new client. I had put so much of myself into the Knightsbridge house plans, trying to convince myself that it was okay that it wasn't what I really wanted to do. And maybe it would have been, if I had got a chance to express myself creatively. I could have coped. Learned to love it. But I couldn't pretend that it lit up my soul the way holding a brush over a canvas did for me. And maybe it was time I stopped trying to.
I stared at the canvas, feeling a ball of emotion wedge itself firmly in my chest. I wanted Liam to arrive at my door so I could tell him everything that was spinning around my head. So he could wrap me in his arms and make me feel safe and secure. But I'd lost him. I knew I had. I wanted to cry, but it seemed silly. Even so, I felt a tear slip from the corner of my eye.
The sound of the buzzer for my flat rang shrilly and I hastily wiped my eyes on my sleeve, rushing to answer it. Gripping the black and white screen beside the door with both hands, the wave of disappointment was palpable as I saw not Liam, but Liliana waiting on the step by the main door. I pressed the buzzer to let her up and wiped at my eyes again, hoping she wouldn't notice the dark circles beneath them. There was a soft tap on the door and I opened it. “Hey,” I smiled, trying to sound bright and cheerful. “How are you?”
She stepped inside, wrapping me in a brief hug. “I'm good.” She ran her thumb across my cheek and I stepped back, embarrassed. “Paint?” she asked, holding out her blue thumb for me to see.
“Oh, yeah, I thought I'd get back into it.”
“That's so good. You always had so much talent for art, I was wondering when you'd make time for it again. Will you show me?”
“Oh, yeah maybe later, I'm not quite finished and I want to keep it to myself for a bit longer, you know?” I babbled, though the truth was I didn't want to show her the dark, vulnerable piece of my soul and have to explain what I'd been feeling while I created it.
“Oh, absolutely, say no more. I know how private these things can be,” she said, shrugging out of her jacket. I smiled for real this time. Lil was the sweetest person I knew. She looked like a little doll, golden ringlets that were completely natural, big wide blue eyes that made you feel like you could tell her your deepest secrets and she'd keep them forever. And she would. We'd been friends since we were fifteen years old, along with Saskia and Olivia, and I hoped they would always be in my life.
“So,” she smiled. “You're feeling better then? I was worried when you didn't reply to my messages.”
“Huh?”
“Jared's party? You were ill?”
“Oh, yeah. I think it was just a twenty-four hour thing. I'm fine now.”
“You sure? You don't look yourself.”
I nodded and turned towards the kitchen so I could avoid her piercing gaze. “Do you want some tea? I was just about to put the kettle on.”
“Yes, that would be lovely. I brought muffins.” My stomach growled in response
and I realised I'd missed lunch and dinner again. “You can have two,” she laughed, following me into the kitchen. It was small but modern, white tiles and cabinets, chrome lighting. It had felt very sterile when I'd moved in, but since then, I'd filled the space with dark, leafy green plants and along the windowsill there were orchids in a kaleidoscope of colours. I planned to do a lot more to the place but hadn't found the time what with all my work projects. I made two big mugs full of steaming hot tea and Lil opened the paper bag of muffins, taking one and picking delicately at it. There was something strange in her expression.
“Is everything okay?” I asked, sitting down at the table beside her.
“Not exactly.” She placed her muffin on the table. “I spoke to Olivia today.”
“Is she alright? She's not been in an accident or – ”
“She's fine. Perfectly safe. She called to talk about Liam as it happens.” My heart skipped a beat at the mention of his name and I felt my cheeks turn red. Lil continued without forcing me to ask. “The other day, at the party, I think he was upset... you two had words. Yes, we noticed,” she held up her small palm, cutting me off as I started to deny it, my cheeks flushing even redder. “We aren't completely oblivious, Mia. We can all see there's something between the two of you. Anyway, I'm not sure what he told you, but, well, Olivia said that his mum just died. I know they're estranged, but still, it would have been a shock.”
Damaged: Dare to Decide, Book 2 Page 12
