those ragged gasps. It takes me a moment to realise it came from my mouth.
I know you must be heartbroken. After the first time I told him never again, but – well, I don’t want to make excuses. Cx
That’s all she’s doing, of course. Ugh, that Cx at the end of the message, as if we’re discussing weekend plans – God, I hate her, I hate hate hate her, I can taste the hate in my mouth, I can feel it clutching in my gut. I suddenly understand why men in films punch walls when they’re angry. It’s only cowardice and fear of pain that stops me. Instead I press the old brick of a phone into the palm of my left hand until it hurts – not as much as a split knuckle, but enough. My breathing finally starts to slow.
When I turn the phone over again my palm is almost purple-red, and there’s a new message from Ethan.
Leena? Talk to me.
I sink down to sit on the floor, the carpet scratching my ankles. I wait for the emotion to hit again, a fresh wave, but it doesn’t come. Instead there is a strange sort of stillness, a distance, as if I’m watching someone else find out the man they love has hurt them in the very worst way.
I gave him so much. I showed my rawest, weakest self to that man. I trusted him like I have never trusted anyone but family.
I just can’t believe … I can’t think of Ethan as … I gulp in air, my hands and feet beginning to tingle. I was so sure of him. I was so sure.
I don’t hate Ceci – that wasn’t hate. This is hate.
34
Eileen
I know as soon as I see her that Leena knows the truth about Ethan. She looks exhausted, bowed-down under the weight of it.
I can’t help but think of the day when Wade left me. He was a good-for-nothing waste of space and I’d have kicked him out years ago if I’d had any sense, but when he left, just at first, the humiliation had hurt so keenly. That’s what I’d felt: not anger, but shame.
‘Leena, I’m so sorry.’
She leans to kiss me on the cheek, but her eyes are on Marian’s front door behind me, and the key is in her hand. We both pause for a moment, just a second or two, bracing ourselves. My heart’s going like the clappers, has been all afternoon – I keep pressing my hand to my chest as if to slow it down. I feel nauseous, so much so the bile rises in my throat.
Leena unlocks the door. The house is dark and quiet, and I know right away that Marian isn’t here.
I stand there and try to absorb it while Leena moves through the rooms, flicking on lights, her face drawn and serious.
Marian isn’t here, I think, with a peculiar sort of detachment. I was so sure she would be, I hadn’t even thought of alternatives. But she’s not here. She’s …
‘She’s not here.’ Leena comes to a stop in the middle of the hall. ‘Is that good, or bad? Both, maybe? Where is she?’
I lean back against the wall, then jump as both my phone and Leena’s phone let out a succession of beeps. She’s quicker at pulling hers out of her pocket.
Dearest Mum, and my darling Leena,
Sorry it’s taken me a little time to compose this message. I’m at Heathrow airport, now, with three hours until my flight and plenty of time to think.
Something Leena told me last night stayed with me when I woke up this morning. Leena, you said, ‘I couldn’t have figured myself out if I’d not been someone else.’
These last few weeks have been some of the happiest in recent memory. I have loved having you back, Leena, more than I can express – it’s been wonderful for me to be able to look after my daughter again. And Mum, I’ve missed you, but I think perhaps I needed you to leave me for a little while, so I could realise I can stand on my own, without you holding my hand. Your absence has made me appreciate you all the more. I’m so grateful for everything you’ve done for me.
But I’m ready for something new, now. I don’t know who I am when I’m not grieving for Carla. I can’t be the woman I was before my daughter died. I couldn’t, and I wouldn’t want to be. So I