Page 20 of Unbind

Despite the shit I’m giving her, I suspect she is usually in control. She seems like someone who prides herself onhaving it together, who probably despises the lack of control a condition like type 1 gives her. But this illness isn’t something to be pushed under the carpet. It’s a daily threat, a daily fucking battle. It’s running to stand still your entire life, and she’d be far better off if she made peace with that instead of trying to fight it.

‘They’re good people,’ is all I say. ‘You can trust them with this. And after today, you can bet Gen will have St John’s Ambulance in for a full team debrief. She’ll probably have a powerpoint, knowing her.’

She shuts her eyes briefly, as if the thought pains her, but it’s true. No fucking way Gen will stand for her and the team not being up to speed on basic hypo management after what went down this evening.

‘What makes you such an expert, anyway?’ she mutters.

I hesitate, and it’s prolonged enough for her to look at me with curiosity.

‘A family member had type 1,’ I say shortly. ‘I’m far too familiar with its dangers, unfortunately.’

That knocks the wind out of her sails. She stares at me, no doubt registering my use of the past tense.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she says quietly.

‘Thank you.’ I’m not willing to say more. She’s holding me at arm’s length, with good reason. Like she said, I have no right to any knowledge of her. But I won’t let her have any knowledge of me, either. She thinks she has me sussed, but she’s nowhere near accurate, and I won’t entrust one iota of Ellen’s memory to someone who condemned me long before she laid eyes on me.

I lean my head back and close my eyes, signalling that the conversation is closed.

12

NATALIE

With every minute of this journey, I’ve grown more on edge. I’ve allowed this man I loathe to spirit me away and take me to hishome, for Christ’s sake. To his evil, billionaire lair that’s probably all stainless steel and cold black marble surfaces in which he can admire his reflection, and punching bags in every room to offer him an outlet so he doesn’t beat the shit out of his staff.

He doesn’t look like a monster.

He looks like a beautiful, successful, if tired, businessman.

But that tells me nothing. He’s probably got some Dorian Gray-type portrait of himself in his attic, only this version gets uglier and more grotesque every time his moral compass slips one rung further.

I can’t quite square away everything I know to be true about Adam Wright with the way he looked after me this evening. Despite my ungracious behaviour to him just now, I’m well aware that I’d be surrounded by paramedics if ithadn’t been for his quick action back at Alchemy. But that’s a puzzle I’m simply too tired to ponder.

We pass Kensington Gardens, though it’s too dark to see Kensington Palace, which is set back from the main road. Then we’re turning right and stopping in front of a barrier at an actual wooden sentry box.

‘Are we going into the palace?’ I ask him, craning to see outside.

‘No,’ he tells me with a small smile. ‘That’s next door. This is Kensington Palace Gardens—it’s a private road.’

There’s private, and then there’s security guards with assault rifles.

‘You must have a lot of enemies.’

He lets out a genuine laugh, and it’s startling. Let’s just say I avert my gaze from the sight of it pretty quickly. ‘They’re not for me, believe me. There are a lot of embassies on this road. It’s a pretty massive terrorist target.’

‘Fantastic,’ I mutter as the barrier lifts and the car moves slowly forward.

‘If it’s any consolation, the Russian Embassy is here, so that’s one superpower we don’t have to worry about nuking us.’

Better and better. For all its issues, you don’t get this shit in Seven Sisters.

After a few hundred feet on what must be one of the widest, quietest roads in London, we turn left and wait as huge wrought-iron gates open automatically. It’s too dark to see much, but I spot immaculate box hedges lit by spots along the edge of the gravel.

‘Wait there,’ Adam says as we pull to a stop. ‘Nige will help you.’ The driver gets out and comes around to my side, opening the door and helping me down with a kindly hand in mine. It’s appreciated, as the car is high, as are my heels,and my dress is short. I’d give anything to be unlocking my front door right now and collapsing face-down onto my own bed.

Still, I thank him politely and walk round the enormous SUV as I gaze ahead of me in astonishment.

This isn’t a house. It’s a mansion, and it’s so breathtakingly, perfectly beautiful that it actually hurts my heart.

---