Chapter Thirteen
Lady Phoebe
“How did seeing Arthur make you feel?” Dr.Kane asks me.
“It was weird. Kind of felt as if I was seeing someone who I was told was dead standing in front of me.”
“You’ve been mourning him?”
I shrug, head down. “In a way—but in my own way. I don’t think anyone else felt like that but I did. I felt like I was stood at his graveside while everyone else was behind me, waiting to go.”
“That’s interesting.”
“How so?”
“Do you not think that Arthur’s friends and family also felt like that?”
“I think I would’ve known if they did.”
“In what way?”
I swallow, lick my lips, pick at my thumbnail.
“If they felt the same as me, I don’t think I would’ve felt so alone.”
“And did you? Feel alone, that is.”
I laugh. “Are you joking?” He looks at me with his eyebrow raised, expectant. “Of course I did. I still feel alone now.”
“Why?”
This is one of those sessions where I’m reminded why I hated therapy so much.
Why? Is he being fucking serious right now?
My sister left, Arthur's back but I can’t have him.
My friends are there, sure, they’ve always been there but I just can’t help lift this elephant off my chest. It’s suffocating.
I’m not alone, literally, physically. But I’m lonely.
Deep down, inside of me, I’m still wandering this forest all by myself, looking for a way out.
Makes me feel selfish—I’m always feeling selfish for how I feel and I don’t understand why—because I have friends, I have a family, I have a boyfriend.
That’s more than what most people get in their entire lifetimes.
It’s weird because I wish I didn’t feel like this but at the same time, how else would I feel? I can’t imagine not feeling any other way. Part of me thinks I’m scared of feeling something different.
“I don’t know,” I tell him, voice low.
“Okay,” Dr.Kane nods, crosses his legs. “Let’s move onto something else—what are you doing tonight?”
“Why?” I smile. “Do you want to take me on a date?”
It’s Valentine’s Day today.
“No,” he laughs awkwardly. “Do you have plans? Something to take your mind off everything.”
“Digby is taking me out to dinner.”
“You don’t seem thrilled by that.”
“I’d rather be with Arthur.”
I don’t know why I just said that. He’s just always on the forefront of my mind. His name rolls off my tongue like the lyrics to my favourite song.
“Why don’t you plan something with Arthur, then? A walk in the park? You said that you two used to do that a lot.”
“I can’t.”
He tilts his head. “Because of Digby or The Nightmare?”
“Both.”
“You need to tell him, Phoebe. If you want to be with him, you have to tell him. Keeping a secret like that from him won’t end well.”
I get up, walk over to the window, light a cigarette.
“If I don’t tell him then there’s no chance of being with him—which is good, I have a boyfriend. In my head, if I tell him, it’d be like running straight into his arms, although I’m not sure he’d want me.”
“You need to stop thinking that. You can’t make a judgment on something that hasn't even happened. You have absolutely no proof that he’d turn you away.”
I whip my head around. “I’m not a judgemental person.”
“I never said that you were. I was saying that you were making a judgment on a situation that hasn't taken place yet.”
I shrug, resting my wrist on the window ledge. “I’m just preparing myself for the worst.”
“Because you’re used to receiving the worst?”
Roll my eyes. “Who’s making judgments now?”
“That wasn’t a judgment. That was a question.”
“You’re gaslighting me.”
I hear him laugh quietly. “No, I’m not, Phoebe. I asked if you are used to expecting the worst. Are you?”
“I don’t know,” I mutter.
He walks over to the window, leans against his desk. “Do you still monitor Digby?”
My stomach sinks.
When Digby and I first got together, It was bad.
I didn’t realise how much trauma Arthur had inflicted on me.
Everytime Digby went out with his Uni mates and came back a bit pissed, I’d get all edgy—checking his pupils discreetly, laying on his chest to the lullaby of his heart beating healthily.
Even when he got up in the night for the toilet and walked into a door or something, I’d bolt right up, expecting to see him in a lump on the floor with white powder on his nose.
It was obsessive at first. Every slight noise in the middle of the night would have me waking up immediately; panicking in a cold sweat.
Thankfully, Digby doesn’t have the same bad habits as Arthur did.
I guess I was kind of expecting the worst to happen then.
“I don’t anymore.”
“That’s an improvement.”
Is it, though?
The other day at Connie’s art show, I saw Arthur go into the bathroom and just like I used to, I expected him to come falling through the door, unable to stand up. He didn’t, obviously. But my heart still sunk. He saw me watching when he left, winked and smiled.
We were both proud of him.
I flick my cigarette onto the window ledge with all my other butts that have collected there because Dr.Kane still refuses to buy an ashtray in hopes that will get me to stop. He says, if he buys one, then he’s enabling it which is silly because now I’m just littering which is way worse.
“Same time next week?” I turn to him, grabbing my bag and coat from the sofa.
He glances down at his watch. “We still have twenty-five minutes left.”
“I know,” I pout. “But I have a nail appointment at Harrods followed by a hot stone massage at Espa—take an early lunch.”
He rolls his eyes, smiling a little bit as he opens his office door for me. “Will do. Have a good day, Phoebe.”
When I exit the lift, my phone rings. It’s Athena.
“Happy National Shag Day!”
“Sorry?”
“It’s like the one day of the year when you know everyone is getting laid. Absolutely fuck all romantic about Valentines.”
“Right—why are you calling?”
“Oh, George is taking me to pick up a horse—a throughbred or something—”
“Thoroughbred.”
“Yeah, whatever the expensive ones are. Anyway, George wanted to know if you still know that trainer from Epsom?”
“I’ll send her details to him.”
“Thanks, chick. Make sure you get laid today. Bye, love you.”
Digby and I go to The Ledbury in Notting Hill for dinner.
I hate to be a bitch but I’m kind of annoyed.
It’s a tasting menu. A bunch of ‘small plates’ with foods I don’t actually like despite my prestigious upbringing.
People are always so shocked to find out I don’t actually eat oysters for breakfast and caviar for lunch.
How dare a girl from a privileged background prefer Crunchy Nut and pasta.
Don’t get me wrong, I have somewhat of an expansive palette given who my dad is and all but at every restaurant I order the same thing. Chicken, some kind of cooked fish, pasta or soup.
All that aside, I do actually really appreciate the sentiment.
I’ve never celebrated Valentines before Digby.
This is our third together and for each one, he’s woken me up with a hundred red roses, a piece of jewellery—this year's was the Folie des Prés necklace in 18K white gold with Diamond and Sapphire from Van Cleef and Arpels—and dinner. You’re probably thinking I’d prefer baby’s breath and a new handbag but I’d take anything.
Knowing he loves me enough to do that, is fine with me.
Unfortunately, it’s more than what Arthur did for me on any Valentine’s.
Speaking of flowers, actually, I have decided to go back to Digby’s.
After Connie’s art show, he was so devastated that I didn’t go home with him that I just couldn’t take it anymore.
Like usual, I caved. After all, he does love me.
The least I can do is sleep in the same bed as him.
I’m still a tiny bit pissed at his lies but I can tell he’s sorry.
However, now that I am staying at his, that meant I did have to buy him something today so I got George to find me some vintage Day-Date Rolex he’d been after.
“This is nice, isn’t it?” Digby gestures at me with his wine glass.
I nod, pushing my food around the plate.
“Look, Phoebe,” he starts, putting his glass down. “I want to say sorry.”
I frown. “For what?”
He swallows, looks down, leans in closer to me across the table. “For everything. The way I’ve behaved with your friends, Arthur, the lying—I’m really, really sorry.”
I reach across the table, take his hand. “Me too.”
“You haven’t done anything wrong.”
“I was mean to you.”
He smiles, shakes his head. “It was deserved. I was acting like a right dick. I just really don’t want to fuck this up.” He stares at me, deeply. “I love you.”
Instead of saying it back, I lean across the table and press my lips to his.
It’s different from Arthur’s kisses but a kiss nonetheless.
To be honest, I’m glad he’s saying all of this.
I want him to tell me he loves me, I want him to say sorry, I want him to be kind and loving and caring.
I want him to remind me that I can’t go back to Arthur.
Digby isn’t a bad guy. He really isn’t. He left St Andrews to study medicine as an undergraduate at Kings.
He said it was because he didn’t like being far away from his family but he left so quickly after I did that I can’t help but think he moved back to London because of me.
His parents had an apartment, gave it to him, we moved in together very quickly.
As in, too quickly that my friends started raising eyebrows.
Fine, his family has a bit of a bad name in the press but these days, who doesn’t?
As for Digby, there hasn’t been a single bad write up about him.
All everyone does is love him. They love taking pictures of us together.
And the funny thing is, all the paparazzi pictures are of him doing really gentlemanly things like holding my bag or my shoes, picking me up when I’m too drunk to walk, randomly kissing me in the middle of the street, opening doors for me and swapping plates with me at restaurants when I decided to venture out and ultimately regret it.
And all of these things are so raw, so candid.
He doesn't pose for them. He doesn't do these things because he knows they’re watching. He just does them anyway.
He lied about the flowers but that’s it.
I’ve gone through his phone multiple times, he hands it to me whenever I ask because he has nothing to hide.
Sure, there are girls in his DMs that he doesn't block straight away and past talking stages still in his followers list but he doesn’t respond or entertain any of it.
Sometimes, I wish it was different. I wished I couldn’t trust him not to cheat on me or go out and do something stupid. I wish he didn’t love me so easily but then again, he still doesn’t know me all the way through. It’s easy to love anyone when you don’t know them how you should.
The version of me that I handed over to Digby isn’t the same one I gave to Arthur and the version of me that Arthur had was me all the way through, stripped bare, all seven layers and that’s the difference.
After dinner, we go back home. Digby sits on the edge of the bed, undoing his cufflinks.
I stand in front of him and start to undress.
I can tell he doesn’t expect it. I never do this for him.
He always does it. His eyes light up and I keep going until I’m in nothing but my underwear.
I leave those on for him to take off because I can’t do it for him yet.
I sit on his lap and I kiss him, kiss him the same way I’d kiss Arthur.
He tells me he loves me all the way through, I moan in response and dig my nails into his back so he doesn’t disappear into thin air and leave me naked, cold and alone in a bed because that’s happened to me once before and I hated it.
And with every brush of his lips against my cheek and every move with his hips, Arthur inches further and further out of my mind until the final moments when he comes rushing back, being the only thing I can see.