Implicit, p.7
Implicit, page 7
“It was supposed to be Billy’s lifeline, but it became mine. My reason to not give up. To keep fighting. To help people. My proof that I’m not a complete fuckup. My chance to make my family proud. And I can do it too. I just need that chance.”
My voice is quiet but steady as an epiphany washes over me like a drug. Totally calm now, I can see it very clearly.
“This all started because I wanted to help. To help Billy, to help others with the same issues. But the only way to do that was to monetise it. To sell the technology. I want to bring life in full colour to those who see only shades of grey, and the only road to make that a reality was to sell it. As an experience. A party trick. It has to make money to be able to fund the other aspects. This isn’t the important bit to me. It’s just a stepping stone. So I’m sorry if that isn’t what you want to hear, but it’s the truth.”
When I finally stop pacing and look up, Eliza has a soft smile on her lips. “That’s it. That’s the pitch. Tell them exactly that.”
“I will never tell them that. It’s not a story I like to share.”
“But you told me...?”
“Yeah. You’re different. I don’t want anybody’s pity in exchange for their money. I made some horrible choices. Mistakes. That cost a man his life. That’s not something that should be rewarded with investments.”
“That’s not what I meant. I meant the depth of feeling behind it.”
“No. But thanks for listening.”
She stands, steps around the table, and grabs my hand. She looks down at the contact at the same time I do, so I see her instinct to let go and wrap my fingers around hers before I know that I decided to do it.
“Seth... I’m so sorry for what you went through...” She takes a breath and her fingers curl around mine as she chooses her words. “But I really think it should be part of the strategy. Sell the tech to brands in order to raise funds and awareness. Disability awareness is a big deal. Your reasons for wanting to champion it are personal and authentic... I think that will be a great motivator for any investor to part with their cash is all I meant. I’m not in any way suggesting you should sell your soul for it. Or trying to minimise the events that led to its inception. But it may be your opportunity to turn something terrible into something wonderful.”
I swallow hard as a solid lump of sorrow and loss forms in my throat, and Eliza moves closer still. Her fingertips tentatively sweep away the tears that are starting to fall as the memories flood my brain.
“Maybe we should call it Billy?” I croak.
“That’s a great idea.” Her voice is soft and melodic. Her gaze heated and intense. It falls to my mouth, and butterflies swarm in my stomach as my thumb glides over her knuckles, then the back of her hand. She takes a huge breath. “We’ll refine it over the next few weeks,” Eliza says, dropping her eyes as she pulls her hand free and turns her face away, her tone totally different. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
It takes a second or two for my brain to reboot. “Good night.” I disengage from her pull and walk slowly to the exit, fighting with myself along the way.
Don’t do it. Don’t go back up there and act on any of those impulses. Keep walking.
Eliza
As I push open my front door, a notification sounds on my phone, echoing through the empty hallway. I pull the device out from my pocket. It’s from a number I don’t recognise. I tap on the message that can only be from Ru.
So he has my number now?
How would you feel if I broached the subject of your attendance at The Fall Ball with your mother?
I drop my bag on my foot, barely registering the pain as something hard strikes a bone, and clutch the phone like a life raft. I could go home? I could see Nancy again? Sit under the willow tree? Mr Beatie could slip me a toffee as I passed by? I could go home...with Ru.
A raw kind of hope—savage and sharp—swells in my chest.
I could be where I belong? Where I can be myself? He’d really do that, for me? Evan after...and knowing everything? Maybe he was telling the truth, Maybe he did love me.
Yes. Please.
I’ve already typed out the reply and sent it, before I can convince myself it’s a bad idea, and wait anxiously for a response for several minutes. I walk into the kitchen and start up the coffee machine thinking about that day. In the back of the car.
“I’m sorry, Nellie. I’ll write to you.”
“Why would you do that? I’m a monster.” My eyes keep dragging back to my hands. To the dried blood crusted into the lines of my knuckles. My fingernails were torn away and jagged.
“Because I love you.”
I remember just looking at him. Watching him. I couldn’t understand what he was saying. At all. How? How could he love me? And...wasn’t I supposed to feel something too? Anything? That was the moment I realised he was right. I wasn’t normal. I wasn’t capable of love. And I never wanted to hear that word again.
My mother isn’t one to be rushed. I’m aware. But it’s been hours. Surely that’s long enough.
Did you talk to her? What did she say?
I watch the screen, waiting for the two little ticks to turn blue, but they stay resolutely grey.
Every possible scenario gallops through my brain like a herd of wild horses. She said no. Ru’s too polite to tell me so. Or he asked and she had one of her episodes at the very thought of seeing me again. Or maybe she threw him out when he uttered my name. He’s no longer invited for even thinking such a thing.
By the time midnight rolls around, my stomach is in knots, and I resign myself to the fact that I’m still not welcome at The Hall and run a hot bath before I leave for the bar. It was too much to hope for. Foolish to even imagine. Ru has always been good to me and single-minded in his ambitions, but this time, I think he’s bitten off more than he can chew.
As I sink back into the mountains of foam, I allow my eyes to close. The tendrils of my hair that have escaped my haphazard up-do cling to my face in the steam, and I tuck them behind my ears as I breathe in. My shoulders are tight and knotted, my lungs operating at what I now realise is half-capacity.
I try again to take the kind of breath I did earlier, that really full, deep inhale that expands the whole torso. My own thumb rubs over my knuckles and Seth fills my head. Slowly, gradually, I relax and the bottom half of my lungs flood with oxygen, pushing my belly out like a balloon.
I rest my hands on my skin and feel them rise and fall as I breathe, and I sink down a little farther, resting my head back against the edge of the tub. The warm water cascades over my shoulders and pools around me, up to the base of my neck, cocooning me in luxuriously scented warmth.
His hands slide across the tops of my shoulders to my neck, his thumbs circling and kneading the tight muscles, turning everything to jelly. My head lolls against his shoulder and he chuckles as I groan in appreciation, working incrementally lower, across the top and middle of my back. My waist. My hips. The tops of my thighs.
His hands move around to my stomach and pull me tighter against his body, as his lips follow the trail his hands just blazed, and I’m on fire.
“Seth. Please.”
“Hmm?”
“I want more.”
“But what do you deserve, Elizabeth?” Ru’s voice asks.
“What?” I turn to see his face, not Seth’s, and his arms tighten, keeping me trapped. “Let go. You’re hurting me.” I push against his forearms, but I’m soapy. I can’t get a grip. I look down at my hands, sliding uselessly against his restraint. It’s not soap. They’re covered in blood. The water is crimson. A baby is crying. “No! No!”
My limbs smash against the sides of the tub as I struggle towards consciousness, and I crack my skull painfully on something before I manage to gain an upright position and gasp for oxygen with my half-sized lungs.
“Ouch,” I groan, holding my throbbing head in my hands.
Half an hour later, I’m dry, dressed, and dashing out the door in tomorrow’s work clothes. “Look out, Mr Wednesday Night. I’m coming for you.”
The following morning, I stumble from the taxi outside The Shard and head straight for the coffee machine, the words of Ru’s early hours response ringing in my ears and stinging my eyes.
She’s not ready. I’m sorry. I’ll try again soon. xx
After the morning meeting, Seth follows me to my office. I’ve barely closed the door before he says, “Can I ask you something?” I nod and he rushes on as I try to not collapse into my chair. “You don’t have to answer. Tell me to mind my own business if...” he trails off when I roll my eyes. “Why don’t you sleep?”
I swallow hard to encourage the mint I’m trying to force down my rapidly shrinking throat. “I look that bad?”
“You look... exhausted.” After a long pause, he asks, “Did you ever consider talking to someone about it?”
“No.” I can’t meet his eye. I can feel him watching me, taking in the slightest reaction.
“Why not?”
“It wouldn’t help.” Nothing can change what happened.
“It might. It helped me.”
My head snaps up, taking in the powerful, intelligent, confident man before me. “You’ve been to therapy?”
“Yeah.” He clears his throat and drops his eyes briefly. And I see it. So clearly I could be looking in a mirror: he’s still grieving.
“Billy?”
He gives me a small smile. “It all happened a lot of years ago now. But it still hurts. I lost someone I loved... love... very much. And for a long time, I blamed myself.”
My insides freeze instantly. Does he know? Is this some kind of trick?
“Billy was like a brother to me. But the therapy helped me to be able to look forward. It gave me the idea for the product, so...” He shrugs and offers me a smile. Until he looks at my face and his expression changes completely, showing understanding, knowledge, and something that makes me feel physically sick: sympathy. “Eliza. I... I’m not going to ask you what happened. You can talk to me if you want to, but I can tell you from experience, it’s an awful lot easier to talk to someone you don’t know from Adam. The first time at least.
“It never goes away. But it is possible to turn it in to something positive.” He reaches for my hand and I’m too frozen to move away. “Think about it. Please.” His fingers curl around mine and his thumb sweeps across the back of my hand, over my knuckles, just like last time.
It’s so soothing I find that I can take that deep, full breath I’ve been aiming for since then. I’m wondering when I last used my lungs properly when he lets go and they shrink back to half size.
The truth is, I could probably give an exact date of the last time. It was the 30th of September. I was seven years old.
***
“Oh, come now. Surely you have time for a lunch break?” Ru gives me a pleading look as he stands at my desk the following day, watching me sip the coffee he bought me with flowers balanced on his arm. An expression he perfected many years ago.
But then, it was accompanied by requests for another hour of his favourite game. Or another film he liked. He smiles when I sigh in resignation and he squeezes my shoulder as I stand, his thumb digging into that little hollow that makes me feel on edge. I step out of reach and his arm falls to his side. Seth mutters something about seeing me later before he leaves, and Ru calls out to Rachel for a vase, frowning after Seth and at the coffee he abandoned on the table.
The restaurant is crowded when Ru guides me through the door. Silver trays whizz past us, expertly held aloft, brimming with perfect plates of food I can’t even look at. The smell is making me nauseated. Again. I can’t seem to tolerate food anywhere near him.
“I wanted to see you. To make sure you’re all right.”
“I’m fine. Thank you.”
Ru makes a strange, grimacing, squinting face that infuriates me. “She’s not ready, Eliza.”
“Yes. You said.” I flap my napkin to unfold it and lay it over my lap.
“She needs to be sure you’re ready.”
As I nudge my cutlery back into the correct position, I feel as if my soul is being sucked from my body, backwards down a long, dark, dank tunnel. My voice sounds tinny in my own ears. My brain slow and foggy. “What on earth does that mean? That I’m ready? It wasn’t my choice to leave The Hall, Rupert.”
“That... you’ve...”
“What? That I’ve what?” My teeth are clenched so hard my cheek muscles are starting to spasm in my fight to stay present. In this conversation and not the one I can hear in my head. That little voice warning me that I’ve been here before. That the plug has been pulled and I’m going to talk.
“Accepted it.”
“That I’ve accepted that I am no longer a member of my own family? That things can never go back to how they were? That my opinion only matters if it’s the same as theirs? Or that I ki—” I swallow hard and subtly stretch out my jaw as I claw back control. “I’m thinking about therapy, actually.”
Why did I tell him that?
“You’re... what!” Ru leans forward and lowers his voice, moving his head so that I have no choice but to look him in the eye, to face him, his hands clamped on my wrists. “That’s absurd. You can’t... what if you say too much? Everything will come undone. Land and title will revert to The Crown. The Hall will be gone. Hundreds of years of ancestry, heritage, and history... There will be no income. All of this will have been for nothing. Eliza, you’ll go to prison!”
I shake my head slowly, briefly mesmerised by the way the world wobbles when I do. “I won’t say anything about that. I won’t even use my real name. But... I think it could help me... sleep.” I glance down at Ru’s lily-white fingers and am briefly fascinated by the contrast of the redness of my skin under them. There’s a dim and distant part of myself, my reasoning, that’s asking why it doesn’t hurt. It looks like it should.
The warning bell rings louder, trying to wiggle something loose.
“Brandy, Elizabeth. That will help you sleep. Therapy?” he scoffs. “What good do you think my father ever did me? The famous Lord Ashby CBE, pioneer of therapeutic clinical psychiatry and psychoanalysis?” He huffs and finally releases his hold on me.
I glance down at the red finger marks encircling my arms as he stretches out his digits.
“Look,” Ru says, softly this time, “I’ll speak with her again, but I think it would be better if we were to run in to her somewhere unofficially.”
“Un-offss-icially? How does one run in to one’sss mother, un-offss-icially?” I can hear that I’m slurring. I really need to sleep. I’m running on empty and my brain is revolting, losing connection with my body. Is it that? Or something else? The little voice warns again.
“At dinner maybe. Or an event of some kind.”
“Din-nner?” Something else? Such as?
“Yes. I can ask her secretary to give me a peek at her social diary and we can go along too. It might take the edge off things. And...” His eyes meet mine for an instant before they flick away. “It might be... best... if we attend together.”
My eyebrows rise slowly, feeling like they’re weighed down. I know I should say something about that but my tongue lies thick and heavy in my mouth. Saliva pools and I swallow, again and again, my throat aching as though straining against a chain. My watch rattles along the edge of the table as my muscles quiver, primed for action, and I know I need to leave. Run. Get to safety.
“Eliza?” Ru conducts a quick assessment of my physical state and says something I don’t understand before he stands, squeezes my shoulder, his thumb digging in and walks away whilst raising his phone to his ear. The warning bell is now a claxon. Every cell in my body is teetering on the edge.
I don’t wait for Ru to come back but stumble to my feet, almost knocking over my chair, and the next thing I’m aware of is that I’ve somehow made it to the company car.
Consciousness returns in waves, one sensory function at a time. A strange rhythmic whooshing fills my ears. I can feel that I’m lying on something warm. Rising and falling. Something... breathing.
I can smell something familiar and strangely comforting. Almost tangy. My head is still thick and foggy, my eyes too blurry to focus, and when I try to push myself up, my arms wobble. The softness registers, then the texture, connecting to an identification somewhere in my brain, and my body surrenders again. I’m vaguely aware of a falling sensation and then... nothing at all.
The next time I surface, it’s to soft snorting. Nudging. My eyes crack open slowly and painfully, but a smile takes hold as I croak, “Hi, Tobes.”
My horse bumps my shoulder with his nose. I think he’s trying to wake me up now. He’s obviously of the opinion I’ve slept long enough. Toby nudges me again, like a mare guiding a foal to its feet, and I grasp the stable door as I wait for the waves in my head to settle. The storm in my stomach to quiet down.
My surroundings come into focus in fits and starts, like a radio searching for a station, and I realise that, of course, I’m at the stables, and that it appears as though I’ve been here all afternoon. Most of the horses have been turned out already. My feet are bare, and I’m covered in hay. My hand rises tentatively to my head. I don’t feel any obvious injuries, just more hay that I pull, piece by piece, from my hair... and a pounding headache.
“Ru, Tobes. Earl Rupert bloody Ashby. Of all the people in the world, he was the last one I ever expected to see in the office.” I glance at my horse, who’s gazing back at me with patient eyes. “Do you fancy a walk? I don’t think I’d stay on if I tried to ride.”
Having found my boots and jacket, and attached Toby’s head collar and lead rope, he and I set out for a slow and sedate walk about ten minutes later across the fields, me talking and him listening. I offer him one of the many apples stuffed into my pockets and he chomps them whole.
“I know it’s silly, but, just for a minute there, I thought maybe. Maybe I could go home. Maybe I could take my life back. Daft, I know. But, just for that brief moment there, I started to think that maybe I didn’t have to be alone anymore. I could have a family again. Belong somewhere. Be someone. Be me. Because...” I offer him another apple that disappears in a second. “Because there isn’t anyone who really knows me, no one human,” I correct myself as I pat his neck, “and I can’t ever let them. I can’t ever tell them. I’d ruin too many lives. I keep my distance from everyone. Not for me.. For them. You are my only friend. I love you. You know I do. But sometimes... it’d be really nice to...talk.”
