Page 137 of Play On

It’s the lowest I’ve ever felt.

I rise from the table, and Nicholas puts out a hand to stop me. “No, Violet, sit down. This isn’t over. Not when I have things to say.”

“You’re wrong. This is over. Mum and Dad have made it abundantly clear that me admitting my faults and fears isn’t good enough to earn me an opportunity here. I’ll never be good for anything more than folding tea towels at Wintersmith Hall, and I accept that. I think what hurts the most is that I’ve come to you, as my parents, being vulnerable and honest, and that wasn’t good enough to even give me one chance.”

“You can thank your trip to Australia for that,” Dad snaps.

I’m shaking as I look over at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“That was the flakiest thing you’ve ever done, and you only did it a few days ago. I’m sorry, if you want honesty, you’re going to get it. You might have fears, but you also flake out, Violet. Repeatedly. Just this month you’ve been running around after a footballer, and God knows what you’ll be doing when theseason starts. Running off to Surrey to watch his home games? Changing more schedules to accommodate your whims? No, Australia just proved to me that as much as I love you—and I do—I can’t trust you with business. And that’s reality.”

I can’t trust you, I think, reeling from this comment.

All because I went to Australia to prove to Noah he was worthy of being loved.

“Well,” I say, fighting back tears, “thank you for your honesty.”

I pick up my plate.

“Dad, how dar—” Nicholas begins, but I cut him off.

“Please don’t, Nicholas. Don’t say anything on my behalf. I know where I stand now. Please don’t say anything to cause a row. Please.”

He stares at me, his eyes flashing and his jaw clenched. I have no doubt he will ignore me as soon as I’m out of the room, but I hope he doesn’t. I don’t need to be responsible for causing more upheaval in the house than I already have tonight.

“I think things are being said now out of hurt feelings,” Mum says, trying to calm everyone down.

“No. Things are being said because they are meant,” I say, pushing my chair back underneath the table. I walk to the sink, turn on the tap, and with shaking hands, rinse my dishes and leave them there. I turn back and walk past the table, pausing to look at my family. “Thank you for your honesty. I know where I stand now.”

Then I leave the room.

As soon as I’m out of sight, I hurry down the hall, tears pooling in my eyes as I think of how my parents view me. I knew that this outcome could happen, but I thought when I was honest about my reasons, they would see me differently.

In a new light.

But instead, they see me as flightier than ever, someone who can never be trusted with anything of importance at Wintersmith Hall.

Tears begin to form on my lashes. I don’t bother to wipe them as I hurry up the stairs. I reach my room, shut the door, and go straight to the window seat, leaning my head against the cool pane of glass, and staring out at the gardens below.

I know Noah would never think this, but I feel as if I’ve let him down a second time. The first time was when I texted him my “let’s be friends” message, and now, I’m going to have to tell him I’ve failed. I was ready to try and do something, to take a chance and prove to everyone I can see a project through from start to finish, but before I even got the opportunity, I was told I was too much of a flake to be trusted to do anything other than fold tea towels.

The tears fall freely now. How am I going to explain this to Noah tomorrow? He has one last match to play before flying home, I don’t want to ruin his mood or break his game preparation. Perhaps I should wait and tell him later.

No,I think, mopping up the tears with the back of my hand.Noah would want to know.

I’ll have to tell him what happened. And that this more than likely will delay my move to London, unless I can find an entry-level opportunity somewhere else and work my way up to a gallery in London.

What if I have to move further away to take that kind of position? Like Manchester or Liverpool or something? How will logistics work then? I know Noah loves me, and I also know we’ll find a way, but this becomes so much harder the further away I have to go.

And there will be less time for us to spend together if that is the case. I bite my lip to keep from bursting into sobs.

Buzz!

I freeze as I spot my phone sitting on the charger on the bedside table. I pray it’s not Noah. I don’t want to tell him this now. He won’t sleep well, and that’s a priority before a match.

I get up and walk over to the bedside table. When I see the most recent text message, I blink in surprise.

The text isn’t from Noah.

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