Chapter 42
Ethan
Idon’t see or hear from Jamie all evening. He doesn’t come down for the homemade sausage rolls Davide made specially for him, and when I knock on his door around ten, he shouts at me to go away in a voice so fragile, so tear-filled, that it has me choking up.
‘I’m sorry,’ I tell him uselessly, pressing my palm against the door as if it’s his heart. ‘I’m so sorry I lost my shit. We’ll find a way to get it fixed, okay? I promise.’
Nothing.
While I want to bulldoze in there and try to make this right with every fibre of my being, I recognise that this is about my son’s needs and not mine.
I’m a fucking mess. I’ve been doing the work, putting in the hours.
I’ve talked this over with Philip several times.
And at the first sign of a fuck-up from my poor, beleaguered kid, I go fucking nuclear on Christmas Day and unleash all my issues on him.
I have a feeling Philip would tell me to have some compassion for whatever parts clearly want me to fail at having any kind of relationship with my son, but he can go to hell. If I’m incapable of showing compassion to my amazing kid, I sure as fuck don’t deserve to show any to myself.
I pace around downstairs for another hour or so, cleaning up the wrapping paper mountain Jamie left and neatly sorting the packaging for all his PC parts, blasting some godawful Christmas music to drown out my thoughts of self-hatred.
I can’t call Elena. I can’t put that on her.
Besides, she’ll be furious with me, and she’ll probably insist on aborting her trip and coming over to collect Jamie.
I’m half delirious with heartbreak, so I do the only thing I can think of. I spoke to Soph first thing this morning to wish her Merry Christmas, but I message her now as I trudge up to my room.
Let me know when you’ve finished dinner and are free to chat x
She calls me immediately, and I flop on my bed.
‘Hi, babe! How’s it going with your fellow titan of tech? You guys having fun?’
Even her voice sparkles. She sounds animated and relaxed and maybe the tiniest bit tipsy. She sounds like how people should sound when they’re spending Christmas Day with their loved ones.
My voice cracks. It’s hearing her voice, feeling her presence and her absence equally keenly. It’s the knowledge of how gravely, how terrifyingly, I’ve erred.
‘I fucked up big time. I lost my shit with him and I’m sick to my stomach over it. I don’t know what to do.’
Silence. And then: ‘Oh, honey. God, I’m so, so sorry. I know how much your plans for today meant to you.’
She floors me. No judgement. No lashing out. Of the two of us, I’ve messed up far, far worse than Jamie today. And while I couldn’t find an ounce of compassion for him, here is Soph holding it for me.
I don’t deserve it.
‘Thanks.’ I can barely get the words out.
‘Hey, I’m switching to video. Okay?’
I hold the phone in front of me and watch as it connects. There she is. She looks like she sounds—tinkly and glamorous and flushed and gorgeous. I smile, despite myself, but her huge eyes shine with sympathy.
‘You wanna tell me what happened?’
I sigh and fill her in tersely. Jamie’s excitement. The successful build. His split-second error. And my disgraceful reaction. ‘I did exactly what my dad used to do to me,’ I say. ‘I made him feel like making a mistake was unforgivable. I was so fucking cold.’
Her lovely mouth twists in sympathy. ‘All those bodyguards really came out to play, huh?’
‘Exactly. But honestly, even saying that feels like a cop-out. I can’t blame some “parts”. It’s me who’s the problem. He called me a psycho, and honestly, I can’t blame him. I’m exactly like my fucking father.’
‘You’re exactly the opposite, and here’s why.
’ She points a finger at the screen, and I see the ring stack I gave her sparkle.
‘You think your father has wasted a moment on self-recrimination? Has he fuck. For a man like that, everyone else is the problem. You, on the other hand, have stepped up. You’re doing the hard work.
You’re trying. You’re only human, and let me tell you, babe, that until you learn to show yourself some compassion, you’re not going to find it easy to extend compassion to anyone else. ’
I suspect her words have a grain of truth to them, but like I said, I’m not in the mood for anything like self-compassion.
Not even slightly. I push myself off my bed and walk to the window, looking out at the quiet serenity of my street.
Everyone is behind closed doors, celebrating with their families.
It’s not until I look down at my own driveway that I realise the front gates are open.
‘That’s odd.’
‘What?’
I glance back at the screen. ‘The gates are open outside. I closed them after Elena pulled her car out.’
She frowns. ‘Could Jamie have gone out?’
‘Nah. I would have heard him. Hang on.’
I open my bedroom door and pad to the other end of the hallway. His door is wide open, as is the door to his ensuite across the room.
‘Jamie?’
No answer. I shout it again. Phone in hand, I sprint downstairs and work my way through the ground floor. ‘Still nothing,’ I tell Soph.
‘Could he be in the basement?’
‘Yeah. Maybe.’
I head down to the obscene basement we had dug out a few years ago, when we bought this place. The home cinema is empty. Same for the games room. The door to the garage is ajar, and I walk through, where I stop dead between the Defender and the Aston.
The icy wall of fear that hits me almost steals the breath from my lungs. I feel like I’ve been winded. In shock, I turn to Soph.
‘The Tesla’s gone.’