his dad so much. I’ll greedily take any little titbit he wants to throw my way.
‘After a while you start believing you are the loser he thinks you are.’
The overwhelming urge to go to him and throw my arms around him, to comfort him and tell him everything is okay, well, its unbelievably strong. I fight myself. I don’t want him to get the wrong end of the stick.
‘Did something happen for him to start treating you like that?’ I can’t help but ask. It’s rare he’s so open and honest with me. I have to take advantage while I can.
He leans against the bar. ‘The only thing I’ve ever been able to think of is that I remind him of Mum. I lost her when I was nine.’
Shit, I had no idea she’d died so young.
I imagine a small Clooney having to cope with the loss of his mother. Raised by that pig Fergus. Poor baby.
‘I do look like her.’ He smiles briefly, as if from a memory. ‘After she died he was more angry than upset.’
I try to imagine a female version of Clooney. She’d be stunning, all long black hair with those unusual bright eyes.
‘Do you have a picture of her?’ I ask hopefully, wanting as much as he’s willing to share.
‘I do.’ He takes his phone out of his back pocket and scrolls through it for a while. ‘Here we go.’
He hands the phone to me. I zoom in to see a woman cuddling a young cute Clooney. Just as predicted she has the exact same jet black hair and dirty green eyes as him. I can see why his dad might have been hurt seeing him grow up to be more like her, but that’s no excuse to take it out on a young boy. To break him and his confidence down to nothing.
‘She was beautiful.’ I smile sadly, handing it back to him. ‘And yes, you’re the spitting image of her.’ I never did think he looked like his pig of a dad.
He smiles, it not meeting his eyes. It does explain why he feels such contempt towards him.
‘Look, I feel like shit for upsetting you last night and I hate this atmosphere between us. Tell me what to do so we can go back to being friends?’
That grabs his attention. His head whips round to stare at me like I just called him the C word. Wow, one eighty degree mood change.
‘Is that what we are?’ he snaps. ‘Friends?’ He says it like it’s a dirty word.
I frown back at him. ‘I mean… yeah. I thought we were?’
Could it be that he doesn’t even want me as a friend anymore?
He blows out a heavy breath. ‘Fine, Phoebe. If that’s what you want we’ll be just that. Friends.’
I open my mouth to say something; anything to try and understand him. To try and stop him being so angry. But it’s too late. He’s already turning and storming out into the kitchen, slamming the heavy door behind him.
Well what the hell was that all about? I sit down onto one of the chairs and try to replay the conversation in my head. Is he angry because I said we were friends? Did he think we were something more? Does he want something more? God, I’m more bewildered than ever.
I don’t think I’ll ever understand that man. He goes from happy to angry in what feels like seconds. Maybe I’m better off not knowing inside that fucked up head. Better to see him as a work colleague and roommate. Distance myself from him. All I seem to get around him is muddled and upset. Nobody has time for that, especially me.
Yet the thought of not having him in my life scares me more than anything. Could it be that I’d prefer to be completely head fucked than the worse alternative; without him?
Chapter Thirty-Five
Friday 23rd October
Banging on the door wakes me up with a start, my legs and arms flailing. Ugh. It took ages for me to get to sleep last night after Clooney’s confession. My mind was coming up with reasons why it’s not such a terrible idea being involved with him. Someone banging the door down is the last thing I need first thing in the morning.
‘What the hell is that?’ I ask Ella, wiping at my sore eyes.
‘Ugh, shut up,’ she mumbles, rolling over and putting her pillow over her head. She’s never been good in the mornings, bless her.
Now that I’m awake there’s