30. Your grovel game needs some serious work
Your grovel game needs some serious work
Mike
“Wow,” Lucy said, her nose wrinkling as she stood over me where I was sprawled on my sofa. “This is super pathetic.”
“Bloody hell, Mayweather,” Lottie called from the kitchen as she walked in my direction, picking up beer cans as she went. “You’re sinking pretty low right now. How long is it since you showered?”
“Doesn’t matter if I shower,” I mumbled. “It’s just me here. It’s always going to be just me.”
After going to her office and being turned away, I’d tried the whole walking her home tactic that Ollie had employed with Lottie—it seemed to get him somewhere, so why not me?
But the difference was that Vicky’s walk home was all of two steps from her car to her house, not really long enough to convince her to forgive me and that I loved her, especially when she completed those two steps at a run, and most of the time she was wearing noise-cancelling headphones.
Since then, I’d gone into a downward spiral, spending most of the time either working, drinking whisky, or hugging the pillow that just about still smelled of her hair.
That’s how my sister and Lottie had found me on the second Sunday of my self-absorbed pity party.
“Oh my God, the drama ,” Lucy said, and I frowned up at her from my position on the sofa. “Get off your arse, Mikey.”
“I’m heartbroken,” I slurred.
“You’re drunk,” said Lottie, her nose wrinkling, no doubt at the stale fug of spirits in the air. She was starting to look a little green, and that really made me feel guilty.
Lottie’s mum had been an alcoholic, and I knew the smell made Lottie feel sick.
“Sorry, Lots,” I croaked, and then my vision filled with my sister, who was squatting down in front of me.
“Get up and have a shower,” she said in a clipped tone, so unlike Lucy that I found it hard to believe it was my sister speaking. Lottie tried grabbing away my pillow, but I wouldn’t let it go. It was like some sort of security blanket now.
“Why are you being so mean to me?” I mumbled.
“Fraggle Rock,” Lottie said, “I really thought Ollie was exaggerating, but you, my friend, are a massive wussbag.”
“My heart hurts,” I told them both, and Lucy sighed.
“Mikey, you need to sober up if you’re going to get Vicky back.”
“She told me to go away, repeatedly.”
“And you’re just giving up?” Lottie said in complete disbelief. “Your grovel game needs some serious work, my friend. Haven’t you ever heard of the grand gesture? Something to prove that she means the world to you.”
I blinked at that, my drunk brain trying to process what she was saying. I started to sit up but then just collapsed back onto the sofa with a huff.
“I was never good enough for her anyway,” I answered eventually, my voice despondent.
“Agreed,” my sister put in, and I frowned at her. “But guess what? Vicky loves you.”
“She could have anyone she wants.”
“But she wants you.”
“I broke her trust.”
“Then fix it!” Lucy yelled in frustration, “Gah! You’re ridiculous!”
A sharp pain jolted through my leg.
“You kicked me!” I cried out in disbelief.
My previously sweet and non-violent sister actually kicked me in the shin.
The last time she’d been physically violent was when I stole one of her millions of notebooks when she was eight, but then, I’d been able to hold her back effortlessly with my hand to her forehead as her little fists whirled at me.
“I’m trying to get you to listen,” she replied impatiently. “You need to prove yourself to Vicky again. You need to make her see that you love her, and that it had nothing to do with Margot’s money.”
“How am I going to do that?”
“Figure it out, you big idiot,” Lottie snapped.
Ugh, I had harpies attacking me on all sides now. Why weren’t my two best friends keeping their women occupied and out of my bloody business?
“She needs you, Mikey,” Lottie said softly.
And, in the end, it was that that got me. Despite my dizziness I finally pushed up to sitting.
“What?” I croaked.
“She needs you. Did you know that Janet and Rebecca are harassing her?”
“What?” I was shouting now, but when I tried to surge to my feet, a wave of dizziness forced me back down. Ugh. The harpies were right—I was pathetic. “But I blocked them from her phone.”
Lucy snorted. “They’ve been using Vicky for years. Did you think blocking them would stop them? They’ve been going to her house and even turning up at work.”
“Is she okay?”
“Do you deserve to know that?” Lottie asked in a soft but accusatory voice.
I groaned and put my head in my hands. “No,” I muttered. “No, I don’t, but I need to know anyway. And I know I don’t deserve her, but I want her anyway.”
“Were you only with her to hang on to Margot’s investment?” Lottie asked, her eyes narrowing on me.
“No!”
Ah, Christ. My shouting made my head hurt so badly I felt like I might throw up. “No,” I said in a quieter voice. “It was never about that. I agreed to go to the gala, but as soon as I held Vicky, it was never about the money. I bloody love her, okay?”
I looked up at Lottie. She was studying me with narrowed eyes, then her head tilted to the side, and she smiled.
“Well, prove it then.”
I hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol since Lucy and Lottie’s visit two weeks ago.
It had taken me a few days to work it out, but finally, I came up with the solution. Yes, the cabin was my dream, but I didn’t want that dream anymore without her.
I didn’t want anything without Vicky.
“Are we leaving all the furniture?” Pete asked, and I nodded.
I knew I should be happy the buyer wanted everything, but as I ran my fingers over my hand-finished kitchen table, the one I’d spent two days sanding, the one with the driftwood legs that took weeks to dry and treat properly before they were ready to use, I was struggling to be grateful.
Pete shook his head. “Fucking hell, mate. I can’t believe you’re giving this up. This is your dream.”
I shrugged. “Dreams change.”
“Do you even know who bought it?”
“Some London high roller who wants a second home is what the agent said.”
Everyone had been pissed off when they heard I was putting the cabin on the market.
Ollie and Felix offered to buy it, of course. In fact, they offered to simply give me the money. But I told them all to bugger off. They were missing the bloody point.
I needed to pay back Margot’s investment myself. It was the only hope I had of winning back Vicky’s trust. So when the agent told me about the offer, I jumped at it.
Not only was the buyer willing to pay a full twenty per cent above the asking price, but they also wanted the furniture… all of it, right down to my bed, and even the sofa that had seen better days.
Seeing as I would now be living in the small flat above my old workshop at Mum’s house, I didn’t actually need much stuff, so I thought that was fair enough—especially after I was told about the additional lump sum the buyer was willing to pay to keep the place furnished.
So, I wasn’t just getting enough to pay back Margot’s investment—I had over double that amount now.
Enough to expand the business, enough for a new van, even enough to pay a delivery driver.
It seemed that just as my personal life had fallen apart, my professional life was looking up. Not that it helped. Nothing helped.
I missed Vicky with a fierceness that was almost overwhelming.
So here I was, standing in my living room, with Pete helping me move out of the cabin I’d built with my own hands.
“Well, I hope you don’t regret giving up this place,” Pete said as he lugged the last of my boxes over the threshold.
“I know what I’m doing,” I told him.
“You poured your heart and soul into building this,” Pete argued, and I turned to face him.
“My heart and soul aren’t here,” I said, gesturing to the cabin. “They’re currently in London, with the most beautiful woman inside and out I’ve ever known, and I need to get them back.”