‘Because it will eat me alive from the inside out for the rest of my godforsaken life, that’s why. And it will you.’
‘It already has.’ Becker throws his apple maliciously across the kitchen and stalks out.
I feel like an intruder. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have heard that. But Becker put me here. He wanted me to know all of this. He wanted me here when the shit hit the fan with his gramps. Good God, does he simply want one person in this world to understand his plight and support his quest? Do I? I thought I did, but now? Now I’ve heard how serious this rivalry is, I’m not sure.
‘Now, now, Donald.’ Mrs Potts moves across the room to Mr H with an agility of a much younger woman. ‘Let it be.’
‘It consumes him, Dorothy.’ His breathing is laboured from his overexertion. ‘He has to stop. Dear God, please make him stop.’
‘He’s wilful, Donald. A trait you can surely relate to.’
He huffs. ‘He’s a fool, just like I was. And his father. A daring son of a bitch with no regard for anyone but himself. He’ll waste his life, like we did. And there will be nothing left for him at the end of it, except regret. No sculpture. No satisfaction. Just regret.’ His head falls into his hands, his old body deflating.
Seeing the old man in such a state of helplessness and desperation does more than tug on my heartstrings. It cuts straight through them. I want to offer my comfort, yet I don’t feel it’s appropriate. This rivalry isn’t a battle of the biggest ego. It might have been once upon a time, but now it’s escalated into something more. Something fucking huge. Mr H once told me he’d do things differently if he had his time again. He means this. The family rivalry. Of course, my mind is rampant with unrelenting curiosity, but it would be silly and selfish of me to dream of prying into such a delicate, painful matter.
I slip silently out of the kitchen, leaving Mrs Potts to console Becker’s grandad. I’ll stay with Lucy. Mark will just have to put up with me. I’d rather be the cause of another night of no action for Lucy than be here where everyone’s emotions are so volatile. I should have kept my mouth shut, but in the same breath, Becker expected that showdown. He’s put me in the middle, knowing what I would face, what I would see, what I would find out.
I blow out air, my brain burning further as I head for the courtyard, making a conscious effort not to be distracted by the stone staircase when I pass it. I do well, keeping my focus forward.
Until I hear him.
‘Where are you going?’
I slow to a halt and glance up the stairs into the blackness. I can’t see him; he’s hiding in the shadows. ‘I didn’t mean to cause such a row,’ I say quietly. ‘You should have told me.’
‘He’ll get over it. Always does.’
His detachment rattles me. How can he be so selfish? ‘Well, he’s not in good shape. You should tend to him.’ I continue on my way, but come to a stop when a question pops into my mind that I’m surprised I haven’t thought to ask before. ‘If you have the map, how come you haven’t found the sculpture? You said you know where it is.’
I hear movement on the stone steps behind me, followed by a deep breath. ‘I’m missing a piece.’
I swallow hard. The rips. The hole in the old map. He needs that missing piece. He’s looking for that, too? God, it goes on. He doesn’t know where the sculpture is at all. He needs to find the missing piece of map before he can find the sculpture. My mind spirals.
‘Eleanor?’
I don’t turn around. What would be the point? I can’t see him, and speaking to darkness is something I’m sick of. I feel like I’ve been doing it from the moment I met him. ‘What, Becker?’
‘Don’t go.’ The quiet demand is whispered in my ear, and I flinch, turning around to find he’s silently crept up on me. He’s expressionless. But the sadness and frustration behind his hazel eyes is obvious. ‘Please.’
That follow-up plea slices me in two, his vulnerability weakening me. ‘I don’t know what I’m doing here,’ I admit, dropping my eyes.