CHAPTER 31
SHERIDAN
I’m in that place again.
It’s dark yet warm. Cool yet comforting. Reachable and somehow completely untouchable, a cosy ether I’ll never really get to brush my fingertips against. But I’m a force of my own creativity and I grasp onto this feeling, keep myself in my own mind for just that bit longer, because I haven’t been here for so long and the fruits of my labour are becoming undeniably rewarding.
Once again Nash is the cause of my sudden motivation. People used to say it was a coping mechanism—a way to avoid the real world and all the problems it brings. But how can creative motivation be an issue? It’s not, really. Maybe I should fight with my brother more often. His constant disregard for my actual feelings and the things that bring joy to my life is apparently the greatest encouragement of all. My way of silently pushing back.
The biggest Fuck You of all.
My little faerie-tale has gone from a seed of an idea to a full blown plot with a storyboard in the space of two days. Caerwyn and her mortal are coming to life before my very eyes, and I feel somehow more powerful than when I verbally demolished my brothers.
I barely see daylight on Tuesday. I neglect all my work to focus completely on this queen and the journey I want her to take. I expect a part of me to feel bad for ignoring my actual responsibilities, but all I do feel when I put my art supplies away is immense satisfaction. I let my imagination run wild and it’s turned into something beautiful.
This is what I want.
I stretch in my seat before rising on my shaky legs. I think I heard Brin get home a few hours ago but she hasn’t come to see me. She knows what I’m like when I get into a zone and to leave me to it.
I catch a glimpse of the leaflet Myles’s cute nerd friend gave him a few weeks ago and I debate actually doing something with it.
It’s a big deal, putting myself out there like that. So many things could go wrong if I’m not careful. People talk. Commercialising my work to a new network of watchers could break my otherwise solid opinion of my abilities, and humans are especially cruel.
I like my job well enough, but it’s not what I want to do forever. Not really. I want more than that, and I think winning that Toonie was just the tip of the iceberg.
I decide there’s no harm in trying.
* * *
It takes me two hours to go through the application, so by the time I’m done I’m starving and knackered.
If I were a Sim, I’d be dead.
I check my phone for the first time in hours and find two notifications from Myles, which automatically brings a smile to my face.
Yep, I’m that girl now. I smile at the sight of a boy’s name on my phone. Although this particular boy is all man.
It’s short-lived, however, when I open the texts and read their contents:
Myles
Im sorry Sheridan.
Myles
You don’t deserve this.
“Don’t deserve what?” I ask the empty room.
Me
What does that mean? Xxx
Is everything okay? Xxx
When I don’t get an answer after a minute I try calling him, but it goes straight to voicemail, and that anxious ball that’s been growing in my belly finally drops and the nausea hits.
I leave him a panicked voicemail, “Myles, I don’t know what your texts mean but can you call me back, please? I’m worried.”
I move out of my office, yanking the door open, and stalk into the kitchen where I find Brin sitting at the breakfast table nursing a glass of wine while she stares at an untouched plate of food.
“What’s going on?” I demand, my tone ruder than I’d intended.
Without missing a beat, my twin says, “Someone filmed our argument outside Myles’s flat on Sunday—one of the neighbours—and posted it online. The kids have seen it and shown it to Myles, who gave the footage to Paulson. Myles and I have been suspended for two weeks pending investigation. Beau has been suspended from his next two games, which happen to be home games, and has been pulled from the England draft. And Nash has gone awol.”
I stare at her for a long minute, slack-jawed and nonplussed. “What the fuck?”
“Mum is raging, obviously. I’ve never seen her so mad, and it was all aimed at Paulson.”
“Well, I’m not surprised—you didn’t do anything wrong!”
Brin just shrugs. “But we were involved.”
I slip onto the chair opposite her and take her hand. “Why didn’t you come and tell me? I’ve been home all day fucking around with a goddamn cartoon.”
“Honestly, I was embarrassed.” She sighs, resting her head in her hand. “I’ve been a teacher less than a year and I’ve already been suspended over something. I just wanted to put off my shame a bit longer.”
“Brin, this is not your fault. Anyone with a brain knows it. Please don’t beat yourself up. I’m sorry you got dragged into it when it should’ve been between Beau and me. It’s all been blown completely out of proportion, and you’ve somehow been punished for it.”
“Well…done now, innit?”
I scowl. “We’ll sort it out. If Mum has any say in it, she’ll rip Paulson a new one and get you working again soon.”
“I really hope so,” she mumbles.
I help myself to a glass of wine too and rejoin her. “What was Myles like when you left? I had a cryptic text from him, and his phone is going to voicemail.”
My sister grimaces. “He wasn’t great. He was all tense and quiet—barely said a word before he left.”
I feel my chest squeeze painfully. I know he’s going to be beating himself up over this and it’s all because of me. “I wish he’d speak to me.”
“I think he just needs to wallow, Shez. I know if I wasn’t in your house I’d be sulking by myself, too. Just give him tonight and try again tomorrow.”
I know she’s probably right, but I still utterly detest the idea of leaving him by himself. He’s been by himself forever, I want him to lean on me.
I stick Brin’s dinner in the microwave and help myself to a portion, then call Marina while I wait.
“Sheridan?” She sounds perplexed, and I only then realise it’s almost eleven o’clock.
“Are you going to sack me? And sorry for the late call.” No point in beating around the bush.
“What?”
“Are you going to sack me?” I repeat.
There’s a pause. “Is this about that video? Because I was going to call tomorrow rather than harassing you at this hour. But no, I’m not, as disappointing as the whole thing is.”
“You’re right, it is disappointing. My brothers are a pair of overgrown morons stuck in the 1800s.”
“Do I even want to know?”
“My boyfriend is Beau’s best friend.”
She scoffs. “Men. Say no more. Take a day off, Sheridan. Or five. You’ll give yourself an aneurysm soon.”
That does make me laugh. “Thanks, Marina. Have a good Christmas.”
“And you, my love.”
I end the call and look at Brin, who manages a flat smile.
“Let’s eat and get really drunk,” I suggest.
“God, you read my mind. It’s like we’re twins or something.”
I peck her temple. “I love you, Brin. I’m sorry you got dragged into this.”
And I really was sorry, because how had my relationship with Myles come to involve so many other people?
If ‘ridiculous’ was the name of the game, I’d be winning it by a fucking landslide.
* * *
I wake in the morning with a painful throbbing in my head, a dry mouth, and a crick in my neck from sleeping at a stupid angle on the sofa instead of in my bed. When I look up, I find Brin in a similar state, although she’s still catching flies and snoring away.
God, I haven’t drank that much in a long time, and I was really just trying to keep up with Brinsley who has always had a higher tolerance for alcohol than I have. She drinks like a fish, whereas I drink like a slightly wet seal. And sleep like one, apparently.
The room is a mess. Half empty crisp and biscuit packets lay strewn across the coffee table and mantelpiece, along with a variety of glassware filled with rank-looking concoctions. So, we went uni student hard apparently. I can’t remember much except screaming as loud as we could to early noughties music as if we had any right to be that rowdy that late at night on a Tuesday in December.
Stumbling into the kitchen I find it in much the same state and wince at my own neglect. I’m not the tidiest person but this is, quite frankly, disgusting.
Apparently two people can cause utter chaos in the space of a few hours. I’d almost consider it an achievement if I wasn’t so horrified by it.
I decide that before I tackle the mess, I’m going to take Hector—who has been following me around and grumbling like a scolding old man—for his morning walk and pick up something for breakfast. And when I say something, I mean full of fat and so unhealthy my veins might clog with it.
Thankfully the morning is mild, if a little cold. I’ve got a hat and gloves on but my big coat is a little too heavy and I find I’m overheating in places when I reach the corner shop.
God, is this early menopause?
I shove the irrational thought into a box along with all my others, like do my parents secretly hate me, or was I rude to that random corner-shop cashier in Manchester last year who looked at me funny when I bought tampons from him?
After I’ve picked up the makings of a well-worthy full English, I start back home by slipping through the pub car park to the canal. The weather feels a little murky and I’m sure a good rain-pour is coming imminently.
Somehow, by the time I get home again I haven’t checked my phone once, even though the thought of Myles has been wriggling around in what I like to refer to as the ‘garden shed’ of my mind. Within reach, good for storage.
I know he hasn’t replied to me yet or even called. I always have this strange inkling when he’s about to pop up on my phone, but that mystical tether has been dead since Monday. Not even a mild vibration. Like it’s been snipped with oversized shears.
Brin might have said he’ll come to me in his own time but that doesn’t fill me with much comfort. He might never be ready, and I’m not about to soak myself in a love that lacks communication.
If I don’t hear from him by tomorrow, I’m going over there.
My sister is still passed out when we get home, so I quietly work around her to tidy up the carnage we created. On a normal day I’d blast some music, either through the speakers or my earphones but my head hurts a bit too much for that.
I don’t see Brin until I’m halfway through cooking our breakfast of—not quite—champions.
“Have I ever told you you’re the best?” She says around a groan as she enters the room, hair like a haystack, and wraps herself around me.
“Not nearly enough, sissy.”
“Consider it your daily reminder.” She gets to work drying the things on the drainer. “Have you heard from Myles?”
I do my best to ignore the squeeze in my chest at the thought of him. “Nope.”
She sighs. “Poor sod. This is definitely worse on him than it is on me.”
“Perhaps. I just wish he’d talk to me.”
And I continue to wish it all day, to no such luck.
We spend our entire Wednesday on the sofa with Hector, bingeing rom-coms and snacking on anything we can get our hands on. It’s the laziest day I’ve had since the weekend Myles appeared on my front door step.
I wish more than anything he’d do that now.
My fingers twitch to text him or call him again, but that invisible tether between us is still dead. Part of me debates shoving my phone under my cushion again like I did the last time he vanished, but I don’t want to miss a second if he reaches out.
I never realised how dependent I was on him for my sanity until now.
I miss him, which is ludicrous considering I only spoke to him two days ago.
By the end of the day, when I crawl into my cold and empty bed, I’m despairing.
I sleep like shit.
I refuse to look at what people are saying online because the general consensus is that only idiots express their opinions on the internet and the sensible ones get swept under the rug.
At three a.m. I find myself crying because my chest hurts so much.
I revisit Myles’s texts and realise there’s an undertone of finality to them I hadn’t picked up on the first fifty times I read them.
I’m sorry, Sheridan.
You don’t deserve this.
That’s not an apology.
It’s a goodbye.