10. April
Chapter 10
April
One week later …
A s the days drag on, I manage to extract myself from bed and fix a cup of breakfast tea before taking a long shower. I haven’t washed my hair in days, leaving it in a messy topknot, but at least my body feels clean.
Little wins, right?
I glance over at the kitchen counter, which is littered with food delivery bags and empty coffee cups—remnants of my daily attempts to feel human—and I release a sigh. I know it’s a dump, but I just don’t have the energy. My diet has consisted exclusively of tea, coffee, takeaway, and dry crackers. The fruit in my bowl has gone bad, the milk in my fridge is likely spoiled, and the whole place is a mess.
My phone vibrates on the counter, but I don’t even bother looking at it. It won’t be the person I want it to be, and I really don’t feel like talking to anyone, anyway. What would I even say? Oh, I’m fine. Honestly. Don’t worry about me, just going through the motions.
How awkward. The last thing I want is to dump my problems on the people I love. They don’t need to carry that burden around with them.
I take a slow sip of my hot tea, savouring the warmth as it spreads through me, when a sudden buzz cuts through the quiet. Basil, startled, legs it upstairs in a fluffy blur.
Of course, I kept Basil. That wasn’t even a question after Lucas and I split. He’s seen me through the worst of days. He’s my little anchor—we’ve been through everything together. Now, with just the two of us, I find comfort in dropping food to him under the table, smiling at the thought of Dad laughing beside me.
“Shit,” I mutter as the tea sloshes over the rim of my mug, scalding my hand. I wince at the sting and quickly grab a tea towel to mop up the mess.
Buzz.
The doorbell buzzes again, longer this time, forcing me into action. I roll my eyes and make my way to the door. As I open it, I’m met with two familiar concerned faces staring back at me—Anna and Gemma. Anna stands with her arms crossed, tapping her foot impatiently. Gemma’s eyes widen as she takes me in, her gaze travelling from my face down to my dirty, rumpled clothes. I pull my cardigan tighter across my chest, trying to cover the stained shirt. Embarrassment flushes through me—I obviously wasn’t expecting to be seen like this.
Anna cocks an eyebrow. “You look fucking awful,” she says, scrunching her nose.
“Well, I wasn’t expecting guests,” I mutter, turning on my heel and flopping onto the sofa. Gemma and Anna follow close behind.
“Clearly,” Anna whispers to Gemma, who stifles a laugh behind her hand.
My gaze flits to Gemma and my eyes narrow in on the large bruised spot on her neck. “And what about you? Nice hickey,” I remark.
“Oh,” Anna interrupts, elbowing Gemma’s side, “you have to tell her.”
“Tell me what?” I ask.
“Thanks a lot, Anna,” Gemma says, shooting her a pointed look and rolling her eyes. “So, I went on a date with this guy I met at the coffee shop. He was cute, so I thought, why not? Things started off great—he took me to this incredible Turkish place, the food was amazing, ten out of ten. Then he asked if I wanted to keep the night going, and I thought, sure? So, we went back to his. When we got there … he refused to turn the lights on. His flat was basically empty—like, zero furniture —but I figured, whatever, I can roll with it. Everything was going fine until …” She pauses for dramatic effect. “He leans in close and, dead serious, asks me to lick his face and bark like a dog .”
“Excuse me?” I say, disgusted.
Anna lets out an evil laugh. “How fucked is that?”
“But that’s not why we’re here.” She waves her hand dismissively. “Why haven’t you been answering your phone?” she asks, settling beside me on the sofa.
“Because I don’t want to,” I reply flatly.
“We were worried about you,” Anna says, her tone softening as she exchanges a look of concern with Gemma.
“I’m fine,” I say, but the words sound hollow, even to me.
Anna scans the kitchen, taking in the cluttered countertops and takeaway containers. “I can see that,” she says, arching a brow. I follow her eyes, embarrassment prickling at the back of my neck.
“I haven’t felt up to cooking,” I reply, shrinking under the weight of their observation.
Gemma’s hand rests gently on my knee. “We heard you haven’t been at work all week?”
My bottom lip wobbles as I fight to hold back the emotions. But it’s no use—the cracks are forming, and I can feel the tears about to spill over.
“I can’t,” I whisper. The dam breaks, and tears slip down my cheeks, hot and unstoppable.
“Tell you what,” Anna says, her voice hopeful. “We spoke to your boss—” I shoot them both a look of absolute horror, but Anna holds up her hand. “Let me finish.” I slump back into the sofa, bracing myself for whatever comes next.
“He’s fine with you taking more time off,” she says. “And guess what? Gemma’s been following this TikTok creator who’s running a retreat this weekend, and guess who bagged us three spots?” Anna’s eyebrows dance a little jig.
“What kind of retreat?” I ask, wiping my face with the sleeve of my cardigan.
Anna and Gemma exchange a glance that screams guilt.
“Oh, bloody hell,” I mutter. “Please tell me this isn’t another disaster like Bali. I was shitting through the eye of a needle for a week , Gemma!” I groan, clutching my stomach at the thought.
“No,” Gemma says with an unsettling grin. “It’s way better—we’ll help you pack!”
I’ve got no idea what they have in store for me, but I don’t have the energy to argue.
“Wait—” I ask, panic creeping in, “What about Basil?”
Gemma and Anna exchange another suspicious look, one I do not like.
“What?” I press, narrowing my eyes.
“Umm … well,” Gemma says, shifting uncomfortably. “We kind of didn’t know who else to call …”
My stomach falls out of my ass. “Who did you call?” I ask.
Before they can answer, the doorbell buzzes again. I shoot to my feet, scanning the train wreck around me. I frantically begin brushing down my clothes like that’ll somehow make me look less of a disaster. “Who’s here?” I demand.
Anna blows out a long breath before finally answering, “James.”
“ What ?!” I gape at her in horror. “You couldn’t find anyone else? You had to ask my ex’s brother ?” I throw my hands in the air.
They both flinch guiltily.
“Oh my God,” I groan, looking down at my rumpled clothes. “He can’t see me like this!” I’m bolting towards the staircase before either of them can open the door.
“April!” Anna shouts after me.
“What?” I spin halfway up the stairs, gripping the railing as if my life depends on it.
“Please, for the love of all things holy, wash your hair ! You could host a family of birds in there.”
I shoot her a murderous glare but know she’s right.
I jump into the shower and scrub my hair with extra vigour—it’s amazing what a little panic-induced motivation can do. I still can’t believe they invited James. Here . To my house. To take care of my cat. The thought sends me spiralling. I have no idea how I’m supposed to face him, but at least I won’t be alone. Small mercies, I guess.
Then my brain shifts gears, landing on the clutter downstairs. The sheets on my bed are only a week old—thank God—but the rest of the place is an absolute disaster. Normally, I keep everything spotless. I’m proud of my space. But this week? It’s been chaos. Just dragging myself out of bed has felt like climbing Everest, and cleaning the kitchen or keeping the place in order hasn’t even been a consideration.
I turn off the water and step out of the shower. After pulling on a pair of clean trousers and a fluffy hoodie, I slip into some white trainers and tell myself I look presentable enough. I grab my toothbrush, running it over my teeth twice for good measure, then swish with mouthwash.
I tug a brush through the wet strands of my hair, wincing as I comb through the knots. I work quickly, untangling my long tresses as best I can before wrapping them in a towel and rubbing furiously, trying to dry them out. I don’t have time for perfection—just not looking like a complete mess will have to do.
I lean closer to the mirror, studying my reflection. Dark shadows frame my eyes, and my skin looks sallow and lifeless, as if all the light had been drained from me. Anna’s right. I look awful .
Letting out a long breath, I open the top drawer and rummage through it until I find my fruity lip mask. I swipe it on, smacking my lips together. Then, I quickly pinch my cheeks, hoping to coax some colour into them. I look more put together than I did before, and I have to admit—it feels considerably better to have clean, fresh hair.
Now, all that’s left is to face my ex-fiancé’s brother.
Basil saunters into the bathroom, brushing himself lazily against my leg. I crouch down, running my fingers over his soft fur, and he purrs like an MG under my touch.
“You be a good boy for James,” I murmur, scratching behind his ears. He closes his eyes slowly. “I love you too,” I tell him. I press a firm kiss to Basil’s forehead before straightening up. I pull open the wardrobe doors and grab my overnight bag, not caring what goes in there. The faster I get packed, the less time I have to dwell on what’s waiting downstairs.
Their chatter drifts into the room, and I catch the distinct low, raspy timbre of James’s voice. My anxiety rapidly returns. I wonder what Lucas told him—what version of events he spun. I wonder what James knows, what he thinks. Do his parents know the full story? Or just Lucas’s version? Which, I’m sure, he edited carefully.
James and I barely exchanged more than a few words when Lucas and I were together, and whenever we were in the same room alone … well, I don’t even know how to describe it. It was tense, maybe. Charged. Like there was always something simmering beneath the surface that I could never quite put my finger on. Like at the engagement party—he kept looking at me in a way I couldn’t decipher, as if he was studying me. Even when I caught him watching, he’d never look away. He’d never look interested , but still, he never looked away. James has always been a bit of a mystery; I’ve never been able to read him.
I straighten my sheets and scoop up any stray clothes, tossing them into the washing basket. Satisfied that things look somewhat tidy—or at least not entirely disastrous—I gather myself and head downstairs on shaky legs.
I hear laughter as I reach the landing. James spots me and clears his throat. The girls spin around, and Gemma gives me a soft smile. “You ready?” she asks.
I open my mouth to respond, but no words come out. My attention settles on James, and it feels like the air’s been knocked out of me. He’s arresting. His hair is tousled in that annoyingly perfect way, like he’s run his hand through it a dozen times, and it’s just fallen into place without effort. Thick lashes frame his emerald eyes, which appear a deeper green in the soft light. He has a spot of dirt on his cheek, and a smattering of chest hair peeks over the top of his sweaty work vest, which he’s wearing under a thick jacket. It’s clear he’s been onsite.
He doesn’t smile.
He doesn’t speak.
His jaw tightens, the muscle flexing as he just … regards me.
I drop my head to stare at the floor, feeling suddenly nervous, and my heart thuds against my ribcage. “Hi, James,” I say, giving him a small wave.
“Hi, April,” he replies, his voice low and gravelly.
I look up to see Anna’s eyes bouncing between the two of us, her expression barely contained. She mashes her lips together, clearly trying—and failing—not to grin.
“Thank you for agreeing to look after Basil,” I say finally. “I’m sorry about the state of the house. I …” I trail off, fumbling for the right words.
James crooks a small, sympathetic smile. “It’s fine, I’m working in the area this weekend anyway” he says. “And don’t worry about the house, I get it.”
I catch him studying my left hand, where my engagement ring used to be, before I quickly slip it behind my back. I gave the ring back to Lucas before he moved out. I couldn’t stomach looking at it.
His lips press into a thin line, but he doesn’t say anything—just blinks, angrily almost, for a second. The moment is so fleeting I might have imagined it. I fiddle with the strap of my bag, not quite knowing what to say next.
Anna claps her hands, snapping both James and I out of whatever weird daze we’d fallen into. I blink, suddenly hyperaware that we have an audience.
I clear my throat. “Do you need me to run through where everything is?”
He steps closer. His voice is calm, and his touch is warm as he reaches out and squeezes my bicep gently. “I know where everything is. I’ve got this.” He nods towards the front door. “Just go and enjoy your weekend.”
The ferocity in his tone makes it clear—no more fussing.
“April,” Gemma interrupts softly, glancing down at her watch. “We better get going—it’s a three-hour drive.”
“Oh,” I say, my eyes flicking back to James.
He takes another step towards me, close enough that I catch the faint scent of him—sweaty and masculine. He tilts his chin towards the front door. “Go. Have fun. We’ll be fine,” he says.
“Thanks,” I whisper, hesitating for a moment, unsure if I should hug him. We’ve never hugged before—it would feel strange, but maybe not entirely wrong. I take a half step forward, but before I can decide, he steps back, slipping his hands into his pockets. Guess not.
He pulls out a familiar guitar pick and starts spinning it between his fingers. I catch myself staring at his hand longer than I probably should, distracted by the veins working as he deftly moves his fingers.
“Alright, well, thanks, James. You’re a lifesaver,” Anna says, awkwardly clapping him on the shoulder. Then, she quickly adds, “Oh yeah, I don’t know if you know—April, have you told him? Basil sometimes shits on the floor.”
I gape at her, mortified. “Anna!”
James grins, the first hint of amusement flickering across his face. “Good to know,” he says, lips twitching as he slips the pick back into his pocket.
I close my eyes, humiliated.
“What? He does,” Anna says with a shrug as we shuffle towards the door. I shoot her a glare, my cheeks burning.
“Not all the time,” I mutter defensively. But yes, he definitely shits on the floor.
James trails behind us, leaning casually against the door-frame with his arms crossed, the worn leather of his jacket pulling snugly across his broad chest. A subtle smirk plays at the corner of his mouth, like he’s thoroughly enjoying this.
As we step outside, Anna glances at me over her shoulder with a cheeky smile. “Now you don’t have to worry—he’s prepared.”
Gemma laughs and I groan quietly, fighting the overwhelming urge to bury my face in my hands. The last thing I need to be thinking about is this gorgeous man cleaning up my cat’s wayward poos.