Page 68 of Fletch

“Why are you here still?” I hate the hurt in her eyes as she spits those words. She hates me. She can’t even stand to look at me.

“I told you, I can’t leave you after what you said.”

“Why?” she yells. “You hate me anyway, so what difference does it make to you if I die?”

“I don’t hate you, Gem.”

She wraps her arms around her shoulders and rests her chin on her knees. “Of course, you do. Why else would you do what you did?”

I grab a jug and scoop some water into it. I try to wet her hair, but she moves her head to one side. I sigh heavily, taking her hair in my fist and tugging her head back. I try again, this time, wetting her hair. “When I was eight, I would wash my mother’s hair.” Gemma remains quiet, her eyes staring up at me as I scoop up another jug and carefully pour it over her head. “She was so depressed and strung-out on meds that didn’t ever really work, she couldn’t do it herself. I’d run the bath, take her by the hand and lead her to it, and once she was in, I’d wash her hair.”

I smile at the memory. “She wasn’t always that way. Some days, she’d seem fine. She’d be over the top and loud, spinning me around and waking me at midnight to bake a cake. But there was never an even keel with her. She was either really, really high or super low.” My smile fades. “She was diagnosed bipolar, but the doctors couldn’t get her medication right. She met this guy at some kind of mental health clinic. Before I knew it, she was self-medicating with his help, and he’d be the one running her baths, but not because he cared.” I give my head a small, sad shake. “His friends would give him more drugs if she was clean when he passed her around.”

Gemma doesn’t speak as I pour shampoo into my hand and begin to rub it into her hair. She closes her eyes. “Neighbours noticed I was playing in the garden at stupid times of the night and day and reported it to the social. I was taken from her and placed into a home. I soon learned how to survive alone.”

I rinse her hair and run conditioner through, and once that’s rinsed, I hand her a bar of soap. “Shout if you need me.” I take the scissors and notice the way she stares at them longingly. “I’ll be right outside.”

Ruby arrives two minutes later, rushing upstairs, her expression full of worry. “Is she okay?” She pants like she’s run a marathon.

I nod, tucking her hair behind her ear. It’s the first time I’ve made a move to touch her, yet it feels so normal. She smiles, leaning her cheek into my palm. “You didn’t yell at her?”

I smirk. “Can you strip her bed? Is there a spare room she can stay in while hers dries out?”

“Oh lord, what did you do?” Before I can answer, she rolls her eyes. “Yes. Just there,” she tells me, pointing to another door. “I’ll make up a new bed.”

Gemma is staring straight ahead when I go back into the bathroom. She startles as I grab a towel and hold it open. “Ruby is home,” I tell her. “Try for her.”

She stands, and I watch the water running down her body. She’s lost weight, and I hate that’s because of me. As she steps out, I wrap the towel around her. She takes it, stepping from my arms, and stares down at the floor. “Ruby is making the spare bed up.” She leaves the bathroom without a word and goes into the spare room without a fuss.

Ruby smiles. “It’s great to see you up and about. Shall I make you some pasta?”

“No.”

“You need to eat,” I cut in.

She ignores me, keeping her back to me. Ruby gives me a small smile and follows me from the room, closing the door gently. “Thanks for looking after her. And for trying.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Ruby,” I tell her. “Not until she’s better.”

Relief floods her face, and it breaks my heart that she thought she’d have to deal with this shitshow alone. “We’ll order Chinese, and Gemma will sit downstairs with us, even if she doesn’t eat.”

She begins to shake her head. “I don’t think she’ll come downstairs.”

I grin. “Go and find a menu, we’ll join you in a sec.”

Once she’s gone, I open the door, and Gemma is already lying under the sheets. Her eyes open and narrow when she spots me. “You’ll sit with us while we eat.”

“Jesus, take a hint. I don’t want you here.”

“Will you walk or should I carry you?”

“Don’t think about touching me again.”

I smile. “Great, walk it is.” I wait for a beat, and when she doesn’t move, I sigh. “Fine.” I rip the sheets from her and discover she’s still naked. I go back to her room and pull open a drawer. On top of her clothes is my shirt, the one I left here before. I take it, go back into her, and throw it at her. “Put this on or I’ll carry you naked.”

She growls, tugging it on and standing. “I can walk.”

Gemma

---