Page 2 of Clean Point

Rushing out of the kitchen and up the grand staircase, I made my way to the guest bedroom I’d been calling my own and grabbed an empty duffle bag. I grabbed what clothes I could, not bothering to think of outfits as I went. It was Paris, after all. I could shop.

‘Scottie, what are you doing?’ My mum lazily appeared in the door frame, cup of tea in hand.

I didn’t bother to even look at her as I answered. ‘Packing.’

‘No, I mean you packed my Dior dress,’ she exclaimed, a small hint of annoyance in her voice. ‘I love that we are the same size, but I told you – no taking the vintage out of the country.’

Without uttering a word, I tossed the dress back to her, my determination undeterred. I continued my packing mission, locating my passport on the dresser and throwing it in the bag.

‘I’m not sure why you’re in such a rush,’ my mother remarked, her tone teasing. ‘He was quite handsome. I wouldn’t be so quick to escape if a man like that was searching for me.’

‘If you knew who his boss was, you’d be running too,’ I replied cryptically.

‘Maybe …’ she trailed off. ‘Or …’

‘Or?’

‘Or you could not run and listen to what he has to say,’ she proposed, her voice gentle yet persuasive. Sounding, dare I say it, motherly?

‘And why would I do that?’ Scepticism laced my words as I finally spared her a glance.

‘Because he left a message begging you to not run and to listen to what he had to say. It’s almost like he knows you well.’

I hesitated, thinking over the situation. We’d been friends, Jon and I. Sure, he’d worked me to the bone during training. But we’d joke around, he’d listen to me if I was complaining, and would take my aches and pains seriously, an ice pack and some aspirin at the ready.

‘You never said he left a message.’

‘You didn’t let me get very far before you stormed up here and started stealing—’ she let out a sharp dramatic gasp ‘—the black Chanel dress from ’93. Pass it here.’ She pointed a thin finger at my bag. I turned, the dress falling out.

Damn, I’d been hoping to get that one past her.

Reluctantly, I pulled the dress out and handed it to her. She clutched the delicate material to her chest before her gaze softened once again, voice tangled with concern. ‘I think you should hear what he has to say.’

‘Why? You know what they did to me.’

‘Wasn’t it your father—’ I cut her off with a scowl before she corrected herself, ‘Matteo?’

I shook my head, glancing around the messy room, clothes thrown all over the floor. ‘I can’t be sure,’ I admitted, a wave of nausea rolling through my stomach at the mere thought. The memory of finding out someone who claimed to love me had drugged and violated me for months was still vivid in my mind. My autonomy stripped away, my body no longer my own. I had spent countless hours in therapy trying to heal from the trauma, but I was still grappling with the aftermath. I was still unsure if I wanted all the details. Sometimes, ignorance was safest.

Silently, Mum moved further inside the room, settling herself on my bed. With a tender gesture, she patted the spot next to her, and I surrendered, easing myself down onto the mattress. A wave of weariness washed over me as I leaned against her on instinct, breathing in her expensive perfume. Chanel, no doubt.

‘You don’t need to run, you know,’ she said. ‘Your dad isn’t chasing you.’

I lifted my head, shooting her the ‘we don’t call him that’ look, but she brushed it off nonchalantly before continuing. ‘It’s been almost two years. I think you’ve made it clear by now with all your gallivanting around Europe and throwing your career into the fire that you want nothing to do with him.’

‘I feel like I’m waiting for him to show up on the doorstep and order me back into a cage.’ The words were barely louder than a whisper, but they hurt all the same. I hadn’t realized how restrictive my life had been until I’d left. How much there was of the world to enjoy. What it was like to have more than one glass of wine and eat both the burger and chips and not feel guilty after. Now I was free, the thought of going back was an enormous monster hiding in the dark, taunting me with only its presence.

‘He doesn’t make the rules anymore, Scottie. You call the shots, you make the decisions.’ She raised a hand and gave my blonde hair a gentle, comforting stroke before wrapping her arm around me and pulling me close. ‘If you want to run to Paris, give me five minutes and I’ll pack a bag. Girls’ weekend in the City of Lights. The two of us together? We’ll tear it to pieces.’

I laughed lightly, thinking somebody better pre-warn France. ‘What about your lunch at Bellamy’s?’

She waved a hand, dismissing the thought. ‘My friends are used to my last-minute cancellations. And besides, who wants to lunch with a group of former models? They hardly touch the food they order.’

‘We should discuss your eating habits sometime. I’m amazed at how you manage.’

She smirked, a mischievous glint in her blue eyes. Deep ocean blue, lined with black. The same as mine. ‘Oh, I do eat. I just ensure it’s worth every single calorie.’

Before I could roll my eyes at her playful remark, the sound of the doorbell pierced the air, and my heart skipped a beat. I inhaled deeply, remembering my mother’s words.

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