The Piano Man Project Page 0,95

it.

‘No fucking way,’ Hal said. ‘No fucking way.’

‘Who else is going to read it to you?’

‘No one. No one is going to read it, because I am not remotely fucking interested in anything she has to say.’

The fact that the letter had raised such anger in him told Honey otherwise. He was interested alright, and so was she, in a peverse, nigglingly self-destructive kind of way. She was emotionally invested, and she found that she needed to know how invested Imogen was too.

‘Hal, let me do this. It might be important. It must be, for your brother to go to the trouble of sending it.’

‘He’s doing it to get Imogen off his back. He said so himself. Nothing more, nothing less.’

‘Please, Hal. Let’s just get it over with, okay?’

He sighed heavily, and Honey accepted his lack of complaint as agreement. Reluctant and begrudging, but agreement nonetheless.

The small white envelope looked innocent enough, yet Honey still opened it as if it might contain a nail bomb. One that was definitely going to cause damage to the two people closest to the impact.

The paper crinkled in her fingers as she opened it out. More swooping cerise writing, pretty and feminine, probably a reflection of the woman who had written it. All of a sudden, she regretted pushing him to let her read it. Once inside her head, these words would stay with her forever.

‘You really don’t have to do this,’ he said, practically a whisper.

‘I know that,’ Honey said. ‘It’s okay. Just give me a moment.’

She sucked in a deep breath. She would do this.

she read, trying to keep her voice level and free of emotion, because these were not her emotions to feel.

Honey paused for a second, already hating the familiar tone. She wasn’t his cleaner; she wasn’t even sure if she was his friend. Was ‘neighbour with benefits’ an actual term?

Honey paused, winded by the details, the intimacy, and Hal dropped his head in his hands, hiding his expression from her.

Honey put her hand over her mouth as she read the last words, almost as if she wished she could push them all back in again and not even tell him that he’d received any mail that morning.

‘“Despite everything”,’ Hal muttered darkly, repeating Imogen’s sign-off. ‘She means I still love you despite the fact that you can’t see anymore. She always fucking blamed me, right from the moment I opened my eyes in the hospital.’

Honey was well and truly out of her depth. She couldn’t offer any real advice because she’d never even met the woman, but from the letter Imogen sounded like a petulant teenager who’d cobbled together a desperate plan to hold on to the fantasy lifestyle she’d mapped out for herself on Hal’s coattails.

‘Tea?’ she said inadequately, reaching for his cup.

Hal shook his head and huffed. ‘I need a proper drink.’

He’d long since drunk her out of her leftover Christmas spirit supplies. ‘There’s some wine left?’

‘Just fold the letter up and put it away,’ Hal said, ignoring her offer of wine and visibly pulling himself together. ‘Where’s my shirt? I should go.’

‘Hal, please. You don’t have to leave so quickly,’ Honey said, picking up his shirt from the floor and handing it to him.

‘I think we both know that I do,’ he said sourly, shrugging his shirt over his shoulders and pushing his arms roughly into the sleeves.

‘It’s okay. Honestly, it is,’ Honey said, feeling everything but okay.

‘Don’t be fucking stupid,’ he said, sounding bone weary. ‘Of course it isn’t. Okay is the last thing this is. It’s fucked up and you know it. I shouldn’t be here.’

Honey cast around for the right thing to say. He was right. It was fucked up and crazy, but what did he mean by he shouldn’t be here? Was he already regretting tonight? Was he still in love with his ex-girlfriend? It was a huge, tangled mess, the kind of mess that Honey had no clue how to clean up. She watched him prepare to leave, feeling his emotional detachment and wishing she could turn the clock back.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said softly.

‘What do you have to be sorry for?’

She shrugged, agonised. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Then don’t be sorry,’ Hal said, monotone and low. ‘For what it is worth, I’m the one who’s sorry. Sorry that I’ve dragged you into my shit.’

‘Don’t say you’re sorry either,’ she said urgently, laying her hand on his bicep and massaging because she needed to touch him, to offer him some sort of physical comfort in