Page 28 of Embracing Us

Chapter twelve

Linda

My phone buzzes noisily on the coffee table. Crystal and I are sitting in the bar with a large glass of wine each. Susan retired to bed an hour ago, tired out with all our wedding chat. “Is that the boy wonder?” Crystal asks. “His ears must be burning with all the talk of him today.” I chuckle.

“Don’t call him a boy,” I scold her. “Are you trying to make me feel even older?”

“Age is only a number,” she replies. “They do say you’re only as old as the person you feel.” She cocks her head to one side and smirks at me. “So, you’re doing a good deed for your complexion snaring him. He must make you feel twenty years younger.”

“Ten, maybe,” I mutter, shaking my head. I lift my phone and hit the accept call button. “Hi,” I purr into the handset. Crystal purses her lips and flutters her eyelashes at me. I respond with a grimace.

“Hey, Beautiful, how are my two favourite people in the world today? I miss you both.” Max’s voice is subdued, not his usual upbeat self. My stomach drops at his tone; something is wrong, I know it.

“We’re both fine. I’m having a drink in the bar with Crystal before we head to bed. Jackson is sleeping in his pram. We miss you too.” He sighs softly. I can see him in my mind, his chest rising and falling as he takes a breath. “Is everything all right? You sound defeated.”

“Tell her,” I hear a man’s voice hiss in the background. I assume it must be Jace.

“Tell me what?” I ask, sharply. More fucking problems. Great.

“Marina,” Max begins, and my heart sinks to my toes. “She…” He trails off, the nervousness in his voice is audible even from thousands of miles away over the phone.

“Max, I know she’s difficult with you. What’s happened now?” Part of me doesn’t want to know. This past year, my daughter has proved on multiple occasions she has little morals. The phrase ‘cut your nose off despite your face’ is often apt when it comes to her.

“She propositioned me.”

“What?” I shriek, and Jackson startles, then cries. I stand and pick him up from his pram, rocking him gently in my arms. Crystal holds her hands out to take him, but I shake my head. “Are you sure?” He stays silent for a minute. “Max, are you sure that’s what she meant?”

“Yes, Beautiful. I can assure you there was no confusion on my part. She was very drunk. I left her passed out lying on our bed.” His breathing is heavy on the line as the words tumble from him. “She was breathing when we left though,” he adds in an afterthought.

Tears flood my eyes. Crystal rises immediately and takes Jackson from me, without giving me an option. She signals for me to sit down. Her concerned gaze roams over my face, trying to work out what the issue is. The sob forming in my throat builds then escapes. “How could she,” I whisper, furious. “My own daughter.”

“She was drunk,” he says again. “Can you get her father to go check on her? She’s not in a good place.”

“Marina is never in a good place unless everyone is flapping around her,” I snap back.

“Linda,” he says, firmly. He rarely uses my actual name. “Phone her father and get him to check on her later. I’ll speak to her tomorrow once she is sober. I’m going to stay here another day or so to prepare the flat for rent. The income will be a benefit to us. Marina can move back into the house.” He speaks with authority, which is so unlike him. I don’t argue. His tone has changed from edgy to angry. “She is going to have to grow up and stop fucking around with everyone else’s lives.”

“I know,” I reply, my voice quiet. “This is my fault.”

“No, it isn’t. You need to stop taking responsibility for other people’s issues. She’s an adult and should bloody start acting like one.” He swallows audibly. When he speaks again, his tone softens. “It’ll be fine, Beautiful. Just call her father. I will speak to you later. We are on our way to Jace’s now.”

“Okay, speak later.”

“I love you,” he says, before cutting the call.

I place my phone back on the table. Crystal has returned to her seat and is feeding Jackson with a bottle of milk that was beside him in his pram. She looks at me, clearly wanting information on what the phone call was about. I press my lips together, not wanting to divulge the embarrassing story which paints my daughter as a whore.

“Is everything all right?” she asks, delicately. “That conversation didn’t sound like a couple excited about getting married next week.”

“Max had a small disruption when he got home,” I tell her, evasively. “Can you look after Jackson for a moment, please? I need to make a phone call.” She nods but doesn’t reply. I feel her surveying my mannerisms, trying to detect the issue as if it would be written across my face. Quickly, I lift my phone, rise, and practically run to the exit.

I walk out of the hotel into the warm Spanish evening, the heat from the day hanging stubbornly in the air. My palms sweat as I scroll my contacts for my ex-husband's number. We haven’t spoken since Marina and I bumped into him in the shopping centre last autumn. I dial his phone, and it rings out then diverts to voicemail. As soon as I slip the device into my shorts pocket, the ringtone sounds. Typical.

“Linda,” my ex-husband, Stan, bellows down the line. His voice is loud like it always is on the phone. He seems to think you need to yell. “Did you call me?”

“Yes, I did,” I reply, politely. “Would you be able to go to the house and check on Marina please?” He falls silent, staggered by my request. “She’s had a bit to drink, and I would like to make sure she is all right. I’m in Spain, you see.”

“Marina said you were away,” he says. His knowledge comes as a surprise, I hadn’t been aware she was in contact with her father. “How do you know she was drunk? Did she call you?”

---