Page 92 of Unbind

‘I love having you here,’ I whisper, because it’s true. I may still be feeling like death warmed up, but the contentedness in my heart is real, and it’s complete. ‘Thank you for being you,’ I add, because that’s the crux of it. Somehow, against every single odd the universe has attempted to throw at us, I’ve met a woman who sees me. Who cares for the man I am today and forgives the man I used to be.

If we can be this good, this happy, when I’m ill and we’re tucked up together in my library, how incredible a force can we be out in the world?

I have no idea if Nat can ever bring her brother around to accepting me, and even less idea of what she would do if she were forced to choose between us, though God knows, I’d never let that happen. I’d prostrate myself at Stephen Bennett’s feet and beg his forgiveness for the rest of my life if it meant preserving his relationship with his sister.

Still, Nat’s admission has made me greedy. I want everything for us; I want to give this relationship oxygen. I want to walk down Regent Street with my girlfriend for all the world to see. Both of us have had our fair share of shit, of constraints to deal with, in our lives.

That ends now.

I have infinite means these days, and the world is our playground. I want to woo the hell out of this extraordinary woman and lavish upon her every pleasure her heart could desire.

I wind her ponytail slowly around my fist and tilt her head so I can whisper in her ear.

‘How do you fancy a trip to New York?’

54

NATALIE

When I suggest to my mum that we meet up for lunch, I’m careful not to give her the slightest inkling of the bombshell to come. I don’t for a second pretend that I have an agenda beyond an overdue girlie catch up, mainly because I haven’t quite decided how I’ll confess that the man who maimed her son so violently is whisking me off to New York for Christmas shopping and kinky sex.

Fuck fuck fuck.

The collapse of Dad’s firm may have hit Mum the hardest initially, but it was also she who rallied the hardest in the wake of Stephen’s attack. I don’t know if it was her inner caregiver being stoked into resilience and action by such a horrifying challenge to her maternal instincts, or whether the attack simply put into perspective everything we’d been through so far.

Either way, she was a fucking trooper.

I know Mum felt lost when we lost our home and our savings. I know she had to grapple with an entirely new identity along the way. And I’m hyper-conscious that it wasshe who held us all together in the aftermath of what Adam did to Stephen.

But somewhere along the way, she learnt a word that altered the course of her life.

Surrender.

You can’t change the shit that happens to you, so all you can do—the only way you can reclaim any power—is to choose how you react to that shit.

It’s worked brilliantly for Mum. I can’t say she’s managed to transform its power to me, though. I’m far more of a pusher. When things get hard, my MO is to push harder and attempt to control everything around me.

It’s worked really well for me so far.Cough.

Mum opts to come into town and meet me at the studio before we slip out for a coffee and a sandwich. She’s always been my biggest cheerleader. She kept all the endless drawings I did of beautiful dresses when I was a little girl, and it was she who gave me the confidence to apply to fashion school when my teachers were pushing me towards more traditional Arts degrees.

She looks as elegant as ever. Her penchant for investment pieces stood her in good stead over the “lean years” (that’s definitely a euphemism). She wore her beautiful clothes to death—she was definitely the only mum on the St Benedict’s school run in a Burberry trench.

These days, the designer clothes from nice boutiques are long gone. Mum’s wardrobe comes squarely from the high street, with the exception of a few silk scarves—and one gorgeous shirt-waister dress—that Evan’s made for her (he’s such a sweetie). Still, she’s a beautiful woman who knows how to dress for her boyish body shape and has an eye for putting an outfit together, and it shows.

Today, she’s in a nice camel-coloured crew neck andsimilar coloured slacks, with chocolate brown loafers and a burgundy-and-white scarf made from last winter’s leftover silk twill. Her light-brown hair is in a neat bob, and she has her wedding pearls in her ears. The sight of her always makes me feel a bit weepy, but these days it’s a good kind of weepy.

She even has some money of her own now. While I’d love to be earning enough to treat her to the occasional weekend away, at least Stephen and Anna are paying her. They insisted that they’d rather have Mum mind Chloe than any nanny, and that they should pay for that privilege. She won’t take anything near market rate, but I know it’s helped boost both her coffers and her confidence.

‘You’re glowing,’ I tell her when I’ve released her from our hug.

‘Thanks, sweetie.’ She pats her bob. ‘I’ve been following Verity’s anti-inflammatory diet, and I swear I look less bloated.’

Mum is anenormousfan of Vitality with Verity, a wellness platform for women of a certain age. I’m not sure whether Maddy or I were more excited when I discovered that Verity is none other than Maddy’s mother.

‘Ooh, that reminds me. Maddy got her new book signed for you.’ I dig around in my tote bag. This thing is revolting. Adam teases me about it, but my entire life is in here, and if I don’t want him buying me underwear from Selfridges every time I sleep at his, then the tote bag stays.

‘Oh my goodness!’ Mum actually claps her hands together in glee. ‘That is so exciting! I think I’d die if I met her in person.’

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