Chapter 12 #2
“Thank her for me, will ye?” I asked Mathilda. I dropped the card unread on the table, then I turned my face away—as best I could—in an unspoken sign of I’m tired now, please leave me be.
My sister-in-law squeezed my hand then closed the door behind her.
In my dimly lit room, I didn’t sleep, despite my exhaustion. Instead, I watched the walls, the exposed stonework around the window. My mood sank to an all-time low.
The bandages came off my face, the scarred, pink skin healing and the swelling reduced enough to make out the new me.
The home visit doc had made me an appointment with a scar specialist then talked about treatments.
Creams, lasers, further surgery. But one thing was for sure—no treatment could reverse what had happened. The destruction was permanent.
Then the doc left me to stare at myself in my bathroom mirror.
I sat for too long, propped on a stool someone had brought in, unable to get used to the change. Who had I been before? I barely knew.
Then I crawled into my bedroom and slumped against my bookcase. It held few books, as they were useless to me, but I found my modelling portfolio and spread it open across my lap.
Like with the mirror, I forced myself to stare at the old me, turning each page and absorbing the images.
Photos taken by my twin when I was just starting out.
Ones from other photographers from various jobs I’d done.
Headshots in a three-quarter profile, with my perfect fucking face. Cocky. Smirking. Smooth.
Modelling had given me a buzz, feeding my ego. It brought money, lasses, adventure. And a whole heap of other crap.
I flipped to the last page, to a shoot from Milan. Before the bairn, before Scarlet, before everything changed.
I closed the heavy book with a thud.
That guy in the photos… I didn’t know him anymore.
The portfolio was going in the fire as soon as I could drag myself downstairs.
I managed to get back to my bed and I pulled the cover over my head then shut down, exhausted from moving. From life.
My brothers tiptoed around me, my niece and nephew were hushed when they passed my room. Ma made another visit, but I covered the scars, unable to handle her pity. Every single call and message on my phone got ignored.
I just fucking lay there and wallowed in my pit of misery.
This couldn’t last. None of it.
Afew weeks on, and Wasp drove me into Inverness for x-rays. The doc held up the last and showed me the healthy new growth of bone around the metal pins, and I could’ve cried.
It meant I could go into a walking cast.
If I could get around on my own, I could start putting my plans into action.
I’d had too much time to lie around and think.
“So sorry I’ve been such a miserable arse.” I peered at my twin across the plastering suite.
“Used to it.” He pretended to gaze out of the window.
Wasp had grown a full beard. He used to wear one but had shaved it off in the spring. I half wondered if the new beard was there to hide his unblemished face so I didn’t look at what mine had used to be. I loved the fuck out of my family.
“I mean it. I’ve been under a dark cloud since the accident, but it’s lifted.”
“Drugs, pain, lack of being able to move. Any of those is enough to bring a man down. Ye don’t have to apologise.”
The nurse returned with a length of dark-blue bandage which I’d chosen as the top layer of the new cast. He made quick work of finishing the job then helped me to stand, adjusting a pair of crutches to my height.
The cast was lower leg only. I’d healed quick and clean, my body way ahead of my mind in wanting to get well.
“Take your time getting used to these. Watch out for uneven floors particularly,” he said at the end of a long list of instructions.
I grinned at Wasp. The castle only had uneven floors. I didn’t care. I was mobile again. My spirits lifted through the roof.
Hobbling outside into the fresh air had never felt so good.
“What’s the first thing you’re going to do with your newfound freedom?” Wasp asked, watching the road as we crossed the car park.
I swung my leg out, stifling the pain in my ribs from supporting my weight after so long. I needed to get my strength back. Get into the gym.
Start work on my big ideas.
“See the bairn. Tomorrow, if they’ll let me.”
“I’ll drive you. I’d love a peek through the door at her.”
We reached the car and, gingerly, I climbed inside, bouncing as I landed. No more lying out on the back seats!
“Done. I’ll arrange it now.”
I had a lot to make up for. And a new life to work out. There were police to talk to, solicitors’ letters to sign, family to hug.
Wasp clicked his seatbelt into place and tilted his head at me. “Good to go?”
I burst out with my confession, one of the loudest of the self-pitying voices in my head. “I have this idea that we aren’t twins anymore.” It had always been a thing, our identical faces. Now it wasn’t.
He gaped at me. “You’ve come out with some daft shite in your time, but that one is in a league of its own. If I ever hear ye say something like that again, I’ll smack ye. Broken face or no.”
With a powerful rev of the engine, he got us back on the road. And like that, things were getting back to normal.
The following morning, during the long drive to Edinburgh to visit my bairn, I returned a call that was long overdue. I rang my agent.
“Alasdair, how are you?” she said, her voice far kinder than it had been in recent times.
“Grand. Healing.”
“Good, good. I left you one or two messages, and your brother called me with an update.”
I’d picked up the phone to end my career, but I stumbled over my words. Modelling was a fierce industry where even physical perfection wasn’t enough. You had to be able to withstand the culture, and the culture fucking sucked.
I’d planned to quit before the accident, but there was no way anyone would believe that now. My pride, already dented, would take yet another hit.
“I need to tell ye that I won’t be returning to modelling,” I said, gritting my teeth.
“Of course,” Jennie replied smoothly. “Nobody would expect you to audition while you’re still so unwell.”
Argh. In other words: Don’t bother, kid.
I should tell her about the handsy guy in Milan but I didn’t want my brother to hear and I just wanted to get off the call. Besides, it didn’t bother me so much anymore. I still wished I’d planted my fist in the guy’s face, but there was nothing I could do now. Jennie knew the score.
“Good luck with the season,” I said.
“I wish you all the best in your future career.”
Aye, whatever. I hung up the call and muttered to myself.
A message landed on my screen. Scarlet. By now, I’d trained my brain to recognise the letters of her name, but this time, I wasn’t about to ignore her. I popped in my always-nearby headphones and selected to play the voice message.
Hey, it’s Scarlet. I was thinking about you and wondering what you were up to. Mathilda told me you were healing, but I wanted to see you. I… Well, just drop me a message when you’re ready. I’ll leave it up to you.
I thought about that message all afternoon. When I brought the bairn to the door to meet my brother, I got caught up with emotion, witnessing the joy in his eyes as he shook her tiny hand and cooed over her wee face.
I wished I’d introduced her to Scarlet when she’d been the one waiting in the car.
I’d decided against seeing her because of how I looked.
It had me cringing, imagining her pity, or worse, her disgust. That was utter vanity, for sure.
But now, after weeks of nothing, my sex drive was waking up again, and all I could think about was that one night we’d shared.
About her laugh, her smile, and every single one of her freckles.
Maybe she should be the one to decide how much the changes in me bothered her.