Chapter 36
Thirty-Six
Quinn
Quinn enters through the bifold doors from her garden after sneaking from the front to the back of her own house. The kitchen’s warmth hits her like a wall.
‘Mum.’ Harry takes his coat off and places it on the back of a kitchen chair. Diggerty shakes the snow off his fur and runs over to his food. ‘Have you been out?’
She shakes her head. ‘No, I thought I heard a noise in the garden. Did you hear anything out there?’
He pauses. ‘No. Morgan and I walked Diggerty and we bumped into Morgan’s mum but that was it. I’ve been back a few minutes. I thought you were in your studio. The lights were on.’
‘I must have left them on when I was in there earlier.’ She pauses, knowing that Harry isn’t telling her the truth. He’s blinking a lot which means he’s more anxious than usual. ‘Where did you take Diggerty?’
‘By the lake.’
‘Why do you have your rucksack?’
‘It has my scarf in it.’
She runs over to hug her boy. Hearing what had gone down on the lane from behind her hedge had sent her heart banging.
Then she kept thinking about that kiss. She’d been a little drunk and her emotions had got the better of her.
She’s still a little drunk. The taste of stale red wine coats her throat, making her feel yuck.
What did she think might happen? Did she think that Gemma would leave Ethan to be with her?
Hardly likely. She thinks about all the little relationships she’s had over the years, none of them meaning anything because she’d denied herself of the one person she really loved.
The one-night stands had meant zero. She’d denied her own wants all these years and that hurt even more than being rejected by Gemma.
She holds Harry closely and he holds her back. ‘We’re going to move from here soon, I’ve decided. I think it’ll be best for you. We need a lovely fresh start.’ She strokes her boy’s hair and takes in his smell.
‘Mum, are you all right?’
She smiles and looks him in the eye. ‘I am, and I always will be because I have you. We have each other.’ He’s looking at her like she’s lost the plot.
‘Why don’t you sit down, Mum. I’ll make you a cup of tea.’
She nods, knowing she relies on Harry far too much.
One minute, she’s up, another, she’s down.
Her mood is all over the place because she feels impotent.
However much she draws and writes, nothing makes sense or flows anymore, not since Dorette’s death.
The only thing that flows is the wine. Ernest Hemingway once said, ‘write drunk, edit sober’.
Dorette said she swore by that advice. They’d spent nights feeling the burn of brandy slipping down their throats before following that by swilling down some absinthe.
For Dorette, she came up with ideas like she had a superpower.
Quinn had been envious. Nothing is as good as what she once had with Mika’s Magical Bike except Klara and her dragon, Mindy.
She swallows her shame down. Dorette had come up with Mika especially for Quinn.
She gifted Mika to her, but she’d never gifted Klara and Mindy to her.
Harry places a cup of mint tea on the table.
She had to preserve her secrets forever.
If she didn’t, her life and career would blow up and it would be the end.
She had done a terrible thing – a big, terrible thing and she was dicing with danger now.
No other option existed but to preserve her deepest, darkest secrets and there was no going back.
The cogs were in motion. She had to see this to the end, whatever the cost.